Musing Of MOTHER BY LEMMIE LACOUR MAXWELL 1946

To Odis, Lila, Paul and David- with all my love.

January 1, 1946

Every New Year's Day, I think about the new year starting, and somehow, in my mind, I always picture the diaries I used to keep years ago. When I would make the first entry, I would flip through all those blank, clean, empty pages, and wonder what words would eventually fill them. I always felt a little expectant -  and a little frightened. Since I have been married, I just jot things down from time to time on loose leaf note paper and add them to the pages already filled. No blank, clean, empty pages to set me a wondering!

Before Odis and I were married, I was unhappy most of the time, yet every night after I had said my prayers and gotten into bed, I made a practice of reviewing my day, and listing all the little things I could thank God for.

If I searched enough, the list was amazingly long almost every night. Now, on New Year's Day, I review the past year, and remember all the blessings I have received. I find that much more practical than making a list of New Year's resolutions which I know I won't really keep anyway! 

January 10, 1946

Odis and I took Paul to the barber shop the other day for his first haircut, the same shop where I used to get my hair cut so long ago. "Is that the same board I used to sit on, Fatty?" I asked, teasing him. "Are we that old Lemmie?" Fatty fired right back at me. Squelched, I said politely, "You were a very young barber, Fatty."

He was.

While we were waiting our turn, Odis stood Paul on the floor, and he began to walk for the first time! Backward and forward, forward and backward, without stopping. I don't know who was the proudest - Odis, me, Paul or Fatty!

 January 31, 1946

Lila had been watching Paul walk for almost a month now. When he was walking, she made her "face" or did some other beguiling trick to get our attention. But, this morning, she couldn't stand it any longer. Suddenly, she stood alone and began to walk, too, not stumbling, not stiffly - every movement was fluid grace. They walked and they walked all day, and the more they walked the more they shouted and laughed. They went to sleep early without any fuss-completely tuckered out.

How quiet it is.

February 4. 1946

Lila and Paul adore Monetta, and call her Min-ae. For Christmas she gave them identical dolls, and they named them both

Min-ae. Only they can tell which Min-ae is which.

They pick up the dolls, study them intently, and then decide which Min-ae belongs to whom. If one has the wrong doll, they exchange them without a sound.

Among the wonderful proven facts about twins is that they do not "fight". There is an amazing closeness. They "talk" to each other of course, but they can actually communicate without any words at all. How I wish I had time to write down all the interesting data I have accumulated in my mind about them I know I shall forget most of it as time goes on.

There is something an old house possesses that a new one does not have. An old house has not only been lived in - it, too, has lived, so to speak. The inconvenient arrangement of rooms, the creaks, the peeling paint, the porch that needs repair do not matter at all. It seems as though an old house has absorbed every human emotion throughout the years, and you come to feel that it understands all of yours. It is bright and cheerful. We have dared to use lots of color everywhere, including blue and yellow in the kitchen. When I told the painter I wanted those particular colors, he looked at me as though I had lost my mind. "Well, I'll do it ma'am," he said. "But I ain't  never heard of nothing but white and black in a kitchen. Some folks use a little red here and there. I'll use blue and yellow if you want, but it seems like you might get tired of that whereas you wouldn't never get tired of white and black - with a little red."

"White gives me spots before my eyes, black depresses me, and I despise red," I retorted. I was ready to retort by that time, believe me. We discovered that building a house is a very, very nerve wracking experience. The workmen plainly disapprove of your supervision - but, after all, it is we who have to live in it, not they!

Our house is too small and has no particular style nor charm, yet even though I had the where-with-all to build my Early American saltbox dream house on a large, woodsy plot complete with a creek, I do not believe I should find the courage to start it just now.

March 2, 1946

I am dull, dull, dull these days. I feel dull, I act dull, I even look dull. Where is all the glory of motherhood the magazines rave about? I love my babies very much. I would not go back to before they came for anything in the world, but my days are all the same-clean house, wash, hang out clothes, take in clothes, fold clothes, fix bottles, pick up, straighten up, wash dishes, watch, watch , watch the twins every minute. With two active, meddlesome babies, I can't visit anyone any more. I can't enjoy having company, I can't even talk  on the phone without interruptions which I know must be extremely boring to the person left holding the receiver.

Am I unnatural? Do all mothers feel as I do at times? I am ashamed to ask anyone else.

