I'll Have a Double Please!

"What the heck?  You want me to do what?"  I'm feeling a bit desperate but can't decide if I'm willing to go through with the options presented to me.  I hear castor oil is pretty nasty!  And putting something in where something is trying to come out....well that sounds uncomfortable  and not very appealing.

I think we should begin at the beginning though.  I'm thirty-five years old and the Scotsman and I have been married three years now.   Our sweet little Jillian, the Leo,  finally made her appearance in our lives two weeks late (ten hours of labor, two hours of pushing and a C-section) in 1987!  The year we were married.

Jillian had the distinct honor and good fortune of literally being the only child.  Not just because she was our first and obviously only child but she was the first child born into our extended family and group of friends for a very long time.  Jillian's cousins in my family were all in high school and beyond.  Gordon was an only child so there were no grandchildren in Scotland.  Our friends either had raised their children or had elected not to have children or just hadn't gotten around to it yet.  So Jillian was a lovely novelty.

YOU'VE GOT TO LOVE THAT 80'S HAIR!  BUT JILLIAN'S HAIR IS CUTE!

Jillie, as she quickly came to be called, had a huge, as Elton John would say, "Pirate Smile" and she showed it proudly to anyone who looked at her  This pretty much endeared her to everyone she met.  And she wasn't shy.  Being the Leo she was she soon positioned herself in the middle of everyone and everything demanding attention and entertaining anyone with a little time to watch.  She was an early riser and quickly put an end to lying in bed and watching reruns of I Love Lucy at 10:00a.m!  When she would wake I would go and get her and bring her to our bed to nurse hoping she would just quietly go back to sleep so Gordon and I could rest a little longer.  That rarely worked and soon Gordon and Jillie would have a pile of books and toys on the bed while I was downstairs preparing breakfast to bring up to us all. (To this day she still likes to get into bed with us in the morning and have her coffee and breakfast!)

GORDON AND JILLIAN AND "PINK PANTHER"

She was an easy baby and we took her everywhere.  She ate in the finest restaurants in San Francisco.  North Beach restauranteurs loved her and would place HUGE strawberries on her high chair tray.  And, of course, the pirate would smile at the bounty and her "captive" audience!

Jillian was easy on airplanes - children who nurse and have two parents in attendance are pretty easy to take care of.  At least she was.  She was so content looking at books and being read to.  We took her back east to meet her Grandparents and Aunts and Uncles and cousins.

JILLIAN WITH GREAT AUNT SIS ON HER FIRST VISIT TO VIRGINIA

She went to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina with us for a family beach vacation.  We took her down to Disneyland and Laguna Beach and we were always off on the weekend in the car going to the city or Monterey to the Aquarium or up to the wine country with friends for a picnic.  We went camping and hiking and swimming - all the normal things you do with children and she was always happy and content sleeping in the car, riding in a back-pack and playing quietly with books or toys or entertaining anyone who would watch.

When Jillie was about eight months old I was offered a non-commissioned job working for Callahan Property Company, a local commercial management and construction company.  I thought it would be a good opportunity to learn about sales and management of commercial property and expand my real estate knowledge.  I was hired by and worked directly for the President, Joe Callahan, in all aspects of new commercial development.  I loved my job and I could still use my broker's license, however, one the best things about the job was that I was salaried and had wonderful full family benefits.  A big plus in any family's financial column! I also received very generous annual bonuses.  Gordon had developed into an accomplished realtor working for commission only so this change in our lives was welcome.

Two years in to my new career Gordon announces that he thinks it would be nice to have another child.  Hmmmmmmm.  Things are going great!  We bought a new home just before Jillian's first birthday - a one-story house on a big lot in a wonderful neighborhood.  I've got a great job and Gordon's business is doing well.  We're able to set aside some money for retirement.  Two paid-for cars.  Taking nice vacations.  Why would we mess with this?

This request became a noise in my head; rolling around in my brain and waking me up at night.  It took about two months for him to convince me we could do this.  We would find a nice, loving Au pair or a good daycare situation.  Jillian was in daycare and preschool currently and it was working out well.  Okay, let's do it.

I was pregnant within two weeks!

When I was pregnant with Jillian Gordon went to every doctor appointment with me.  When the doctor first established a "date" for Jillian's birth he thought the fetus felt bigger than the date suggested and wanted to do an ultrasound just to find out if he was accurate.  Being new-be's at the pregnancy thing, we asked the doctor why he thought "IT" would feel bigger?  He said perhaps it was twins!  I don't know who was paler, Gordon or I.  We promptly informed the doctor that twins did not run in either of our families so it couldn't be that.  He replied...."they've gotta start somewhere"!  At the scheduled ultrasound procedure Gordon and I sat and watched the floating dot with the heartbeat of the alien inside me and the doctor confirmed the date.  We were relieved to know that it was just one baby.  Just one big baby.

