The DH: dear husband, department head, or designated hitter (as in, “I. Have. Had. Enough. Take your children for a few hours.”). Depends on what he’s doing. My husband, the privacy guard. Also happened to be a classmate of mine at the Naval Academy.
Diva: my oldest daughter, 10. Who hates pink… except when she loves it. Apparently, she’s doing the impossible teenager routine a bit early. Still a major diva and learning (the hard way) that she does NOT have to be the center of attention at all times. Most likely to be up at 11 pm with a book saying, “But, mom, just a few more pages?”
Crash: my middle son, 8. The one most likely to be upside down and yelling, “Hey, Mom, watch this!” Give him some peace and quiet (i.e. no sisters!), and he’ll happily play with his plastic army guys or Legos for a long, long time.
Empress: my younger daughter, 5. She knows what she wants, she wants it now, and she’s got an hysterical pout practised for when she doesn’t get it. Which is often. We adopted her from China (in case that isn’t obvious; and I’ve had two Chinese waiters tell me she looks “almost Chinese,” so I guess it isn’t completely obvious, so I’ll say it). She’s slowly getting over not being the baby of the family, but starting to read and emphasizing the “big girl” aspects is helping… some.
Oof: my younger son, 2. I know, it’s lame, but it’s the best descriptor right now! He was 32 pounds at his two year check-up, which makes most parents of adopted Chinese children comment, “But my 
daughter didn’t break 30 pounds until first grade!” And he’s fast and he hurts when he runs into your leg to hug you! Friend after friend has picked him up: “Oof! He’s heavier than he looks!” His main interests at this point are eating, doing whatever his family is doing (and I mean everything… note the banana sticker on the forehead), and, um, more eating. We brought him home from China just nine months after we started the process, a few months before his second birthday. Yes, we got a boy from China, because he had a serious cleft palate. (Have questions on Chinese special needs adoption or cleft palate surgery general info? Leave me a comment and I’ll answer as best I can.)
The Big Dummy: our local pile of fur that the vet calls a German Shepherd Dog. He treats small children (right now, only Oof) with perfect manners. The rest of us have to shove him out of the way frequently or just yelp when he steps on our feet. Adores chasing birds. Not so good about squirrels. Like the rest of the family, he knows how to point out not-so-tactfully when his expectations are not being met. “Excuse me, I already dropped the bone loudly once, did you forget to throw it? Yeah, yeah, you’re hanging laundry on the line; so what?”
