Dear Pregnant People

Maybe it’s because I have the first name of a stripper or my middle name means “yes” in Spanish, but I learned in college that Candy, Mandy, Sandy, Brandy — no offense if that’s your name, but names from the 70s just suck — are stupid. The most interesting people you meet have family names, names that are important. You want your kid to sound like a corporation. Ex: Avery Hanna is excellent, that sounds like an expensive pocketbook designer.  Emily Reagan: equally excellent, sounds like a congresswoman. Briggs Mathis Albright: perfect, sounds like a law firm. They’re destined for greatness. Or in the South, you can do something fun like a double name: Katie Mae, Kaylee Dawn —  all good choices. It suggest you’ve read Tennessee Williams and know your William Faulkner cause you’re (cue: Mobile, Alabama accent) soooouthern.

Give your kids last names as first names and make them long. If they sound important, they’ll seem important, and then they’ll be important.   A  name like Candi — it’s a wonder I’m not on a pole somewhere. (Although that’s not actually my real name.)

And most importantly, don’t give your kid a name everybody else has and jack the spelling all crazy trying to be different or unique. This is ridiculous. As Candi with with an I, I’ve had to correct it from Candy my whole life.  That’s annoying enough, but necessary. However if you name your kid after Elvis Presley or John F Kennedy and spell it all crazy trying to pretend you didn’t, expect it to be misspelled their whole life.

In short,  when I adopt children from Syria and Africa, look for some variation of Roosevelt, Summitt, Manning, Chesney, Mandela, Clara. Like Ella or Rose — but the real name as Mandela or Roosevelt.

Get it?

Heed my warning, pregnant people: give your kids names with meaning or solid names. They’ll thank you for it.

If you’ve ever been to a frat party, you understand that.


The Only Painful Part About Being Single Is Other People’s Stupidity

It always angers me when people act like just because I don’t have a family now that I ‘ll never have one. When you see people and they say, “Won’t you regret not having kids?” or you talk about one day adopting them and they act like, “Oh that’s cute,  but dumb little Candi,  you will never have a family.”  In fact, my brother even told me one day at my Memaw’s, “Oh, you will never get married, you might as well give that up.”  Well, and you’ll never be smarter than me so give that up, too.

I always wanted to be somebody before I was somebody’s wife. Or somebody’s mother. I always wanted to write a book, speak fluent Spanish, before I had kids. And I always wanted to adopt them. Who’s to say I still won’t? I hate it when people treat me like my life is over or my dreams are over — because they’re not to me — just because you hadn’t popped out children by 26.

Which seems to be a small town requirement.

So, stop saying stupid stuff to single people just because they chose a different life than you.

My whole point of this wasn’t to rant at stupid questions asked at Dunkin Donuts, but to make a declaration.  When you get my age, you’ve seen people name  their kids just about every name that you have ever liked. And since people keep having kids in my family, these are my names for my adopted children that you will never ever steal (or I will cut you)  — since you’ve taken so many other ones.

Ahhhm, Kennedy, Katherine — which I’m glad about because they’re perfect.

Since nobody else wants these anyway, I think they’re safe, but still… this is my declaration. You cannot have my names!

Chesney, Manning, Roosevelt, Summitt, Mandela, McNair.

Maybe, Clara or Coretta.

They all have a back story of perseverance behind the name of the inspiration. (Except Clara, it’s family.)  And they are all mine.


As you now were, married people…

Candice Mathis

Candi is a lifelong reader, writer, Democrat, and kid keeper. She drinks coffee at midnight and schools men on sports. Follow her @CandiMathis on Twitter.