The twins have had the measles - both at the same time, of course, and the poor little things were sick and miserable and restless. I prayed so hard to have patience with them. Perhaps those two weeks of nursing them through their illness took something out of me. At night, when I go to bed I feel panic-how will I face tomorrow, I ask. But I do face it, and I do live through it, and each day has it's fleeting golden moments after all.

Perhaps if I grasp and hold on to those golden moments, no matter how fleeting they may be, I shall at the same time hold on to myself.

April 18, 1946

Julia Quinn and Johnny have been here on a visit, and how we all enjoyed them. She is going to have another baby in October - a girl, she hopes. That means the box of baby things will "go around" again. A strange situation exists among Kathleen, Julia Quinn and me. One of us could have had all six children. Closest together are Kitty and the twins - she is almost a year older than they. How we love that box of baby clothes - and each baby adds more memories to it, of course. "Freddie wore this when he first stood alone, and we applauded so he fell down!" Remember this dress of Alice's? She had her picture made in it, when it was new, and she cried and cried because the photographer scared her with that big ball." This is the cap that Johnny hated because it came down over his ears, but we loved it because it made his eyes bluer." "You crocheted this sweater for Kitty before she was born - when you were way out there in California." Will you ever forget what so and so said when she saw the twins in these?" "This is that enormous pair of booties that none of them ever wore."

It is so much fun - and a little sad - remembering.

April 29, 1946

One afternoon while Julia Quinn was here, Mother and Kathleen went shopping, and Kathleen left her three children with us. Alice,  Kathleen's five year old who is the angel of the family, and Johnny played happily together in the yard. Kitty and the twins played happily together (most of the time) on the back screened porch where Julia Quinn and I could supervise their play.

But Freddie was odd man out or something. He "tried" himself, as we say. He picked at the others, and when we corrected him, he sassed us. "He needs a spanking," said Julia Quinn. "And I am just the one to do," I said, knowing Kathleen would not resent it, as we have a rule among the three of us - whoever "keeps" the others' children punishes them if they need it, no matter whom they belong to.

After I had spanked Freddie, rather soundly, he drew himself up with great dignity, and fighting back tears said, "I have never cared for my mother's sisters very much." Julia Quinn and I looked at each other, and both went to him at the same time to kiss him and hold him close, and believe me, until Mother and Kathleen came back, we gave him our undivided attention!

Being the eldest must be lonely at times, and a bit frustrating - watching the younger ones steal all his thunder with their endearing ways and bright sayings. When you come right down to it, after all it isn't very fair for an eight year old to be forced to compete for attention against five others who are all at a "cute" age.

June 16, 1946

I saw an old school chum today whom I hadn't seen in many a year. "Hi, Lemme-four-bits," she said, and I could have choked her. How I used to cringe at that pun on my name. It was always "Lemme-four-bits" with the girls and "Lemme-kiss-you" with the boys.

I think that is one of the reasons I fell in love with Odis. He was the only boy I ever knew who didn't say, with a leer, "Lemme-kiss-you". The others who invariably called me that always thought it was a highly original pun, and would simply knock themselves out laughing at their own wit - their own "half wit" I used to say to myself.

If only a little thing such as that would not cause the young to suffer so!

September 14, 1946

It is September again, and I can sit in the front yard with the twins and watch the children on the St. Anthony School grounds, and hear them singing and reciting in the class rooms. We are always so glad when the Sisters return from their summer in Texas. And the first thing we say is, "Oh, I hope they all came back this year." They pass by on their way to church or town, and stop to chat awhile and admire Lila and Paul. Without a doubt, they are the happiest people I know. Their eyes have a serene and contented look, and their hands are still and beautiful. It comforts me to know that someday my children will be safe in those hands.

October 30, 1946

Julia Quinn and Johnny came a month before Jimbo arrived so that he might be born in Bunkie. I still get a pang when I remember that Lila and Paul had to enter this world via Alexandria.

I went with her to the clinic that morning just before he was born, after calling John in Baton Rouge that we were on our way. Remembering her long all night labor with Johnny, we thought it would be hours, but Jimbo was in a big hurry. She was in the delivery room only twelve minutes before John (who had arrived less than an hour before) and I heard the baby cry. She hasn't said she was sorry he wasn't a girl, but I catch her fondling the pink sweater and cap she bought at the church fair this month. Every mother should have a daughter - just as every father should have a son. Johnny asked for permission to name the baby. "Let's name him Jimmy and call him Jimbo," he said.