When it was time for my first doctor appointment with my second pregnancy Gordon went with me and he and I sat through the initial exam and I swear, listened to the same analysis.  Here's the date for birth and your baby feels bigger than that date.  "I want to do an ultrasound".  Okey-dokey, let's set the date.

On the day of my ultrasound with the second baby, being an old hand at this child-birthing and rearing thing, Gordon decided that since he had an appointment that day he'd skip the ultrasound and see me later.  And I began to take-in the necessary fluids one must drink before having an ultrasound which is pretty much any fluid to fill your bladder to bursting and sit in a waiting room and hold it in!  Very uncomfortable.

When it was my turn I hopped on the table, felt the warm goo being spread on my abdomen and the pressure of the ultrasound paddle on my full-to-bursting bladder and within a few seconds I was staring at the floating dot with the heartbeat of the little being inside me.  But wait.....what is that?  "What is that?", I asked.  "That?  That is another baby", the doctor replied.  DOH!  Just then a nurse knocks on the door and tells the doctor that the call he's been waiting for all morning has finally come.  He begins to excuse himself from the room and I begin to laugh/cry hysterically!  He suggests to the nurse that she might want to stay with me!

When the doctor returned he said he wanted to finish the exam.  Are you kidding?  I'm done.  He suggests that we might want to see if there are any more babies in there.  Are you kidding?  I don't want to know.  All I can think of is my full-to-bursting bladder and how am I going to tell my husband before I strangle him!  After all, it's his fault.  After I regain my composure and before I leave the office the doctor handed me three black and white ultrasound photos.  One is labeled, Twin A, another is labeled, Twin B and the third is a beautiful photograph showing two floating dots labeled, Twin A and B!  Thank you so much.  I'll see ya soon!  I went home to find the Scotsman.

The Scotsman's not at home!  Now I need to go back to work but I'm standing in the house holding these three photos and this information in my head and I need to tell someone.  My husband is not at the office and at this point we do not have cell phones; my sister doesn't answer her phone; my best friend doesn't answer her phone.  I'm not going back to the office and tell my co-workers until my husband knows so I sit and wait laughing sporadically but freaking out mostly.  How are we going to do this?  How can we afford to put three kids in daycare?  How do we save for college and still maintain the lifestyle we've become accustomed to?  And the really burning question going through my mind - okay I know it's selfish - what the hell is going to happen to my body?  I'm no spring chicken.  Thirty-five is late to be pregnant and I'll be thirty-six when I deliver.  Crap, Gordon where are you?

In he walks.  So innocent.  He has no idea that his last few minutes of normalcy are about to disintegrate.  Everything he's known about our life together is going to change right now.  Life as we know it is over.  "How'd the ultrasound go?", he asks.  "Oh great", I say, "I have some pictures for you."  He doesn't notice the writing at the bottom as he's looking quickly at the first two uninteresting black and white dots.  At the third photo the recognition kicks in.  Remember when he went pale at my very first pre-natal appointment?  You should see him now.  I'm feeling a little satisfaction!  Guess what he did?  He called his Mum to let her know she was going to be the Grandmother of twins!  And he hugged and kissed me and reassured me that everything would be okay.  And we smiled and giggled.

THE INFAMOUS A & B PHOTO.  THE GIRLS ARE THE TWO SHADOWS IN THE UPPER LEFT BUBBLE.

My first pregnancy went smooth as silk.  No morning sickness, wore my regular clothes easily through the first trimester and into the second, glowing skin, fabulous hair, my many pair of high heels still fit, etc.  I was full of energy and stuffing my face full of watermelon!  Didn't have great luck with the birthing process as she was a c-section but the doctor assured me the twins would be small and I could probably have a vaginal birth.  I admit, a vaginal birth was something I had hoped to experience.

With the twins I was sick-as-a-dog and could sleep at the drop of a hat.  By the third week I was in maternity clothes.  My size six high heels were now eights and felt like vices gripping my feet.  And the minute I ate anything I felt full as there was no room for food in there.....just babies.  I had to pee constantly and one of them insisted on standing on my bladder.

If you were inside my body and facing forward imagine the babies standing up under your ribcage one left and the other on the right.  Not stacked one on top of the other front and back but side-by-side.  Like you're all walking along, you slightly behind, headed in the same direction.  Alison lay on the left and Natalie lay on the right.  Natty was the one standing on my bladder I later learned.  Because of the total consumption of space on the interior of my body I couldn't lay on my back.  The doctor wanted me to lay on my left side because there's apparently some artery or tube that feeds your kidney and the pressure from the babies would block said tube causing the organ to shut down.  I have first hand experience with this and now know to lay on my left side. 

