A Jen Too Many

"Beyond the wall, the waves picked up light, rolled it into scrolls and unrolled it again, like a spell in some forgotten language across the sand."

You might have already seen this, but I thought I'd share it anyway. How fun!

The context: The Best Daddy Ever had been gone for a week. Youngest Girl Child cried every day on my shoulder about how much she missed her Daddy. His daily phone calls were momentous occasions and the Ceremony of Crossing Off the Remaining Days was an event not to be missed, lest there be floods of tears and storms of weeping.

Daddy: (walks in the door, home at last)

YGC: (racing up and throwing her arms around his knees) Daddy! (backs up a few steps to be able to look into his face) What did you bring me?

Emanuel Lupkin, the cute little guy in this newspaper clipping, grew up and had a band. He's the guy standing up on the left. We don't know what the name of the band was, or what kind of music it played (my husband says, "1920s kind of music.") We do know that they did a certain amount of traveling, and that Emanuel played the violin. That seems to be an L and a B on the front of the music stands (? Podiums?)

I have hopes of someday finding an old newspaper article that will give us lots of information about them. We have another side of the family that was musically inclined, and we have information about them from just such a source. I'll post a photo of them next Friday.

To see other vintage photos check out Paper Dolls for Boys.

According to Youngest Girl Child, it is impossible for her to sleep, "...because it's too dark." This just scant hours after having told us that she was too tired to participate in Family Home Evening. She was too tired, she informed us, "...because I didn't get enough exercise today."

Recently YGC has taken to staying up until around 11 p.m, which means that at least one of her parents also gets to stay up, as a deterrent to naughtiness and dangerous behavior. (If you have children you have no need to ask, "What dangerous behavior?" If you are unfamiliar with this miniature form of the human species, allow me merely to point out - 1) Complete mobility, 2) No experience to speak of, 3) Judgment that measures somewhere in the negative numbers, 4) A degree of impulsiveness that makes a butterfly look like a tortoise.)

The Love of My Life and Father of My Children has just gone to bed after informing me that, "I'd have had children just for the comedy value." He has been dealing with YGC's excuses ever since her bedtime, while I cravenly escaped to our room, where I spent the evening leisurely reclining upon the pillows, reading science fiction and enjoying myself hugely.

It is 10:30 p.m. Do you know where your children are? Mine is lurking in her bedroom doorway, trying to find a way to convince me to let her come out and watch TV.

My old template broke. I couldn't figure out how to fix it. There was no reason for it to be broken and nothing I tried produced any magical improvements. So, I've given up. I'm going to be working on something prettier and better, but for right now, this will have to do.

Because it's always good when people can actually see the words you've put down on the computer screen.

I ran across this video and the article explaining the story behind it while I was news surfing. Very funny and well-done. As The Boy Child said when he saw it, "Don't mess with talented people."

This group is called Sons of Maxwell.

Alonzo Bryson, Jul 23, 1840 - Feb 29, 1920, and his wife, Valeria Wright Bryson, May 21, 1839 - ????. I found the pictures at the Upper Mississippi Valley Digital Image Archive when I was idly Googling for Alonzo Bryson one day.

I was hoping to find information on a different Alonzo, the father of Dow Gilbert, but didn't mind getting distracted with this photo of his identically named cousin.

Here's the thing that makes my head hurt, though:

Isaac Bryson (b 1771) married Jane Carr (b 1775). They had 16 children (that we know about.) One of their sons was named after his father. Isaac, Jr. (b 1816) grew up and married a girl named ... (wait for it) ... Jane Kerr (b 1817).*

You can imagine that with 16 children (that we know about) Isaac-n-Jane the First had an absolute ton of descendents. The family was very fond of certain names, which means that I have to wade through dozens of Alonzos, Isaacs, Isabelles, James, Charles's, Pearls, Margarets, Janes, Johns, Williams, Priscillas, and Valerias, trying to track down which is who. They're not as bad as the Kanatzers, however (another family line), who were absolutely obsessive about the name Elizabeth (oops - have I complained about that before on here?)

To see other vintage photos check out Paper Dolls for Boys.
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*It reminds me of a family I knew, three brothers and a sister. Two of the brothers married girls named Emily**. Their sister's name was also Emily. Now there's a family that's going to give some poor future genealogist a nervous breakdown!

**The name has been changed, although I would guess if any of them read this they'll recognize themselves.

More financial disaster. Now we need a new transmission for the car I drive. $1,750 for a used transmission (which does not include the cost of labor), or $2,550 for a new transmission, good for 100,000 miles (and the price includes labor).

Except that my car has (last I checked) 88,000 miles on it. Since I don't use it for much - just to the grocery store, doctor appointments, driving kids here and there, much of a muchness - the mileage doesn't matter. If it will last just another couple of years (where have I heard that before?) we'll be better able to afford a replacement. So I need to check on the cost of labor for the used transmission and if it's more than, say, four or five hundred dollars less than the new transmission, we'll get the used transmission. And put a whole heck of a lot of money on our credit card again.

Yep. Two steps forward, two steps back. Shall we dance?

The context: It had been a long day and she was tired.

Oldest Girl Child: (sobbing)

Mommy: Honey, what's wrong?

OGC: I don't want my hair to change!

Mommy: What?

OGC: When I get old! My hair will lose its color! (increased sobbing)

Mommy: (goes into a long and rather frantic explanation of hair coloring techniques, the beauties of graying hair, and a rather sheepish explanation that it's simple vanity that has me coloring my gray)

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The context: None. This came out of the clear blue sky for no reason that I can discern whatsoever.

