A Jen Too Many

There is a pink hobby horse leaning against the wall in a corner of my bedroom. It is right next to the the jewelry armoire that my husband gave me for Christmas early in our marriage. I had mentioned that I would like a jewelry box, and I showed him some pretty ones at Walmart. He decided that bigger was better, so got me a full fledged armoire.

In front of the armoire, impeding my access, is a box of old photographs that I am slowly (very slowly) scanning. It's taking a while because I am saving them in two formats - extremely large and detailed TIFF files that I burn onto DVDs and much more convenient JPEG files that I keep on the computer for easy access. It takes forever, especially since I have to type in all our known information about each photo. I got stalled when our DVD burner died; we have a new one now, but I've been putting off getting back to it. The days just go by so fast and I'm always left at the end of the day with a list of things I meant to do.

One of the photos is of my mother-in-law when she was a little girl. My husband pointed out the other day that it could almost be a picture of Youngest Girl Child. YGC has the dimples, hair and eyes of the oldest of my two brothers, but the shapes of her face and eyes are just like her grandmother's.

Oldest Girl Child just got her hair cut in a bob. She's been growing it out for quite a while, but when YGC went in a few weeks ago to get all her long hair cut off*, she got so much attention that OGC got jealous and decided she wanted to do the same. It took my breath away when I saw her, and even two weeks later I am amazed at the resemblance to Cannwin. There'll be times when she'll move a certain way, or I'll see her at a certain angle, and it takes me right back to Cannwin's childhood. (Of course, her father looks at OGC and sees his family in her features!)

The Boy Child has always been a little double of his father. He's grown up taller than his dad (the height comes from his mother's side) but the resemblance is still strong. Even in personality they are very much alike.

I've been thinking about the similarities and differences between the siblings in my family lately. All of us are artistic. Of the five of us, four are writers, one is a photographer. We have two blondes, two brunettes, and one of us (me) who inherited our father's red hair.** Three of us take after the skinny side of the family and two us take after the, umm, sturdy side. We are all very tall, with one brother well over six feet. He's the only person I know who makes me feel short. We all have green eyes, although my blonde brother's eyes tend to change from green to blue depending on the light. He is also the only one with dimples, which I thought was very unfair when I was young.

We tend to be hyperactive and impulsive. We are all romantics. We tend to be very private. We all have a very strong work ethic, but all of us have taken / are taking a while to figure out where we want to be and what we want out of life. One of my brothers told me that he thinks, for our family, our thirties are everyone else's twenties. It takes us that long to find ourselves. I think he's right.

Unfortunately, while I might be emotionally and experientially in my thirties, my body knows darn well it's 10 years older. When I had my 40th birthday, everything started falling apart. I had to get reading glasses, my hair started going gray in large chunks, and losing weight got much harder. And that was just the obvious changes. I swear I'm creakier than I used to be.

Which is probably why I haven't gotten the pink hobby horse out of my room yet. Yeah ... that's why.
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*She'd been begging for awhile to get it cut. I've been putting it off because she was just so cute with the long hair. She has a very sensitive scalp, however, and was just miserable with the work involved in taking care of her hair, so I gave in and took her to get it bobbed. She loves it, although she is annoyed that she still does get the occasional snarl.

**Not that you would know that to look at me now. My gorgeous Titian hair gradually darkened over the years until I am now mostly a brunette with strong red highlights. The darkening is part of the package with the red hair. I color it red on a regular basis, which doesn't restore my former glory, but does appease my vanity!

When my sister Cannwin was about 13, she went through a stage where every word that came out of her mouth was laden with a kind of crooning, suggestive, accusation. Every action anyone around her took was immediately interpreted in the light of her newly found obsession with boys, and we were charged with romance every time we turned around.

I remember one event in particular. She was at my apartment, and the phone rang. "Ooooh!" she immediately said. "Jennifer got a ca-hall."

I wanted to throttle her.*

Youngest Girl Child seems to be following in her aunt's shoes, only in a wildly precocious manner since she's still in preschool. I got flowers a while back for our wedding anniversary - beautiful red roses that caught me completely off guard, which surprise made the gift all the more delightful.

