Category: Adventures with Jennifer

1990

De Paul University

Writing from the Inside

Teacher: Zoe Keithley 

The Key Wonder

I was at work. John was babysitting. (Why is it called babysitting when it’s the father, no one calls it babysitting when it’s the mother). He just got her to bed and plopped on the couch. Men dream all day about coming home from work and plopping on the couch. (I used to dream all day that he would call and say he was going out with the boys for a beer, or he had to work late. Then I could have macaroni and cheese for dinner. Then I could plop on the couch after the kid was in bed).

Anyway, picture the familiar scene of a dad on the couch and the darling 20-month-old little girl sleeping innocently in her youth bed. He hears her get out of bed, hears her starts down the stairs, and yells up to her, “Get in that bed little girl”.

She replies, “But daddy I go poo poo”.

Oh no, he thinks, this is just what I need.

“Why didn’t you go before you went to bed”?  He says with real disturbance.

“I sorry daddy”. Say Miss Innocent.

Dad gets up, and goes up into Jenny’s room to find little brown balls all over the room.

He thinks, “Jesus, I’m glad she didn’t have diarrhea”.          

He proceeds to change the diaper and pick up the little balls one by one. Jenny tries to help but Dad tells her that she is NEVER to touch those little balls – EVER!

“You tell daddy when you go poo poo, don’t EVER touch poo poo”. He says with great parental authority.

Thank God that’s done he thinks as he puts her back in bed and heads down to his sanctuary. All is quiet for about 10 minutes and then………..

Just as dads do, he fell asleep on the couch and did not hear her calling him to tell him that there was more poo poo in her room. What was she to do now? Daddy said NEVER to touch poo poo, but she couldn’t leave poo poo in her room, she thinks. She must clean it up. Jenny searches her room with great care and after using all of her 20-month-old creativity finds the solution to her problem.  

Daddy would be so proud of her when he saw how well she did what he said and at the same time helped to clean up the poo poo. She couldn’t wait to see his face.

She slowly crept down the stairs that led into the living room where Dad was asleep on the couch. She had to use great care because her creative idea was a real challenge to do; it was a great balancing act.

She watched him sleep for a while savoring the moment when he woke up and would praise the good work that she did. Ever so gently she touched his shoulder and whispered, “Daddy, look daddy, I helped clean the poo poo and no touch it”!

He awoke with a start, having just fallen asleep, he saw the innocent smiling face of his daughter. There she was so proud of her great accomplishment. She beamed as she looked at Dad and then at the prize in her hand. You surely recall the play keys that are made for toddlers. They love playing with keys so toy companies have made them some pastel-colored keys, put them on a chain, made them larger than real keys so kids could handle them easier. Picture the eye of the key, the handle part that you would hold while turning the lock on a door. Well, it’s made with an ornate circular shape – just circular enough to allow it to hold a little ball of poo poo. Picture this little one balancing the ball of forbidden substance upon the handle of the toy key. Imagine now how she managed to get the ball on the handle without touching it?

Her smile could melt a stranger’s heart let alone a dad’s heart. John laughed so hard he was in tears as I walked in from work. What a sight I had to behold before me. The innocent face of my proud daughter looking with wonder at her dad who is falling off the couch laughing. I will never forget the joy of this funny moment with Jen.   

1990

De Paul University

Writing from the Inside

Teacher: Zoe Keithley 

The Great Escape

I have no idea what woke me up (I don’t usually wake up at 3AM) but its a good thing I did on that day. God must have been looking out for her. I walked into the dining room, somehow already sensing something funny was going on. I looked out the window that faces north and I didn’t see anything of interest; I looked out the window facing west, and I couldn’t believe what I saw – my 2-year-old daughter was running down the street chasing a large dog. She was in her p.j.’s, barefoot and running with carefree abandon; without the slightest thought that was is not the thing to do. I rushed out the door without a thought either! I called out to her thinking – Jesus Christ what would people think if they saw this. Would they think this poor 2-year-old was trying to escape an abusive parent? I catch her quickly and can only say, “Jennifer, Jennifer!

I do not say more because what do you say to a two-year-old to communicate utter disbelief in her lack of fear, lack of common sense, and lack of even thinking? They don’t yet understand these concepts. I simply carried her into the house, up the stairs to her room, and placed her in her bed. I ran down to the basement for tools.