I start pre-term labor at just over five months.  You know that wonderful job I love?  Bye bye.  Now I'm retired woman staying off my feet and monitoring my contractions twice a day with this strap that I have to wrap around my ever-expanding belly.  I have to lay there monitoring these contractions for a period of time and then with a special phone "call in" a report from the little recording instrument attached to the strap.  Then I speak to a nurse and she tells me how well I'm doing.  I want to tell her to go jump off a cliff.  And more than once I heave the strap with recording device across the room and smash it into the wall.  I'm also taking pills to help prevent pre-term labor.  I'm uncomfortable.  I'm constipated!  When I'm in public and people glance at me I say, "what the hell are you looking at?"!  AND I've got at least another three months to go!

Jillian has now decided that she doesn't want to go to pre-school anymore because she has a stay-at-home mommy.  A three year old can't understand these things;  Mommy's tired.  Mommy's swollen and can't fit in to any of her cute shoes.  Rings don't fit.  Mommy's husband hates her wardrobe.  Mommy doesn't feel like reading another book.  Mommy's pissed and Mommy wants the babies out!  Mommy has to pee again.  I decide I don't make a very good pregnant person and conspire to deliver early.

I begin to ask the doctor how soon babies can thrive outside of the womb.  He assures me I'd rather have them in.  I secretly hate him.  I am now going to the doctor on a weekly basis and am having steroid injections into my ass - first the left cheek, next week the right cheek.  It's refrigerated and is cold and has to be administered slowly.  "Which cheek this week Mrs. Corsie?"  Skinny bitch. 

Are you sensing a personality change?

Eventually I am now safely far enough along that I could conceivably deliver.  Thanks in part to the steroid injections, the babies would survive.  They are healthy and their lungs have developed enough to breath on their own.  I know this because the doctor has ordered up an amniocentesis.  For those of you unfamiliar, let me explain.  You fill your bladder with as much fluid as possible.  There's not a lot of room left for your bladder so this happens quickly.  You go to your doctors' office and lay on a table.  Warm goo will be spread on your abdomen and the ultrasound begins.  Then the doctor will appear with a needle that's about a foot long.  Attached to the needle is a tube about an inch in diameter and about eight inches long.  He will stick the needle through your abdomen and into the amniotic sac and extract a tiny amount of fluid from the sac.  Enter second needle and the process is repeated with the second baby.  All the while you get to stare at the tiny tv monitor and watch a needle going through your stomach headed for the precious cargo that have now consumed your life.  Oh, and hope you don't pass out or vomit.

Gordon's color is now a kind of grayish/green and I think he's wishing he had missed this appointment.  He is now being invited to wait in the waiting room so he doesn't pass out  or spew on the floor.  A nurse grabs him under his arm and escorts him out.  "What?......are you kidding me?"  Thanks for that buddy.  Way to support.  The new me secretly hates him too and wishes men had to have the babies!   But not really especially since the earth would be uninhabited.

So now I'm only three weeks away from the actual birth date and nothing has happened.  I've been off all drugs and monitoring for a couple of weeks.  The babies are now full grown and ready to go to college....at least it feels that way.  I consult my step-mother, Betty, on the best way to cause birth to happen right now.  I don't know why I think she's an expert but she's smart and I'm desperate.  "What the heck?  You want me to do what?"  She has advised me to have sex.  To put something in where something is trying to get out.  It's not appealing and I'm not feeling particularly "in the mood" but okay I'm willing to try.  I just have to convince my husband!  Also, according to her," a tablespoon of castor oil will do the trick."  It taste like sewer scum and has the consistency of motor oil so perhaps an orange juice chaser is also a good idea.

I called the doctor at about 3:00 a.m. that morning to let him know I was in labor.  I was THE NOISE IN HIS HEAD that night!

LATER THAT SAME DAY - ALISON ON THE LEFT AND NATALIE ON THE RIGHT.

"Have You Met Him, the Man from Scotland?"

There's a noise in my head.  Or maybe not a noise but a humming and it hurts ever so slightly.  It's a vibration, a pulsing and my mind is racing.

There's a whale gently sliding in and out and rolling in the deep ocean.  It matches the movements of the baby punching and turning gently inside my womb.  The baby is a vibration.  It's humming throughout my body.  It's adding to my anxiety about the day.

There are tears sliding down my cheeks.  Why am I crying?  Why can't I stop them from falling?  Perhaps that hurt in my head comes from my sinuses because of the tears!  The hurt isn't coming from my heart, this I know.  My heart is in love, this I know too.  The tears represent the depth of feeling that is literally pouring out of me.  Out of the depths of me.

