I don't know these people. . . .

Let's cut to the chase. I've been saying my sibling's names wrong.

At eight o'clock, which is pretty late, I came downstairs and lay on the couch. Peter was already downstairs and he jumped on me. "PETER," I yelled, "GET OFF." Except that, instead of saying "Peter" I said "Peder".

Me: Peder.
My mother: No, Peter.
Peter: Yes. Peter.
Me: PEE-ter.
Peter: PeterPeterPeterPeterPeter!!!
Me: Pete-er.
My mother: Good.
Peter: Goodgoodgoodgood!!!
Me: Pete-er. Pete-er.
Peter: Or you could call me Pete.
Me: I refuse.
Me: (time has elapsed, during which I practice saying Pete-er.) What about Laura? (Except that I pronounced it Lorra.)
My mother: Emma! You can't pronounce Laura's name!
Me: I can so too pronounce it! Lorra!
My mother: No, it's Lahruh.
Peter: Lahruh!
Me: (long painful time has passed, with un-typeabale pronunciations) I'm going to go ask Lahruh.
My mother and Peter: Good!
Me: *runs upstairs* Say your name!
Laura: Lorra. . . .
Me: Uh-oh. . . . Say Peter.
Laura: Peder. . . .
Me: Why don't you come downstairs. . . .
Laura: Uh. . .okay.
Laura: (after briefing) I'VE BEEN SAYING MY NAME WRONG!?!?!?!?! And Peter's?
My mother: I think you learned it from Emma.
Me: But what about Peter?
My mother: You were at school, not teaching him.
Me: Bah.

People. This will take practice. (And we have to correct all of our friends, whom we taught to say their names wrong.)