They're at it again...

The Duggar family just today announced they are having baby number 18. Eighteen. As in 10+8, 9x2. As in a baseball team AND a football team if you count mom and dad.

Wow.

Every time they announce another pregnancy, it always makes me think of when I had Preston. The night before his due date I was having severe pains. I had been having false labor for several days, so I wasn't sure what to make of it. His father said, "don't worry it's not labor, you're just psyching yourself out." Nevermind the fact that my water had broken...but we'll not go into all that...

The next day I had contractions every 15 minutes or so. Finally at 2:00 when they had increased to every 5 minutes or so, I told him, "Take me to the hospital RIGHT NOW!" He got mad because he was trying to nap before work that night. But I think I threatened his life so he promptly got up and took me to the hospital. I normally would never be so rude as to threaten the life of a fellow human, but women in labor cannot be held accountable for the things they utter.

I checked into the hospital right at 2:30. At 2:56 I had a beautiful baby boy. I think I pushed 4 times. Piece of cake. I stood up and started to walk to my recovery room. The nurse said, "oh no, honey, you ride in a wheelchair." I shrugged, "okay, but I'm fine, really."

Preston had some fluid in his lungs, so he had to stay in the hospital for a few days. They let me stay too so I could go to the nursery and see him anytime I wanted. In the middle of the night on the second night I couldn't sleep, so I got up and wandered down the hall to see my little man. On my way past the nurses' station one of the nurses said, "there's Wonder Woman." I laughed. She said, "I've told everyone how amazing your delivery was. In fact, you would have been the easiest delivery we had this week, but Mrs. Duggar was here today giving birth to number 12."

She's had 5 more since then and will now have another next January.

And I thought my life had been exciting since that fateful day in April 2000...

And for today's shoe...
My beat-to-death, scuffed, battered, bruised, worn down Adidas slippers.

Their story:
These babies, unattractive as they may be, saved my life while I was pregnant.

I didn't gain much weight during my pregnancy, only about 25 pounds. I had heard that women had a tendency to get cankles later in their pregnancies. I wasn't too worried about it though since I hadn't gained much weight at all. I made it 7 months and then one day I woke up and *BAM* there they were. Fat, nasty, bloated cankles.

When I got ready for work I tried on all my dress shoes. Nothing fit. I looked over at these and said, "I guess you're it, boys." I velcroed them across my disgustingly bloated feet and headed off to work.

Later that day my doctor took one look at my feet and said, "you've been eating chinese food, haven't you?"

I looked down at the floor like a scolded 3-year-old. "Yes."

"You have to stop."

"Or what?"

"Or the MSG will make you continue to swell."

"Okay."

I continued my daily diet of hunan broccoli chicken with egg drop soup (it's the only thing that didn't make me feel sick). I just ate it with my feet propped up on a pillow with ice packs on top of them. Problem solved...somewhat. The cankles were still there, just not quite as big as they were that first day. So I continued wearing my Adidas sandals and my boss just overlooked the blatant disregard of the dress code.

*stepping off my shoebox*
-Jenn

The Star Wars Gang

In the early 80's my parents decided to send me to an after-school care run by a little old lady in her home. Aunt Lou. I really didn't understand why I couldn't just stay at home by myself. I was 8 for crying out loud. That's practically grown up. I argued. I lost. I gave up.

The first day my father picked me up from school and took me to Aunt Lou's Playschool. He knocked at the door and we were soon greeted through the screen door by a barrage of boys my age. One of them immediately started saying, "freckle-face, freckle-face." I crossed my arms and looked up at my father expecting him to break down the door and strangle my heckler to defend my honor. Instead he just stood and smiled and waited for Aunt Lou to come let us in. She gave us the grand tour which included an introduction to the rest of the kids. They were all boys. Great. Just wonderful. Not a female in the house besides Aunt Lou, who spent her time in her rocking chair watching "The People's Court" and knitting.

The days passed at a snail's pace. I learned that my nemesis' name was Cody. He was the leader of the "cool" kids. And believe it or not, he was blessed with the same freckles that graced my countenance. Yet he still referred to me as "Freckle-face." The irony of that completely lost in his tiny pea-brain.

I hated going to Aunt Lou's. I loathed it. I decided this was my hell. This was God's punishment for not being nice to Jenny at Kelly's sleepover or whatever other atrocity an 8-year-old can commit. I promised I would go to confession and seek absolution if God would just save me. (Okay, so I'm a little melodramatic. I'm female. It comes with the hormones.)

One day as I sat inside the little plastic refrigerator pondering how to burn the place down and make it look like an accident, I noticed Cody and the boys were playing with *gasp* Star Wars action figures. They even had the Millenium Falcon!!!

I had seen Star Wars, of course and was still reeling with the fact that Vader was Luke's father. I wanted a piece of the action. I wanted to be Obi-Wan in his infinite wisdom. I wanted to feel the power of the Force.

I took a deep breath, crawled out of the refrigerator, and walked over to the boys.

"I wanna play."

"You're a girl."

"No duh, Sherlock."

"Go away, Freckle-face."