There's a man standing next to me with his arm around me, his hand holding mine.  He's making promises to me I know he will keep.  I know he's sincere.  He is an honest man.  There's a quiver between us - a pulsing, a nervousness.  There is love and passion.  He is anxious too I expect.  Later that night and for the first time he will feel the push and turn of the baby inside me and we will smile and giggle.

There's another man standing in front of me with his back to the ocean extracting these promises from the man holding my hand.  He is of small stature and a bit heavy but with kind features and a steady gentle voice.  He is not nervous.  He's done this many times before and is happy to be here.....and to take our little bit of money and perhaps even a tip.  He is a judge and he is helping us.

We are in Monterey, California staying at the Highlands Inn.  It is 10:00 a.m. on a lovely day that dawned sunny and bright and pleasant.  There's a slight breeze but it's not cold for this time of year.  The month is March and the year is 1987.  It is the third day of the month and my mother's birthday.  It is the day I am marrying the man that is accepting my promises. 

We haven't known each other a long time.  We didn't grow up together or go to school together.  Our families have never met.  I've never met his mother.  We consider ourselves black sheep.  We both left the "flock";  my flock on the east coast and his in Scotland.  We have traveled far to meet each other.  We are in this together but with no family or friends present.  Except of course for the little being that is kicking and squirming inside my belly.

This is not the first man I have loved but this is the first man I've truly been in love with.  I still am in love.

We met in late 1985 at the real estate office we both worked for in Pleasanton; he a realtor-in-training and me an old hat going on a whopping 5 years in the business!  I was successful enough in business and unhappily married to a very nice man.  But this is not that story.

The buzz around the office was the new guy; "have you met him?" "he's cute" "he's from Scotland" "you have to meet him, the Scotsman" "I can't believe you haven't met him yet".  Who were these people?  Didn't they know I was married?  Why did they insist on telling me about this guy?  Did they know something I didn't know?  Did they sense my unhappiness?  Stop bugging me I thought.  I'll meet him when I meet him. And I went about the business of selling real estate.

OUR COMPANY REAL ESTATE PICTURES


Shortly after our first not so interesting meeting in the lobby of our company, he, the Scotsman, became a distraction.  His name is Gordon and when his real estate training was finished, he came to sit at a desk just outside my office.  My office was on the inside of an aisle of offices and his desk was next to an exterior window right across from me.  With me facing the window of my office he was my view.  Do you believe God puts obstacles in your path?  Well I don't know if God had anything to do with it but Gordon came into my view and through no fault of his own blocked everything else from sight.  Just like I had blinders on my face.  And something new began......a restless sort of tension not at all unpleasant.

It wasn't long before we had lunch, then dinner.  This tall, blonde, younger man from "across the pond" was an only child.  His father had passed away when he was fourteen from a freak accident.  He had lived with his Mum, Isa, and her significant other, Jimmy, in a tourist hotel which Jimmy owned on Royal Circus in Edinburgh for a number of years but most recently with just his Mum outside the downtown of Edinburgh.  A City boy.  He was a good student but not particularly interested in school.  Hmmmmm, same as me.  He went on to higher education and graduated "top" boy in his school and "top" boy in Engineering for his country.  Despite being told he couldn't do it.  Despite his mother's noise in his head.

Most of the time I could barely understand him because his accent was so thick!  Another interesting and appealing attribute for some strange reason.  Maybe because I had to lean in to hear and understand him and the closeness was exciting.  Or maybe because he smelled nice?  He hadn't lived in California for more than just a year or so and we soon became inseparable. I enjoyed being a tour guide of sorts showing him the Bay Area; San Francisco, Napa, skiing in Tahoe, the mountains and beaches.  Funny how they all look so different when you're in lust!  We cooked together and talked real estate.  I encouraged him and he encouraged me.  We went to comedy shows and movies and ethnic restaurants.  We watched I Love Lucy reruns and American football.  We tossed the football.  I was the one who showed him the proper grip of a football!  We had picnics in the wine country and drinks with friends. We dressed up for Halloween!

I confess a very few of these outings were arranged before I had officially been separated (for the second time) from my then current husband.  Most of the outings I refer to happened after.  Innocent enough but with the underlying tension I mentioned earlier.  There's a name for that tension (sexual)  but because my children will read this I won't say it.  Anyway, before I knew it I was moving from the house I had lived in since 1980 into my own condo.  We moved there together Gordon and I.  It happened so fast.  That was Summer 1986.

By late that Fall I was pregnant.  Now remember the Seinfeld episode where Elaine examines potential suitors and qualifies them as "sponge-worthy"?  Well here's a hot tip: the sponge? it doesn't work!  Take it from me!