It had been in the back of my mind, having a precocious child like Jen, that I may have to resort to this. I had one of those little silver hook locks; the kind you can just use one finger to push up and open it. This is a drastic measure for a mom to have to resort to, but for safety, I obviously had to do something. So picture me there at 3 o’clock in the morning, with a screwdriver,  lock, and lamp in hand outside my daughter’s door. (I had to bring a lamp because I already had to remove all lamps from upstairs for fear she would do “something” with the lightbulbs or sockets). So now with the lamp set up, I start screwing in the lock.

My husband wakes to find that his wife has lost her mind.

         “Pat, what the hell are you doing”? He says with absolute wonder.

         “I’m locking the kid in”. I say with surety.

“I just got up, looked out the dining room window, and saw her chasing a dog down the street”.

         “I think I must have known that I would need this lock because why else would I have bought it 2 months ago”? I say waiting for him to say that I HAVE lost my mind, that she is only 2 years old, that people don’t lock their 2-year-olds in, and that I worry too much.

         “Pat, are you serious? He says with utter amazement.

         “Yes, I’m serious!” I tell him knowing it’s hard to believe.

         “Jesus, maybe you’re right, maybe she is a little more mischievous than usual”. He says to my surprise.

         “Well, let me do that, I can do it easier and faster than you can, you’ll be here cursing half the night when you can’t get the screws to go in”. He says thank, God!

Who would think that when in the process of getting married, having babies and trying to get on with your happily ever after one would be doing this at 3 AM? This is life with Jennifer!

1990

De Paul University

Writing from the Inside

Teacher: Zoe Keithley 

The Grape Juice Revenge

          It’s a sunny afternoon. I’m working on the income tax at the dining room table. Jen is coloring in her coloring book at the same table.

“Mom, I want you to color with me”. She says.

“I will color with you when I finish these taxes”. I say.

“Mom it is taking you all day to do the taxes”. She says with impatience.

“I know dear, but it’s a lot of work to figure out all this stuff”. I say knowing that she cannot really understand but compelled to respond to her.

Jen leaves the table for who knows where. I continue to work, looking forward to coloring.

Suddenly I look up and see her standing beside me. She has her mouth closed, the cheeks are filled out as if you held your lips tightly closed and blew air in to fill out the cheeks. I just say, “Hi”, and go on about my business with the taxes – never suspecting her plan.

Moments later she is again standing beside me, but now her lips are normal. I say, “Jen, I’m really trying to get these done and I can get done faster if you will leave me alone so I can concentrate”.

Eventually, I finish the taxes. I get up to look for Jen to tell her and I see my new orange living room chair has a big stain on the middle of the cushion that you sit on. The stain is a purple color. Jen has been drinking grape juice! Oh my God, that brat! She held it in her mouth and did it on purpose because I wasn’t done with the taxes soon enough for her. I am so angry I know that I better not talk to her, look at her, I better just send her to her room.

I see her coming up the stairs from the rec room. “Go to your room and do not come out. I am so angry with you; you better go right now”! I followed her to her room. She sits on the bed. I lifted her up and smacked her butt 3 times saying, “That was a very mean thing to do – it was VERY mean”.

I leave the room, shut the door, and proceed to the kitchen to get a cold rag to put on the grape juice stain. Jen spends the rest of the evening in her room singing songs and talking to her dolls. She would not let me know that she was at all upset about having to stay in her room. Some would never believe that a 3-year-old could premeditate something like this to get back at a mom who would not pay attention to her right when she wanted her to. I believe it.

1990

De Paul University

Writing from the Inside

Teacher: Zoe Keithley 

The First Day of Nursery School

This was a big day. Jenny’s first day at nursery school. I was full of ambivalence: was it really awful to want time (4 hours a week) without the kid? would she think I was abandoning her with strangers? would this be a major life trauma to my little 2+ 3/4 year old? Or was it a healthy, stimulating, good experience for her socialization? Oh God, how I debated doing it. Oh, the guilt I felt. Oh, how I longed for 2 hours twice a week to have to myself. Oh, to take a leak uninterrupted. Oh, to go to the grocery store and not have to worry about being thrown out because she knocked down the can pyramid or toppled 12 thousand oranges.