The girls were fascinated as I unwrapped the flowers, trimmed the stems, and carefully arranged them in the red vase that had accompanied them.

"Mo-ommy," YGC said, in a tone that threw me right back to that long ago phone call. "I think Daddy lo-hoves you."

And you know what? Such is the power of a suggestive tone, that I actually had a quick impulse toward embarrassment. Then I caught myself, grinned, and said, "Yes, dear, I think he does."

"Are you in looove with him?" she asked, in the same tone.

"Yes, dear, I am."

"Are you going to ki-yiss him?"

I started laughing at that point, and assured her that I was most definitely going to kiss him.

And when he got home, I did.
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*I probably would have been less annoyed with her if it actually had been a romantic interest, but it was only my mother. I would have killed for a boyfriend at that point in my life.

The mother up the street seems to think I am unnecessarily harsh with my children.

A week ago, it snowed. Our first serious snowfall of the winter, only one inch, but still deep enough to sled in, throw snowballs with, and make snowmen. School was cancelled. The girls raced to drag out their snowsuits and headed for the garage where their sleds have been stored since last winter.

Within minutes they were back inside. The new girl (E.) down the street was out, sledding in her yard, which has a much better slope than our yard. Could they, please, please, go play with her?

"Sure!" I told them. "Have fun!" I reminded them of the rules when they are playing at someone else's house and waved them off, thrilled at a chance to have an empty house. A quiet, house. An empty, quiet, peaceful house.

It was heavenly. I cleaned a bit, read a bit, enjoyed the silence a whole lot. And then I started to wonder where my children were. Hadn't they been outside rather awhile?

I ducked outside and looked up the street. Yep, there they were, little red sleds vivid against the snow as they whooped their way down the hill. I went back to enjoying the quiet.

A while later I checked again. Not in sight, this time. I told myself to stop worrying. They're fine, I told myself. Probably just playing in the backyard. Not kidnapped. Not running off across the subdivision to find a busy road to play in. Do not walk up there, Jennifer. Allow them some independence. They're safe. Stop hyperventilating.

I went back in the house and tried to concentrate on the silence again, but worry kept me on edge until I was able to see them in the front yard again, sledding away. I went back to enjoying the empty house.

I repeated this cycle another two or three times, then decided it was time for them to come home for hot chocolate and lunch. I knew if they stayed up there, E.'s mother would feel obliged to feed them and I didn't want that to happen. So, after calling them a few times with no sign that they heard me, I put on my boots and coat and walked up the street.

It wasn't them. As I got closer, I realized that the kids on the sleds weren't my little girls. They were some little boys, playing with E.'s brother.

I didn't panic. Not for more than a second or two. It was easy, after all, to figure out what was up. They'd gone inside, without permission.* I wondered if they'd spent much time outside at all, or if it had been the little boys I'd seen every time I saw the red sleds going down the hill. I started to debate appropriate natural consequences.

I asked E.'s brother to let the girls know it was time to go home (I didn't want to walk up the steep, icy driveway,) then waited. After awhile I realized they weren't coming out any time soon, so I dared the ice. As soon as I was in the door I realized something was very wrong.

My children were taking so long because they were changing clothes.

Have they been playing dress-up? But, wait, those aren't their clothes... Why are my children wearing strange clothes?

E.'s mother came into the front hall from the back of the house, carrying a grocery bag, as the girls started to stumble through excuses.It took me a few minutes and several repetitions from both girls, as well as input from E.'s mom, but I finally figured out what had happened.

I don't allow play makeup or nail polish. I just think they're too young. There's time enough for that later. Right now is the time to be little, without the pressure to be attractive. it bothers me to see a small child dressed and made up like someone 10 or 20 years older. People who still measure their age in single digits just don't need to try to look sexy.

But that's my opinion. Other parents don't see things the same way I do. E.'s parents don't see things the way I do. The first time the girls played over there they came home wearing makeup and nail polish. We had a talk, I explained that in our family that wasn't allowed, and I kept an eye on things after that to avoid having a repeat of the incident.