I was perfectly confident that I could handle myself and a baby on my own, after all I was becoming a more and more successful investment realtor.  I owned my own home.  I had a really nice newer car, a black BMW 633csi no less (affectionately known as "the black bitch" by my friends!).  I was a partner in several rental properties.  I had lots of friends who loved and supported me.  And I didn't want Gordon to feel he had to marry me.  But really, was I kidding myself?  I had no idea how hard it would be to raise a kid with two parents much less one!

I told Gordon I was pregnant in late November. Honestly within the hour he was on the phone telling his Mum she was going to be a Grandmother!  This is the woman I'd never met!  But here's the thing about Gordon and I said it before; he's sincere and honest and a very moral man.  I have found people from Scotland to be very black and white.  If he hadn't wanted a child he would have said so.  Getting pregnant before marriage is not traditional but apparently it didn't bother him.  We are anything but conformists and traditionalists!  We were in love and marriage was obviously the logical next step.   He wanted me AND he wanted this child.

So there I was, March 3, 1987, feeling a little anxiety, watching a whale tossing in the Pacific Ocean, tears streaming down my face, carrying an infant in my body and marrying the man of my dreams.  All at the same time.  Two wishes come true.

And we are living happily every after......or at least up to this date over 24 years later!

Three Mothers

There's a noise in my head.  It's the soft push of a thigh on a knee peddle and the slow tick, tick, tick speeding up into a faster tick, tick, tick, tick, tick of a sewing machine.  It's the soft murmuring of women's voices gathered around a table and the clip, clip of their scissors.


But let's start here.  My mother's doctor told her she is suffering from TMB.  Her children have never heard of this syndrome and we were wondering what it could be.  My mother's doctor has a good sense of humor and Mom likes him.  TMB apparently means "too many birthdays"!

Mom was moved to assisted living on Sunday.  She is eighty-eight years young and has lived independently, with little assistance, all her life.  She is now small, weak and frail; her body bent with osteoporosis.  She is stricken with diabetes and must have insulin injections two times a day.  She is unsteady on her feet and her doctor says she is only running on a couple of cylinders from her weak heart.  She needs to live with someone and despite my brother Paul and his wife Marcia's offer to share their home with her, she's choosing to go into assisted living.


My mother is the fourth child of six children in the Stewart family, three boys and three girls.  My mother's name is India Irene but she prefers Rene.  My Mom and her younger brother Carl are the only surviving children.  They were raised in North Carolina and mom finished high school with a GED.  Her father suffered a stroke as a younger man and all the children of working age had to get jobs immediately to help out.  Mom's older sister,  Robbie Elaine, was in her late 20's when her father had a stroke and she stayed home to help care for him and the younger children so their mother (we grand-kids called her Ma) could go to work to support the family.

THE BARTON STREET HOUSE

Mom and Dad married just before he was deployed to France with the Air Force during World War 2.  When he returned they lived in apartments in South Arlington and my older brother and sister and I were born there.  When we moved to Barton Street Mom had a husband, three children, a big house and a huge yard to care for.  She was a domestic Goddess;  the cook, the cleaner, the gardener, the laundress, the child minder, the giver of baths and groomer of braids.  After all, it was the 50's.  She must have been exhausted when she laid her head on her pillow at night.

MOM IN THE LIVING ROOM ON BARTON

As I look back I confess I never felt particularly close with my mother.  She was always so busy and after Shirley was born four years after me, she really didn't have time to do much of anything except work from sun-up to sun-down.  She didn't read with us or help with homework.  She wasn't into playing with us I suppose because there was no time though I think she lacked imagination for game playing.  We weren't allowed to have friends over or go to other friends houses. I think she thought it was enough that we had siblings and easier not to transport kids or take care of someone else.  We also only had one car.  Some 1950's car and then the "woodie" stationwagon.  Mom excelled at taking care of her family and providing for us but she wasn't the kind of mom who taught us anything other than the basics.  I could set a table and do the dishes.  I could rake leaves and make my bed. The time and patience for teaching me how to cook and do the laundry just wasn't there.  And to be honest, I don't remember asking for those lessons.  I did what I was told for the most part. Dad was coming home at 5:00pm and I didn't want her to say anything negative about my daily behavior!

DAD WITH THE FIRST THREE! THAT'S ME ON THE LEFT

It wouldn't be fair to say that Mom was anything other than a good mother.  Now that I've raised three children of my own and stayed home doing it after the twins were born, I realize what an incredible amount of energy it takes to "do it all".  I really am very much like my Mom.  I was 32 when I had my first child.  Mom was 32 when she had me.  I was 36 when I had the twins.  Mom was 36 when she had my younger sister.  And she had two older children.  I honestly know that Mom did the best job she could with the tools, time and talent she had.  I turned out okay right?  To be fair, she loved me the best she could.  This I know.  And that's all anyone can do and all anyone should want or expect.