Youngest Girl Child: (cheerfully bouncing on the bed) I'm never going to move out! When I grow up I'm going to live with you, Mommy, until I'm dead! Dead, dead, dead!

Mommy: (thinking that she's going to get a nasty shock on her 18th birthday if she doesn't grow out of this idea pretty quickly)

I made a quick run with the girls to the grocery store last Saturday. They were wildly excited about the holiday and, before we'd gotten past the bakery section, were dashing wildly about playing some sort of running and shrieking game. They were admonished once as we passed the deli, twice in the produce, and again when we went down the salad dressing and condiments aisle.

In the soup aisle, I'd finally had enough. I stopped, called them to me (this took a few repetitions) and calmly pointed out that, although the prospect of fireworks was very exciting, there were a few truths that they were not recalling:

1) Treats and toys must be earned; possession of them is dependent upon good behavior.
2) Bad behavior will lose them treats and toys.
3) The treats and toys (snakes and snappers from the fireworks stand) that were promised to them following the grocery store visit were in serious jeopardy of being taken away.
4) It was in their best interests to calm down, stay near me, and play some game that was much quieter.

Halfway through my list, a shopper near us chuckled. As I finished I looked toward her and saw a white-haired woman watching us with a wide grin. She gave me a thumbs up and continued down the aisle, still chuckling to herself.

I was left feeling relieved I'd kept my temper and hadn't threatened anyone.* It's so much nicer, after all, when perfect strangers think you're a good mother.
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*I ran into an acquaintance at the store a few days before this, when I was doing our weekly shopping. She congratulated me on how well the girls were behaving. I confessed that she was only observing a momentary aberration and that the whining and fighting were driving me batty. She admitted in turn that she had been thinking of beating her four and then running over them with a truck. Ah, motherhood. It brings such joy. Such contentment. Such thoughts of violence.

Yesterday was Friday, wasn't it? And I spent all day yesterday thinking it was Thursday. But no, it has to have been Friday, because today is Saturday. Which means tomorrow is Sunday, and I haven't even looked at my Primary lesson.

So, no Vintage Photo Friday yesterday, sorry.

Happy 4th of July, everyone! I plan to spend the day letting my children play with dangerous explosives. (Just kidding, darling!)

One of our neighbors goes all out every year with the fireworks. Our little neighborhood has a display almost as good as the city's, thanks to him. So, later tonight, we'll camp out on our lawn with a blanket, admire the fireflies, play with sparklers, set off our own small collection of fountains, and feel smug about not having to fight the crowds at Memorial Park* to see a great fireworks display.
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*Is there a city in the country that does not have a Memorial Park?

Lately, every time I run into an acquaintance I haven't seen for awhile, the same question comes up.

"So, what are you going to do come fall?"

At first I danced around the topic, distracting my questioners by talking about refocusing on my writing career again. I felt like I had to justify my existence, now that my full-time stay at home mom gig was dropping down to nights and weekends. I worried people would think I'd be spending my days lazing around, spending all those school hours watching TV, playing on the internet, and getting fat.*

I've been thinking about it though. As of the beginning of this next school year, I will have spent close to a decade of full-time parenting. That's nearly 10 years of acute sleep deprivation. Nearly 10 years where the longest time I have spent away from the kids was one 24 hour getaway with my husband. Nearly 10 years of being constantly on call.

I have spent whole nights cleaning up after vomiting people, washing load after load of laundry. I have changed more diapers, disposed of more pull-ups, changed more wet sheets than I care to think about. I have talked, talked, talked at my two little ones (I try to make it "with" but it usually ends up being "at"), made them role-play, stood them in corners, and given them time-outs, all in the name of teaching them to get along and play nicely with others, "starting with your sister, kid!"

I have dealt with far too many emergency room visits, involving everything from gushing founts of blood to mysterious tummy pains that had the girl in question writhing in agony.

Mostly, though, it's about being on call 24 hours a day. Let me repeat that:

24 / 7 = Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week = Every second, of every minute, of every day.

All in the service of miniature humans who insist they cannot bear to be separated from their mother for more than a few minutes at a time.

I am tired. And I think I deserve a break.

So here's my official answer to the question of what I will be doing this next fall:

I am going to take a few months and spend them on myself. I am going to finally get to join a fitness club and spend quality time exercising my sweat glands, without having to jump off the machine every few minutes exclaiming, "No! We do not write on our sister with permanent marker!"

I am going to enjoy the novelty of having a house that stays clean for more than 5 minutes at a time. I am going to go shopping by myself. I am going to be the only person in my fitting room when I try on clothes.

I am going to nap.

I am going to play the non-child-appropriate music that I haven't listened to in years, and I'm going to listen to it at a volume that would hurt their tender little ears. In the middle of the day, I will watch whatever TV show I want to watch. Dora and Diego will not be welcome. I will sort toys while I watch PG-13 DVDs, and throw out any toys I deem appropriate, no negotiation required.

I will play loud music in my car whenever I am driving somewhere, and I will sing along with my favorite lines. When I don't know the words I will sing anyway. When I buy birthday or Christmas presents I will bring the presents home openly, not hiding them under bagsful of groceries in the back of the van.

I will rediscover who Jennifer is when no children are around. And when I have done that, then I can go back to writing and being an otherwise productive member of society. But not until then.
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*As if I need to have the kids in school to do all that!