Welcome to Pearson Report.
Yes, I will be adhering to my THEME Calendar.
Alrighty - seems many of you are brave little rain warriors - dashing through the watery shards with your short cropped hair, laughing in the face of Mother Nature.
While I, and my trusty UMBRELLA, leisurely stroll about enjoying that same rainy day! Thanks for dropping in and sharing your umbrella stories - I think some of you need to do an umbrella post, I’d love to see those brollies in action.
OKAY… HERE WE GO…
Today, I wish to share my heritage with you.
I’m the offspring of two Austrians. Mutti and Vati (V said like F)
Mutti dearest still has an accent while Vati does not.
I do the most incredible Mutti imitation known to mankind. (Which actually freaks me out, I’m worried it might get stuck, then what?)
In fact, when I used to do standup comedy I did a whole bit on being raised by Mutti.
Now… I can’t do any of it justice here, because you can’t hear me.
This might paint the picture perfectly. (This is about a 3 minute read - if you need to be on your way, no problem, come back when you've got a coffee in hand and have a laugh on me, and Mutti… she doesn't mind.)
In the dark ages it was the wish of every father-to-be that at least one of his children be a male to carry on the family name along with the family business.
Not much has changed - a man still wants a son. (even if he won’t admit it publicly because the missus would tear a strip off him) Some things never change.
I’m the second of four kids - girl, girl, boy, boy.
Okay, the first child can be a girl - after all every dad secretly wants a little princess too.
But...all bets are off when it comes to kid number two - if number one was a girl, number two better be a boy or else.
Here’s the or else.
So, I’m the second girl… my poor mom was under tremendous pressure to produce the heir apparent - but apparently failed at such a simple task - what was she thinking. (even though it’s the sperm that determines gender)
Now, as mom tells it she really had her heart set on a boy, she’d done her duty the first time without success and really, really wanted a boy.
Mostly she was not a big fan of the ‘state of pregnancy’ - can we blame her!
Yes, there are some women that love being 'with child' - I say, “Good on you, whatever floats your boat.” Apparently in mother’s case it sunk her ship - four times.
When I was brought to my mother (after being tidied up and made presentable) the nurse congratulated her on her sweet, adorable, lovely, cute-as-a-button little girl.
“No, No, I vant a boy, take it back!”
I kid you not - those were her words - and we wonder why I’m in therapy!
Well, after some arguing about the fact that I couldn’t be swapped and given to someone else who might have wanted a “girl” baby, I was taken back to the nursery to prepare for my fate.
In the meantime, my mom received a visitor - the woman who would subsequently become my godmother - TW.
TW was so excited mom had another beautiful little girl, she had been by the nursery and was cooing all over the place about how lucky my mom was.
“Ya, dann take her, she’s yours. I vant a boy - no more girls.” (said like she’d just had her nineteenth girl)
After some explaining, by TW, my mom finally acquiesced - even though she knew it meant going through yet another birth to get that elusive but highly sought after boy - I was adorable and she had already fallen for my "cute-as-a-button" charm.
But that didn’t stop her from still being ticked at me for being a girl.
She told TW she had already picked a boy's name (for her son) and therefore I would be called Peter; it would teach me a lesson for being a girl.
TW went on to explain that Peter was not a suitable girl’s name whereby my mother leaned back in her bed and said, “Fine, dann ve call her Petra!”
I can only say there is a god - and it was manifesting itself through TW - because she said, “Absolutely no, dats not a goot name.”
“Ya, dann you pick da name vat ve give my boy,” retorts my mom. (note how she still called me her boy - and we wonder why I’m good with a hammer)
Without hesitation TW says, “I alvays liked Chainy und ve name her Chainy.” (this was how they said Jenny - I kid you not, there is no way I could make this up)
Fast forward to Kindergarten…
Mrs. S, an elderly teacher, (they all look old when you’re that little) called in my parents for a little chat. It appears I was not responding well to my name Jenny and she was concerned about some learning difficulties because of it.
“Ya, dats her name Chainy, vats da problem,” says mommy dearest!
With that the meeting was over. Mrs. S had her answer - it was not adorable little “me” that had the learning problem…
I’ve always liked my name, never wanted a different one and can safely say I am eternally grateful to my godmother for it.
It’s a good name. It’s not Jennifer or Jen - it’s just Jenny! (try to remember that, will you)
VELL, VAT DO YOU VANT? A qvestion… vell, okay...
What about your name... is there a story behind it too?
PS - Just Jenny was first posted in 2011 for the A to Z Challenge - as there are new folks dropping by I thought I’d dust it off and share it.
For those reading it AGAIN, there will be a test… let’s just see how much you remember… hmmm… who’s really reading and who’s skimming.
What does Mutti call me?