This day, they'd been playing with nail polish again. Although, as it came out later, it wasn't the first time. In fact, Oldest Girl Child admitted that they'd been putting on nail polish every time they went there. They'd been careful to remove it before they came home, however, so that I wouldn't realize they were breaking our rules.

This time, things didn't go well. They'd spilled a bottle of bright red nail polish. OGC's shirt was ruined. Youngest Girl Child's pants and shirt were likewise ruined, only more so as she had evidently been the one to spill the nail polish. E.'s mother had tried to wash the nail polish out, with as little success as you might imagine.

I explained to the girls that they were in trouble. E.'s mother tried to apologize and take the blame. I told her it was OK. The girls (and here I realized I'd forgotten to breathe and had to stop to take a deep, rather shuddery, breath) knew they were doing something wrong. E.'s mother apologized again, and said she hadn't realized they weren't allowed to play with nail polish. I replied, giving them a stern look, that they knew.

OGC just stood there, head down, face completely hidden in her hair. When she looked up, I could see tears streaming down her face. It would have been more comforting if I hadn't found out later about the long-term scheming to deceive Mommy. We went home in the borrowed clothes, ruined clothes in the bag, tears freezing to little cheeks as we walked.

There were more tears over the ruined clothes (both of them had been wearing their favorite shirts) and OGC ran into her bedroom, from whence issued wails and sobs. YGC didn't seem to realize the seriousness of her circumstances and was soon explaining to me, quite cheerfully, why it was OK for them to use nail polish and go inside when they had been forbidden to do both and how it was all OGC's fault anyway because she was just doing what her sister was doing.

I called my sister and talked until I got my equilibrium back. More than anything else, I was upset and horrified by the fact that they had deliberately and systematically deceived me. I didn't care whose idea it was. It was bad enough that they had thought it was an acceptable solution. It broke my heart to have my sweet little people lie in such a calculated manner.

In the end their father and I decided the most important issue was the lying. The nail polish had been its own punishment in the loss of the favorite shirts. The betrayed trust, however, needed an emphatic statement. So we sat them down, OGC still silently weeping (over getting caught, in her father's opinion, not guilt over her crime,) and YGC still quite cheerful.

We talked about trust and the consequences of losing trust. We talked about doing the right thing, even if the person next to you is doing the wrong thing, even if that person is your sister. And then we told them that we couldn't trust them anymore. Because of that, they weren't allowed to go into anyone's house until we felt like we could trust them again. We didn't know how long it would take to trust them again. Probably months.

They accepted this. I think they were so relieved not to get into immediate trouble that they didn't realize the long term effects of this. They haven't asked to play in anyone's house yet, but I meant it when I said it would be months. In fact, OGC wants to have a playdate with her best friend from school, and she's getting a no - because it would involve going inside the friend's house.

We washed the borrowed clothes and took them back after school this last Tuesday. The girls handed them to E.'s mother, and them apologized for the trouble they caused her. E.'s mother looked at me like I was a monster, which bothered me and made me wonder if I was doing the right thing.

After thinking it through, though, I've decided I did. I've been through raising one teen already, and I know how trust gets strained between parent and child during those years. If I can't trust them going in, if I let them think they can get away with deceiving me like this now, then we're in deep trouble when they're older. There'll be enough trouble with lying later on. Let's not get started early on this.
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*One of the rules about playing at someone else's house is that you may not go play inside without letting Mommy know and getting permission first. There are very few houses where they have permission to play inside. This was one of those places, but they didn't have permission for that day. I wanted them to play outside because I wanted them thoroughly worn out by the end of the day so they'd go to sleep quickly.**

**An especially longed-for result with YGC, since she is a complete night-owl and getting her to fall asleep before 10 o'clock at night is quite the adventure.

Oldest Girl Child informs me that The Little Girl Across The Street wishes she was in possession of the Daddy that we have over here.

