My Name is Jenny

I hate weed blowers. It’s 2:00PM Friday afternoon. The house is so quiet and peaceful; I keep saying to myself “PLEASE WEEDBLOWER GUY FINISH FAST!” The babies are down for their nap, I have hummus and chips and a glass of chardonnay sitting on the table beside me. Oh Finally, the weed blower stopped. Quiet again. Beautifully quiet. Ecstatically quiet. Paralyzing quiet. The icing on the cake is the kitchens clean, the toys are picked up, the carpets vacuumed, I even gave Billy a bath and organized the babies book baskets. Some of these things were possible because Linda did a home visit today! She knows how to keep the babies from destroying all my hard work! She knows how to “Manage” them, which is invaluable information for me. Jack and Fiona respect Linda. I practiced “Three Little Monkeys” In sign language with Linda (we do three monkeys instead of five I think to shorten it) Jack and Fiona’s eyes were glued to us, which was interesting because I’ve been practicing and they don’t watch me like that. Maybe because I’m always practicing my sign language, they are probably bored of me fumbling around with my hands, checking my notes.

 Earlier, as I sat on the couch I thought to myself, “This is really happening.” I was looking at the clear Tupperware box full of colorful blocks on the fire place mantle. I’m now a person with plastic toys and mickey mouse diapers and organic juice boxes and a white minivan. I’m a mom. When I tell the babies “my name is Jenny, but I’m your mommy” I love how they say “Jenny.”  Alan was around one time when Jack called “Jenny” and Alan said, “No, that’s mommy” I said “It’s OK, I told them my name was Jenny but I’m their Mommy and they can call me Jenny and Mommy” Alan didn’t like that, he said they should only call me Mommy. I think it bugs him when kids call their parents by their first names. I feel it is important they know my name is Jenny and that I’m a painter and a writer and a feminist. It’s my identity, and since our whole lives are based on building and maintaining our identity I feel it’s appropriate. They know their names are Jack and Fiona and are learning who they are. Sometimes I forget they’re only two years old, I feel I know them, I feel they know so much. Then I catch myself and say to myself, “They don’t understand a thing you just said.” Then I go back to rolling the play dough out in a flat piece or making a ball. I showed them a comedy clip of Trump and Sanders impersonators, it was so funny, I was laughing so hard, I told the babies those guys are impersonating two guys that are running for president. I told them Trump was a bad guy. I know they didn’t understand it. Linda said it’s good that I explain everything to them though.

The babies will be waking up soon. I feel like taking a bath now but I don’t know if I have time. I also need to make snack and think about dinner. I wish there was more time left to chill. More quiet time. It sounds so good right now. So good.

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About Dirty Laundry Blog

Thoughts on Motherhood Through the Eyes of an Artist