Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes

My Name is Jenny

April 8th, 2016
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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Nap Time Part Two: Stream of Consciousness

April 7th, 2016
It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve written. With an erratic nap schedule, erratic moods, erratic everything, erratic everything, I’ve given myself permission to lay off the S.O.P. and go with the flow of energy, absorbing the mind fatigue like a sponge in milk. Like the sponge I use daily to wipe up all the dirt and grime spread evenly through our house and car like green grass on the spring hills. My insides feeling pressure and pain as I battle like a trooper searching for relaxation, light, time, and a clearing of the fog of drama that has entered my delicate soul. True inconsistences between me and other parts of my world, the big beautiful cluster fuck of reality. But I sit here now within the fire, the burning of my bra, they did it for a reason you know, not just to protest for women’s freedom, but also because bras wrap tight around the ribs, digging in, leaving a red mark, insulating toxins, growing cancer, they knew it was just an extension of the Chasity belt. I’m not playing their games anymore, the games of patriarchy. That is what this comes down to for me, that erratic unease, unrest, dis-satisfaction with the system, with reality. My fight goes way beyond student loan reimbursements, I mean am I gonna get a refund for working full time, putting myself through college, will I get a refund of the money I used from my savings account that I paid for graduate school with? Fuck a phone call buzzing on my stupid IPhone, now my conversation is broken, now I have to check my message. What I’m proposing is a respect for myself. For my practice. I cannot be on-call. I propose a total respect for women. I want all the judgements about people based on their appearances, their dress, to go away. I want people to get off the fucken band wagon and think for themselves, I want the ugliness to go away. I want women to finally be viewed and treated as human, not sex objects, I want women to be able to walk around braless anytime anywhere without it meaning anything, it’s not slutty or dykey, or trashy. It’s our body. The only reason that our bodies are looked at in this way is because of advertisement, brainwashing, Barbie’s, look at what the world has done to women. We’ve been used and now we are paying for it. The bra has to go. Only wear during exercise when you don’t want jumping squirrels in your tops. It’s bullshit.
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Language, politics, motherhood

April 2nd, 2016
Fiona is learning three languages at once, “see sign”, ASL, and English, so is Jack but “spoken English” comes naturally to Jack because he can hear. Fiona on the other hand has to pay attention to every word spoken or signed. And that’s just learning the word, not the context, she has to pay attention long enough and watch the person talking long enough to get enough of the word meanings, then she has to remember it all, because when she’s in the other room or her back is facing me she doesn’t understand or hear what I’m saying. She may hear a noise, but not words and phrases. Jack on the other hand can hear if I say the word “cookie” and he’s in the living room watching cartoons. I think this is why Fiona always wants to be close to me or Lindsay, or any adult around.

I am learning “see sign” and ASL, I’ve been taking lessons in “see sign” at Early Start and ASL with Lindsay. It’s alot and sometimes my brain shuts down and I can’t remember my signs. My goal is to be fluent by fall, Fiona will be three next year and it’s always been very important to me that she grows up with a strong foundation in ASL. I’d like the whole family to be fluent, but Alan hasn’t jumped on board.

It’s been challenging to stay calm, in the moment, remember my sign language, And take care of Jack and Fiona at the same time, because they are two years old and there’s two of them! They Need discipline, because they are getting up to some CRAZY things lately, they are also learning the art of mommy manipulation! “My leg” limp, limp! “Oh my gosh Jack, are you ok? Does it hurt really bad?” “No” he says. Not cool Jack, not cool!

I haven’t had much time to write or paint in the past couple of weeks. But I painted these two yesterday in response to Donald Trump and all the other Republicans talking about womens rights and freedoms.

I think everyone should just plaster pictures of vaginas everywhere. They are so scared of vaginas. I say DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY!! ( I’m OK with Bernie being president though because he understands that vaginas and uteruses are a womans responsibility, thanks Bernie!)

I still love Hilary too and think she rocks! I listened to the interview with her and Rachel Maddow and was once again relieved to hear SOMEONE talking about important things and The REALITY of the current situation in the WORLD. She sounds smart and amazing in my opinion. I started watching Bernies interview too but need to finish. He just seems like a really nice guy.

It’s Saturday morning, babies awake now! We’re headed to Oakland to check out the Terry Hoff show at Fourth Wall Gallery.
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My Name is Jenny

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Nap Time Part Two: Stream of Consciousness

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Language, politics, motherhood

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