While it is a nice, smug feeling to know that you have what everyone else wishes they had, it was a little startling to hear, since as far as I know TLGATS has had very little interaction with the father of my children. In fact, I can't think of any interaction they've had beyond him opening the door to her a few times when she has come to ask if the girls can play.

Of course, as soon as I pressed OGC for further details of the conversation she turned skittish. In my surprise, I had failed to maintain the requisite air of casual disinterest that works best to pry information out of my children. I looked away from her and paid attention instead to the dishes I was washing, hoping my indifference might lure her out.

It took some work, but I eventually got enough bits and pieces to put the puzzle together - or at least enough to get an idea of the picture. Which is not (as was my first reaction) an indictment of TLGATS' father, or even a commendation of the shining qualities of the Daddy Over Here.

It turns out we have two children who are highly skilled braggarts.

Not that This Daddy isn't just chock full of sterling qualities. The kids and I are all equally convinced he is the Best Thing Going. That's how this all got started, in fact. They were explaining to TLGATS just how hysterically funny their father is. He teases them all the time, plays silly games of pretend at the dinner table, and is amenable to tickling little girls if asked nicely.*

Evidently TLGATS father is not so humorously inclined. From what I've seen of him, he seems to be a very nice guy, responsible, careful for his daughter's well-being, and doing everything he can to make a good life for her. Just not inclined to rampaging silliness, evidently.

I predict there will be a switch in perspective in a few years. Silliness might seem highly desirable when your age is measured in single digits, but I think TLGATS won't be quite so envious during their teen years when OGC and Youngest Girl Child will have to endure their father telling their dates long stories about all the deadly skills he learned in his military years, while pointedly disassembling and cleaning a gun.

On the other hand, I expect to find the reactions of the young men involved quite hilarious.
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*I asked YGC what she liked best about her father. She smiled and said, "Just him," then went back to dancing around the living room in a pink lace dress up outfit.

Small feverish person alert. Right on schedule.

After all, it's been a whole week since anyone was feeling ill at our house.

Oldest Girl Child came home from school yesterday complaining that she "didn't have a very good day." Her head had been hurting her, she told me, and demonstrated how she'd held hand to her forehead most of the day. Nor, it came out, had she been the only one with a headache at school that day. At least three of her friends had been suffering from the same thing. And, she informed me, that final authority, her teacher, said something "had been going around the school."

"Am I sick, Mommy?" she inquired, looking at me, tragedy in the downward curve of her mouth, the wide-open eyes pleading for a promise that everything would be all right.

I couldn't promise more than a, "We'll see." She had that look, that slightly red-eyed, sagging eyelids, I-could-fall-asleep-in-seconds look. Her head still hurt. She was vaguely warmish, and as the evening went on she began to complain about being cold. Wrapping her up in a blanket didn't make her feel warmer. Her throat started to hurt. She didn't really want dinner. When I took her temperature it was only 99.1, but I figured that was just because the fever hadn't really gotten a foothold yet.

Of course, there was much weeping, especially while I was taking her temperature. She knew that if she had a fever her fate was sealed and she would have to stay home today. She wanted to go to school and see Maree, her best friend.* We had a talk about how friends don't make friends sick, and she miserably accepted that she might have to stay home.

So, here we are. She is currently residing on the couch, wrapped in a comforter, still with a sore throat, running a slight temperature, looking like a college student who's learned the hard way that staying up 96 hours straight is not such a hot idea. She's very proud of herself, because I let her think that it was her decision to stay home that kept her here. She earnestly confided that it was very hard, but she didn't want to make Maree sick.

Bless her dear little heart.
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*They have proof they are best friends. Maree gave OGC a necklace for Christmas that says "Friends". Maree has the matching necklace that says "Best". Or at least she had the matching necklace. It broke and now the charm that said "Best" has disappeared. OGC is faithful, however, and wears her necklace every day in spite of this great tragedy.

A few months ago someone I know was raving about the Slanket and sent a bunch of us a link to the product website. My husband had something rather like this when we got married, only it snapped to make sleeves / unsnapped to be used as a blanket. It had this really nasty lining on the inside, though, that made it very unpleasant to wear, so he refused to touch it. Warm, however, definitely warm, which made it a favorite of mine in spite of the lining.