I think Mom's imagination was cut loose in her garden.  I understand that as I LOVE to garden also.  She had fantastic azaleas and people would come over just to look at them.  She put in a flagstone back patio.  She planted yummy tomatoes along one of the fences and grew a lot of other vegetables too. Snowball bushes, hydrangeas, violets, roses, magnolias, forsythia all flourished in her yard.  She loved her spring blooming bulbs in the little round and along her borders.  It was an old-fashioned, southern-style garden and it was lovely and it made her happy.

MOM IN HER GARDEN!  THAT'S THE "LITTLE HOUSE" IN THE BACKGROUND

SANDY AND I ON THE SWING-SET.  NOTE THE MATCHING OUTFITS!

Robbie, or Aunt Sis as she would come to be called, eventually moved into the Barton Street house with our family after Dad's home renovation.  My maternal Grandmother, Ma, moved in also.  I don't know the particulars of the arrangement or how it came to be that my father would allow his sister-in-law and mother-in-law to move in, but in they moved and we became one BIG family.

SIS AND MA IN THEIR SUNDAY CLOTHES!

NOTE PAUL'S BEDROOM WINDOW UPSTAIRS AND THE LARGE OAK TREES IN THE BACKYARD.

The second floor addition to the Barton Street house consisted of four large rooms and a bathroom.  My brother's room occupied the space in the front of the house looking out over the front porch.  The room had an interesting ceiling line following the pitch of the roof, twin beds and an attic storage space with a little door on it. I remember playing games of I Spy and hide-and-go-seek in that room with all the lights out and just a flash light operated by my brother.  There was lots of pants-peeing going on from sheer excitement and terror!

SANDY, PAUL AND I IN THE LIVING ROOM.  THE WINDOW LOOKS OUT ON THE WRAP-AROUND PORCH

Next to his bedroom and at the top of the stairs was a full bath and down the other side of the hallway were the other three bedrooms.  The first room on the right was my Grandmother's bedroom.  Straight across from her bedroom was a big room which would eventually become my bedroom but it was my Grandmother's sewing room first.  At the end of the hall was one huge room that ran the length of the house covering the big eat-in kitchen and den - it was our room.  Shirley, Sandy and I shared that big ole room that looked out over the back yard and the little round in the center of the yard and the alley that ran the length of the property and the little house and the 3 large oaks.

SORRY THIS PICTURE IS SO LIGHT BUT IT'S US GIRLS AND OUR DOLLY'S ON THE STAIRCASE.  SANDY ON THE LEFT, ME IN THE MIDDLE AND SHIRLEY ON THE RIGHT.... ALL DRESSED ALIKE

THE FRONT OF THE HOUSE AND PORCH.  NOTE THE ROSES BEHIND US. AND THE FACT THAT SANDY AND I ARE DRESSED ALIKE AGAIN AND IN THE PICTURE ABOVE THIS ONE!  PRETTY MUCH THE SAME HAIRDO'S TOO.


Ma and Sis soon became our extra mother's helping with meals and around the house and giving us their time.

Aunt Sis never married.  She had had one true love but when her father, or better yet, her mother, needed her after her Dad's stroke I think her life's ambitions shifted.  She worked out of the house in various secretarial jobs when she lived with us on Barton Street.  She never learned to drive but knew the Northern Virginia bus system very well and walked to the bus to take it to work each day.  She would venture into Washington, DC to shop and would let us tag along sometimes.  We loved to go with her and especially to look at the windows of Woodward and Lothrop (or Woodies)  when they were decorated for Christmas.  Sis bought her candied fruit for her Christmas Fruit Cakes there!  She made the BEST pancakes on Saturday mornings, just slightly crisp around the edges and perfectly poofy in the center!  She also loved to read and would read to us.  Our favorite story was the "Teeny, Tiny Woman" from a fairytale book of stories.

AUNT SIS AT HER PIANO

Sis' room was the second bedroom downstairs that faced the porch so her view was of Barton Street.  It was a lovely room and she had collected lovely things:  a delicate lacy bedspread; a stuffed gray cat that lay on the center of her bed with a zipper pouch that held her nightgown!; a glass Japanese Geisha girl standing under a glass canopy; china faced dolls in long white gowns; a rocking chair; doilies on her tables; perfume bottles; memories.