The drive there took forever. She asked a hundred questions. Will there be other kids there? How many kids will be there? Will there be any kids I know there? Will it be a man or woman teacher? How long do I get to stay there? Do they watch Sesame Street in that school? Do they play games? How did even a mom know all of this?

As we drove into the parking lot I saw her raise the door lock. As soon as the car stopped, she was out the door. I hurried to catch up with her. We found her room without much trouble. The teacher was very nice. Miss Collins began to explain to Jenny what they did in nursery school. She introduced herself to the other students. She came to walk me to the door as Jenny went with the other kids to check out the gerbils in the corner. The teacher said I could go now and that it would be best if I kept walking when Jenny started to cry; they all do when they realize that mom won’t be staying. She said just to keep going and act like it’s normal to leave your child. Oh my God, I wasn’t sure if I could do it or not. Did I really have to have 4 hours a week to myself? Did Jenny really need to learn to socialize with other kids?

I got as far as the door, stepped just outside the door, and peeked back in; I was being brave and risking the sight of her tear-streaked face. I saw none. I saw her running up to the door, grabbing it by the handle, and pushing it shut in my face.

I have never felt guilty about pawning off my kid at nursery school. Obviously, she needed to enjoy other kids, to learn that others can care for her, to be away from mom, and to grow on her own. 

Writing from the Inside

De Paul University

Fall 1990

Teacher: Zoe Keithley

The Big Lie

Here we are driving to nursery school. I am on my way to work, and Jen is looking forward to her day in nursery school. Suddenly out of the blue Jen says, “You know mom, I think you lied to me”.

“I did? About what?” As I searched my brain – I thought that I was very honest with my 3-year-old daughter.

“About a baby being in the mother’s stomach. I don’t believe that”. She says knowing somehow that she is right.

“You are right Jen; the baby is actually in the mother’s uterus”. I say hoping things will be ok now.

“I thought so, it had to be some other place because if that baby was in the mother’s stomach the baby would choke when the mother drinks pop or eats food?” She says with utter surety.

“Oh my God Jen, I didn’t mean to lie to you. I have just always heard moms say that to their very young kids because it is a complex thing to understand. I had planned to tell you about the uterus when you got older”. I say hoping she will now believe me; hoping I hadn’t totally eroded the trust of my 3-year-old.

“Its ok mom, but I thought that I was right. I thought about it a lot. You don’t need to lie to me anymore”. She says with forgiveness.

“Jen, I will never try to cover up a complex issue with you again”. I say with amazement that a 3-year-old would put so much thought into what is told to her. I will try not to underestimate her again.

1990

De Paul University

Writing from the Inside

Teacher: Zoe Keithley 

The Anatomy Lesson

“Mommy I want to take my nap with this skeleton. I really like him”. Says my 3 1/2 year old daughter.

“Well, I guess you could”. Say I, the mom.

It was one of those paper life-size skeletons that you tape to your window for Halloween decoration. What harm could it cause? What damage could Miss Innocent do with a skeleton?

She’s not sleeping yet, I hear her talking to the skeleton. I can’t make out clearly what she is saying. Within a few minutes, she calls me hysterically. She is very excited because she found a new bone! (We had spent hours naming the bones on him. I even had to ask an orthopedic M.D. the technical name for the elbow because I forgot and she HAD to know it.)

“Mom come on, I have to show you this bone I found”. Says Miss Anatomy.

“Ok, Jen show me this bone. (who could believe a 3 1/2 year old could get so excited about a bone?) Say I.

“Mom look right here in front, see this tiny little one right here”. She says pointing to the coccyx bone which hangs down from the spine; it’s like the tip of the spine.

“And mom see I know right where this bone is on my body”. As she points to her clitoris. I can see by the size and shape that a kid could surely get the two mixed up. Dear God, I pray to myself – Don’t let her ask me what that bone is for.

“Jen, you were really thinking about that bone and trying real hard to find it on your body, you are close, but it’s not there in front, but it’s in the back and it hangs off the end of your spine; it’s called the coccyx bone.

“Are you sure Mom? It really looks like this little bone right here”. She says still pointing to her clitoris and doubting my intelligence.

“Yes, Jen, I’m sure its your coccyx bone on the end of your spine”.

Well, thank God she didn’t ask what her clitoris was for; I’m sure that will come up another day. In the meantime, I have time to think about what I will tell her.