I stomped back to the mini-kitchen that I was confined to every afternoon and seethed.
This went on for years in my mind (in actuality it was probably 2 or 3 days).

Then one day, something changed. The boys were whispering and looking at me. Finally one of Cody's henchmen waved me over.

I climbed down from the Fisher Price stove and walked over to them.

"Do you wanna play Star Wars with us?"

I couldn't believe it. I was in. Finally I could carry a lightsaber and battle the evil in the galaxy.

"Well, duh! Of course!"

I sat down with them and Cody reached in his bag of action figures and handed me...a Princess Leia.

"What's this? I wanna be a Jedi!"

"You're a girl, freckle-face. We need a girl to be Leia, so she can cook and clean up after us."

I sighed. I knew if I walked away they'd never let me back in. Leia was better than nothing.

"Fine. But tomorrow I wanna be Obi-Wan."

"Whatever. We'll see."

As the days turned into weeks, every day was the same story. The Star Wars Gang would sit down and Cody would hand us our character for the day. I was always handed Leia. Occasionally they'd give me C3PO too, because according to them, "he's so lame." And if there were only a couple of us there for the day I would get some of the other minor characters. They even let me fly the Millenium Falcon every once in a blue moon. I was having fun and not letting it bother me that I never got in on any of the good fights. Some of the boys even started calling me by my name. (Cody not included.)

At the end of the school year my grandparents offered to let me stay with them, so my time at Aunt Lou's came to an abrupt end. By that time there were other girls enrolling in Aunt Lou's. Although I never got to be Obi-Wan or wield a lightsaber, I made sure Han and Luke were well fed and the Falcon was clean and full of gas, but most importantly I was the first girl in the history of Aunt Lou's to be part of the Star Wars Gang opening the door for my predecessors to join the fight to save the galaxy.

(And oh, how I laughed when Episode VI came out and I realized all that time I had the Force too. It was in me all along.)

And today's shoe:
These are most like the shoes I was wearing back in the Aunt Lou days. Plain black Mary Janes. They're much more functional than most of my shoes, but are still classics.

Their story:
I had a pair of Kenneth Cole black Mary Janes back in college. I loved them. I wore them every day, with everything. Then I got my puppy, Scout. Scout decided he loved them too and ate them. He literally ate them. One of them was gone completely.

For 7 years I searched and searched and couldn't find another pair to replace them - they didn't have the right heel, were too shiny, were too "platformy".

Then my mother called and said she thought she found a pair that were like them. She bought them for me for Christmas 5 years ago. They were perfect! About a month later, I came home from work and found that my roommate's dog had somehow opened the door to my room and guess what he grabbed to chew on. Yep, my black Mary Janes. Fortunately, these escaped with only a small bit of damage. Thank God I didn't have to work late that night! Now they're my bad-weather, go to a soccer game, go on a hike with the Cub Scouts shoes.

*stepping off my shoebox*
-Jenn

Happy Anniversary "Jenmac"

So, the other day I was on one of my favorite sites, vftw, and I noticed a thread about how each of us came up with our username - mine being "Jenmac" (I'll bet you never would have guessed). Well, in 3rd grade there were 3 Jennifers in my class. Our teacher opened up a discussion saying, "Class, how can we solve this problem?" One boy pointed to Jen Johnson and said, "She's Jen-John," then pointed to me and said, "And she can be Jen-Mc." And so it began. As I explained this fascinating tale to my worster pals, I realized I've had my nickname for 25 years now. "Wow," I thought, "self, this is surely cause for a celebration." I then came to another realization. I really need to get out more. Then I remembered that gas is 4 bucks a gallon and decided to start a blog instead.

And so in honor of the quarter-century birthday of my alter-ego I have now given her a permanent place here in cyberspace and given myself a place to get back into writing. Other than writing movie and music reviews for an online news organization, I haven't done any "fun" writing at all lately. My creative writing is something I used to partake of with much fervor, but has been dying a slow death ever since motherhood and family life took the wheel and drove me off the cliff into domestic bliss.

I must warn you, my train of thought can be quite random at times, but eventually I'll get back to the point I was making. If I don't, just gently nudge me...

And now, for today's shoe...
This is the pair that started it all...
My first pair of Manolo's. They fit me to a T. They're comfy, stylish and go with anything. I've worn them to work, to the movies (on my first date with Joe), to a PTA meeting, to a neighbor's son's birthday party, to church, to the store. I love them!

Their story:
At my last job I earned nice quarterly bonuses. With my first bonus I decided I was spending part of it on something frivolous for myself. After watching WAY too many episodes of Sex and the City, I decided to see what the attraction was to this Mr. Blahnik and his wares. I searched online (we don't exactly have Manolo boutiques in Arkansas) and found these lovelies. When I got them in the mail, I shreiked with glee. At long last...I was a Manolo girl too. They fit like a glove. I damn near wore the things out that first night walking back and forth in front of the mirror. I was so pleased with my purchase, although it was probably the worst mistake I ever made in my life...and thus the addiction began...

*Stepping off my shoebox* (I find that soapboxes are awfully small these days.)
-Jenn