Of the three little girls being raised in the Barton Street house Shirley, the little sister and the baby, was her favorite.  She loved that little girl and was very proud and protective of her.  I found myself in trouble and spanked several times at the hand of Sis for teasing Shirley.  Unfortunately for Shirley, she cried easily from teasing and Sandy and I would have a good go at her occasionally!  Sorry Shirley, but that's what the youngest gets I guess!  She spent extra time with Shirley, brushing and braiding her beautiful long brown hair and sewing and smocking pretty dresses for her.  She took her to Florida on the train to visit her brother Bub.  She took me along once too.  Sis was quiet and sweet and a bit shy.  An old maid I guess but she was lucky to have her daughter in Shirley. Shirley was so lucky to have a second mom in Sis.  She was a true friend to Shirley and to us all and would do anything for us.

SHIRLEY, SIS AND I AT THE NATIONAL ZOO IN WASHINGTON, D.C.

Ma's room was lovely too.  She had a double bed and a small closet and what I thought was the most magnificent piece of furniture; a mahogany wardrobe with an oval mirror on the door and drawers down one side.  Inside the wardrobe door she kept her coats and she had a particularly pretty black, curly-fabric (lambs wool?) coat hanging there and in the deep pocket she kept a handful of silver dollars.  She would let me put my hand in that pocket and feel the heavy coins.  Occasionally she would give me one.  I confess, once I took one for my own without asking!

Ma must have been born with long gray hair because that's the only way I ever remember her and it seems every picture I have of her or have ever seen of her she has had the same hair.  She put it up into a French twist every day.  At night she would put on a long white nightgown and bend over, her head upside down, letting her hair fall and there she would stand brushing and grooming her beautiful hair.  I thought she was lovely.  Some nights I would stand just out of her sight and watch her brushing her hair.  I could catch a glimpse of her in the wardrobe's oval mirror.

MA HOLDING ME IN NORTH CAROLINA WHEN I WAS CHRISTENED

AND PUSHING ME IN MY STROLLER

Just like Aunt Sis was Shirley's special someone, Ma was mine.  My second mother.  Because she slept in the room next to mine and my sisters, she would be the first to know if there was anything amiss in our room.  Like too much giggling or too much singing, which happened a lot!  Petula Clark was a favorite singer of ours and Petula's song  Downtown could be sung in what we thought was perfect harmony!  If we were ill she'd be the first to come to help.  And Lord knows, when I was scared guess who's bed I headed for?  I slept with Ma I swear two whole weeks after I saw Hitchcock's "The Birds"!  In fact, she was the only woman's bed I headed for when I was scared or lonely or didn't feel well.  I would very quietly stand in her room until she noticed I was there.  Or faintly whisper her name, "Ma", until she would throw the covers back and let me in.  I loved her and accepted her unconditional love.

AN EASTER SUNDAY GETTING READY TO GO TO CHURCH. ME WITH THE WHITE "THING" ON MY HEAD.  SANDY WITH HER COOL VEIL.

Ma worked from the house.  In her fabulous sewing room there were two machines, one for her and one for Sis. A huge work table with storage underneath that held bolts and bolts of different fabrics stood in the center of the room.  The woman was a VERY talented seamstress and worked for a company out of DC that special-ordered bedspreads and canopies and pinch-pleat curtains and bolsters and pillows and slipcovers, etc.  You name it and my Ma could sew it!  The man at the DC company that brought Ma her orders was named Odell and every week he would show up with measurements and bolts and bolts of fabric and new orders.  Every week he would pick up whatever Ma had completed the previous week.  I have no idea if she made decent money but I can tell you the finished work that left our house was fabulous.

After a long day of sewing and after dinner, Ma and my mother would sit in our large formal dining room and hem curtains and close pillows and do any finger work leftover from the days work in the sewing room.  Sometimes Sis would join in too and the three women would talk quietly amongst themselves.  The clip, clip of their scissors.  The soft murmuring of their voices.  Three mothers.  Our mothers.  How lucky we were.

 MOM AND SIS SHORTLY BEFORE SIS PASSED AWAY

For My Father

My earliest memory is of me climbing the stairs of the Barton Street house in Virginia.

My father is the eldest of nine children.  Seven boys and two girls.  When my paternal grandfather passed away his house was offered for purchased to his children and my father, being the eldest, had first right-of-refusal.  He exercised his right and purchased the lovely old home and property!

The house sat on Barton Street - shouting distance to Ft. Meyer - the army base which is within the grounds of the Arlington National Cemetery.  When my window was open during the summertime I could hear "Taps" being blown by a lone bugler at precisely 10:00pm.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The house was also a very short distance from Georgetown just across the Potomac River from North Arlington where the house resided.  The lot on Barton Street was either a lot and a half or a double lot.  I don't remember.

There was a "little house" that sat on the back right corner of the lot which my grandparents lived in while building the "big" house.  The little house became storage and our playhouse.  In the attached garage Dad kept all his tools;  the lawnmower, the bikes, the surrey, the little red wagon, the memories.