1990

De Paul University

Writing from the Inside

Teacher: Zoe Keithley 

Christmas With Jenni  

We always bought a 6-foot tree; we always decorated it with homemade ornaments, the ones Jenny made from the time she was in nursery school all the way to seventh grade. I recall the fun of taking out those ornaments and Jenny thinking that they were so ugly that she could do better now that she was a year older. Even the empty toilet paper roll covered with glitter was beautiful. There were always tons of presents under the tree, mostly for Jenny, the privilege of being an only child. There were those wonderful store-bought Christmas cookies; thank God, Jenny accepted me the way I was and that I was not a baker.

One year she told me she hoped I would never make Christmas cookies again because it made me so crabby. God love her!    

The lights were always hung around the fireplace, up the wall, and around the bar in the rec room; it made the place look so romantic. Jenny’s drawings covered that one wall in the living room. All the Christmas cards were hung all over the refrigerator and the dishwasher. There was that wreath Jenny made from plastic bags that had to go on the front door.

Christmas Eve was the time we went to his parent’s house. God, the presents there were unbelievable! It was hard to fit our chairs in the living room because of all the gifts. His mom would make everyone’s favorite pasty……hmmmm; the smell alone said Christmas. His dad would be sure that we all had a drink of some kind of booze, just to take the tension off each of us – just a taste to celebrate. The hugs were the best part. I’m a real hugger. A hug was the designated thank you for each gift; I really liked that idea. His two brothers would always amaze me with the lovely gifts they would pick out for me. How could they do it – both single, never married, and knowing just what to buy their sister-in-law?

On Christmas morning it was just the three of us. When Jenny woke up she was always forbidden to go downstairs until she got us up; no way did we want to miss Santa’s big drop in front of the tree. Her face was always radiant, and I always had my camera ready to capture the moment. John always surprised us with some homemade fudge, and we were even allowed to eat it for breakfast. Who would want to leave all the presents to go make breakfast? John and I would put toys together, play games with Jenny, and generally act like the kids that we used to feel like on Christmas morning.

Now, on Christmas afternoon it was time to go to my mom’s house. My sisters were always there with their husbands, my sweetheart of a nephew, cousins Johnny, and Denny, Aunt Marc would come with her latest boyfriend, and the next-door neighbor would always bring that yucky fruitcake – we gave it away every single year. Nothing changed much after we three girls were married, had our kids, and were set up with our normal married lives. The grandparents were quite comfortable doing their grandparents’ thing. The kids always felt Christmas was a big deal and looked forward to it for months. Except……………..

John and I got divorced and Christmas was never to be the same again. No one tells you how to keep up traditions when your whole life has changed. That first Christmas was devastating. John and I had joint custody of Jenny; he wanted to split her up so that he could have her on Christmas Eve, and I would get her Christmas afternoon so we wouldn’t be disrupting the rest of the family’s traditions too much. Oh my God, it was so painful. I volunteered to work Christmas Eve just to avoid being alone, I could not have taken it. At work things were sad too; I realized that patients come to the hospital at times like this (especially at an inner-city ghetto hospital like this) when they are lonely. When they are hungry. When they don’t have anywhere to go and it’s such a special day. They must have had some “Always” type of things in their life before they were alone. It deepened my sadness to take care of them but also did give me some joy just knowing I was there for them – at least I felt worthwhile despite my deep sense of loss.

We all take for granted those “always” things in our life, we are sure Christmas will always be joyous – when we have not known any different.  It was not a waste as I see it though. Working in this ghetto hospital made me more aware of what Christmas must be like for kids who can’t afford for Santa to come. At least each of us could still buy gifts.

One “always” about the previous year that had more meaning was Jenny going through her toys and giving the ones that she had outgrown to Toys For Tots; I sensed without words that we were both finding solace in this charity that we had not appreciated in the past. I recall her once asking me why Santa did not bring toys to the poor kids, why were we bringing them toys? I told her that the parents had to leave Santa a check – what a bubble burst for a 4-year-old. Anyway, Christmas will never quite be the same; yet from surviving this very sad Christmas, future Christmases will mean more; we will have grown from the hurt that we survived.   

Here I am 6 1/2 years later and yes, we have created our new traditions, our new “always”. What seemed impossible came to be quite nice. Now we always play Christmas by ear; we plan it around what feels best, we are free to invite new friends, and we are free not to invite someone rather than be forced to do so by traditional traditions.