He will be baptized James Quinn Savario, but his name is Jimmy and we will call him Jimbo.

 November 15, 1946

Jimbo was baptized by the young new assistant at St. Anthony's and it was the first time he had ever performed the ceremony. He was intent and a little nervous, and my heart went out to him. I gave him the information as he wrote.

"Name of child?"

"James Quinn Savario"

"Two n's in Quinn?"

"Yes, Father."

"How do you spell Sav-?"

"S-a-v-a-r-i-o. Father"

"Parents' names?"

"Julia Quinn Lacour and John Nolan Savario."

"N-o-l-i-n?"

"No, Father, N-o-l-a-n."

"Godparents?"

"Wydell Mae Martin and Frederick Werner Rabalais."

 "What was that first name, please?"

"W-y-d-e-l-l-e Mae Martin, Father, but she is out of town."

"Who will stand for Miss Martin?"

"Lemmie Lacour Maxwell"

"The stand-in has to be a woman."

"Oh, Father, I'm sorry - I am Lemmie Maxwell.'

"Oh...What did you say the godfather is named?"

"Frederick Werner Rabalais."

"How do you spell Rab-"

"R-a-b-a-l-a-i-s, Father. I forgot you aren't familiar with these Avoyelles Parish names."

"The spelling is different from the way they sound, isn't it? Where is Mr. Rab -er- is the godfather here?"

"Here he is, Father," pushing Freddie forward.

"Hello, son. Mrs. Maxwell, do you know the Latin for James?"

"No, Father, I-"

"Oh, it is in the Prayer in honor of the Saints in the Canon of the mass. Do you happen to have your prayer book with you?"

"No, Father, I-"

"That's all right. If you will pardon me for just a moment I will go and look it up in the Altar Missal."

As he opened the gate of the sanctuary and genuflected, I thought, "No wonder he is nervous - a fretting baby, a small boy for a godfather, all the conglomeration of names."

After it was all over, and I looked down at Jimbo fast asleep in my arms, I thought, "What a melting pot - Irish, Spanish, French, German, Scotch, English - all in some way connected with one small new American Catholic."

December 3, 1946

The twins had a wonderful family birthday party. The most beautiful gifts they received, and the ones I shall put away to treasure for them, were some of Papa Maxwell's miniature wood carvings. Each one is in perfect proportion, smooth as glass, and breathtakingly beautiful. He had made a tiny axe and base ball bat for Paul, and for Lila a rolling pin and a delightful little cage with a loose ball inside which rolls round and round. "However did you carve that ball without breaking the tiny

 Slats in the cage?" I wanted to know. "That's my secret," Papa Maxwell said.

December 19, 1946

Those little button pins which come on birthday cards these days are a menace - or perhaps all mothers are not as careless as I.

Anyway, the day after the twins' birthday, I pinned their "2 year old" pins on their sweaters, and very foolishly said, "Now, don't put them in your mouths and swallow them."

Well, Paul, who as a general rule never puts anything in his mouth except food, promptly plucked his pin from his sweater, put it in his mouth, gulped and swallowed it - just like that. If I hadn't seen him do it, I would not have know that he had actually swallowed it. For two weeks, we had to take him to the clinic for  X-Rays and fluoroscopes, but each time the pictures showed that the pin was moving steadily downward.

Today I found it, and after I had washed it, I noticed how bright and smooth it was - all the paint had come off, and it was shining like newly polished silver. I went straight to the phone and called Odis and the doctor and I have worn it on my sweater all day. Everyone who came in said, "Oh, you have found the pin at last."

December 28, 1946

The Maxwell clan assembled in Goudeau at Effie's (Odis' sister) this year for Christmas dinner, and we took pictures as usual. Not only did we take a picture of four generations - Grandma Hart, Mama Maxwell, Odis and the twins, but we also took one of five generations - Grandma Hart, Mama Maxwell, Effie, Effie's son Bill and Bill's son Glynn.

When Odis and I married, Wilma (his other sister, Thelma's daughter) and Effie's other son, Phillip, were mischievous ten year olds, and Bill was in High School. Now Wilma and Phillip are mischievous teenagers, and Bill, who was major Goudeau in the war - is married and has a two year old son of his own.

Mama Maxwell looked at Lila, Paul and Glynn playing with their new toys, and sighed happily. " It's so nice having babies in the family again," she said.