Since the Slanket is little expensive, I thought it might be a good idea to make something like that for everyone for Christmas. After all, I usually spend all winter with blankets strewn around the house, driving me nuts. Last year I made a couple of quillows but I got tired of refolding them all the time, and this year I don't know where they are.* Individual, this-is-your-responsibility blanket substitutes seemed like a good idea.**

I thought it would be pretty simple to make them, but I couldn't find instructions anywhere! I couldn't even find a commercial pattern. I tried to put it together with what I remembered of our old blanket, but the blankets I'd already gotten weren't quite the right size for that.

What I wound up doing was using two blankets (50"x60"), stitching the short sides together. I left 14" open in the center for the head, and stitched up the rest of the top, leaving the sides and bottom open. Basically a really big, full-length poncho with a somewhat cowl-y neckline. Technically they're sleeveless, but the blankets I used were wide enough to make it feel like you're wearing half or three-quarter length sleeves (depending on the length of your arms.)

It works beautifully - we are all very nice and cozy wearing them. Except that we all tend to keep wearing them when we get up and walk around the house. Since they are rather long (the better to keep your feet warm, my dear!) they tend to sweep along behind us like imitation trains*** and trip us up in front if we don't pick them up and hold them out of the way. Not safe for stairs!

I took a different tack for the girls' wearable blankets. I used one blanket, cut in half, so that I wound up with two pieces of fabric, 30"x50". (Since the fabric was something similar to fleece I didn't have to bother with binding or hemming anything.) Again, I stitched the short ends together, leaving space in the middle for their heads to go through. I measured both girls and cut off the bottom of the blankets at an appropriate length (36" for one and 40" for the other, measured from the nape of the neck to the top of the heel.) With the fabric I cut off the bottom I had enough to make both girls a sash for their blankets, which has made for much happiness.****

Very simple and basic, but like I said, nothing that I was able to find online, or anywhere else for that matter. You'd think that someone at Simplicity or McCall's would have had the brilliant idea that there might be some of us out there who would be interested in making a Slanket / Snuggie / blanket robe / whatever, but no. Pppbbbttthhh to them!
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*Probably in someone's room. Probably The Boy Child's. His room tends to be where everything goes to die.

**Seems like a good idea. In the weeks since Christmas they haven't been strewn around so much, but we'll see what happens when the new-and-fun wears off.

***On the other hand, my floors are cleaner than ever!

**** Granted, this is not necessarily because they have sashes. No, this would be because they now have new "snakes" which have joined their jump ropes, belts, and hair ribbons in being trailed around the house and made to hiss at people. When they are not being pressed into service as leashes for stuffed animals. Or ropes to tie various things up for mysterious reasons.

IF we have enough blankets for everyone:

AND I just made blanket robes for TV watching; and

IF I have too much stuff anyway, including fabric piled up in my basement;

BUT Walmart is selling deliciously soft and snuggly cuddle-up blankets for only $3 each;

AND those blankets are normally more like $8 each; and

IF it would cost more than that to buy a comparable fabric;

THEN I would be totally justified in going and buying oh, let's say several of those blankets and stashing them in the basement with the rest of my fabric.

Right?

Right?

These are the same blankets I bought on sale for $6 each to make my blanket robes. They are 50 x 60 and so, so, very soft and yummy. And pretty colors that would work for any time of the year, not just Christmas. Although the Christmas plaid is pretty enticing. And I'm sure they'll be nice for making traditional robes, and new blanket wraps when these wear out.

So I kind of have to go buy them, right? Because it's a ... it's umm ... ummm ... a good use of our money! Yeah. Because the economy is going south and prices are going up and I might never be able to get these so cheaply again, and who knows when we'll need lots of blankets because our power has gone out and we are huddled together for warmth in the living room while a blizzard rages outside, sucking the heat from our shivering bodies. And then won't we be glad when I retrieve several blankets from my basement stash!

Right?

Right?