My youngest son believes he is the middle child.  He is not the oldest or the youngest, or the first.  First born, first son, first daughter, and youngest, all titles taken, thus he must be the middle child.  In my experience the middle child is usually the forgotten one.  My son is definitely not forgotten.  His adventures have coloured our story telling since he was wee.  Nakedness, garden snail eating, utensil sculptures, grand escapes…word games, silly walks, creative cursing, irreverant imitations.  Our language is coloured with terms he coined.  The sacks that are sometimes around the base of newly planted trees, he decided were ‘weasel bags’. Bags full of weasels designed to be a tree thief deterrent. Shite muffin, is a common expletive, along with dick mug and grasshole.
Today, my husband called and suggested I pick up some wizard burritos on my way home from the library.  Wizard burritos, otherwise known as Sicilian canoli, were named because they are burrito shaped and taste magical.  Why call them anything else?