The little house was two stories.  In the attic were mysterious boxes.  Halloween costumes; a box of old 78's (my personal favorite was "Strangers on the Shore" - yes I would look through the records and play them); rarely used luggage, etc.  The normal things one stores in an attic.  The downstairs had a tiny kitchen with a window and a "great room".  I suppose there was furniture in the room but I can't recall.

I loved the little house and would sometimes sit in a window and fancy myself a soon-to-be-literary person with a pad of paper and pencil all ready to write!  Which is pretty funny because I wasn't a reader or a writer.  I can't remember reading as a kid.  I don't recall that we had many books for children.  My dream of being a literary person pretty much came from watching Little Women.  I thought Jo March was wonderful!  And I thought why couldn't I be like her?

The big house was one story with a creepy basement.  The first floor consisted of basically a double parlor, an eat-in kitchen, a small television room we called the den, 2 bedrooms and one bath.  But the best thing about the first floor was the giant wrap-around front porch.  To this day I would love a house with a front porch.  I've never owned one.

The basement was unfinished except for a small half bath - a sink and a toilet.  Mom's washer and dryer resided there which had to be a drag.  Lugging all that laundry down to wash and up all clean and folded.  There was an old-fashioned sharpening wheel that you rode like a bicycle.  When I was older I would go down and ride the "stone" turning it round and round and pretend it was my own personal gym!  And the other thing that lived in the basement were CRICKETS - big black ugly CRICKETS!  Mostly dead laying on their backs with their legs up in the air, they still creeped me out and still creep me out to this day!

The other really wonderful thing about the Barton Street house was the yard.  There were three very old and very large Oak trees on the property.  My sister Sandy and I used to fantasize about having tree houses in those old Oaks with rope bridges between them.  Kinda like the tree house in Swiss Family Robinson!  We also had a nice swing-set with a slide and one of those glider things and two swings attached.

There was an alley that ran the length of our property connecting Barton Street with Cleveland Street behind us.  Mom planted and maintained many beautiful azaleas and iris and roses on our property.  She built a little round in the center of the yard with a birdbath and assorted bulbs and plantings.  I suppose my love of gardening started in the backyard of the Barton Street house.

I was one year old when we moved to Barton Street back in 1956.  That would have made my brother Paul eight and my sister Sandy (Sandra) two and a half at the time.  My mother would have been about thirty-three and my dad about twenty-nine.  My sister Shirley wouldn't show up for another three years.

Eventually that house became a six bedroom, two and one half bath home. 

My father decided to "raise the dormer" on his humble abode and add room for his growing brood of children by building a second story onto the house.  His band of talented brothers got behind the idea as they always have throughout their lives; assisting each other and helping each other accomplish their dreams and goals.  Which brings me to the point of my blog which is my earliest memory in case you forgot.

I don't remember my exact age at the time but a have a memory that's clear as a bell to me and I know I was very young.  I remember climbing the newly built, still unfinished stairway to the second story.  I knew my father was up there and I could hear the talking and banging and sawing of construction underway.  Perhaps I was looking for my dad; perhaps I was just curious about what was going on, I don't know but I distinctly remember just about reaching the top of the stairs on my hands and knees and looking left at the group of men gathered there and seeing my dad.  I remember him turning, surprised to see me on the steps, and a slow smile spreading across his face.  He came to me, picked me up and held me there level with his face.  Is there any sweeter thing than a little girl in her daddy's arms with his face beaming at her own?  If there is, someone please tell me what that thing is.  I remember feeling content and loved.

That's it.  That's the memory.

Now my mother tells me that there's no way I could remember this because I would have been too young.  But I say I remember it.  I know what I know!  My husband believes me too.  He also has an early childhood memory that his mother claimed he couldn't possibly remember.  But that's his story to tell.  The fact that he believes me and has a similar story is enough to further validate my belief that I do remember something so old with clarity.  Despite my mom's denial of this fact.  Despite her noise in my head.  The noise that says you can't Sharon.

My father is the teacher of unconditional love for me and for that I'll always be grateful.  Sometimes I don't think people learn about unconditional love until they have their own children.  I was lucky to learn it from a master.  I hope my own children understand that from their parents they have unconditional love.  It doesn't matter what they do in their lives, they will always have our un-dieing love; our faithful companionship and support when they want or need it and everything within and without us is theirs for the asking.  That's the noise I want in their heads - a steady pleasant hum; a quiet chant; a single beautiful note; a soothing noise.

I'm fortunate to have both my parents still living - a mommy and a daddy at fifty-six years of age is pretty special and not that common.  They both have their mental faculties though their bodies are failing them in various ways.  I wonder about the noise in their heads!