Laura Irene James

Crawling babies get into everything. Maybe that will teach Frank to put away his Legos, instead of leaving them on the floor where the twins can pick them up and try to eat them.

Well, we made it to the house relatively unscathed. I might need the next two months here just to recover and mentally prepare myself for the drive home -- two babies, a fourth-grader, and a pre-teen do not make for a pleasant car ride, especially not when you add their "horseback is the only way to travel"-thinking father to the mix. Maybe I'll make him drive for the trip to Annie's next week.

Oh, speaking of next week. Annie, is there anything you need us to bring? I know better than to trust you in a kitchen, so I could make some things here and then bring them over if you like.

One year and four days ago, my husband stood in front of me and shot himself through the heart. He told me he was the real Jesse James, made immortal by popular belief in him. I didn't believe him.

One year later, and some days I'm still not sure I believe him.

I will be so glad when this whole thing with Sandra Bullock and her soon-to-be ex-husband blows over, if only so that my son and husband will both stop throwing a fit every time the man is mentioned in the news. No, you do not have a monopoly on the name Jesse James, since technically you've been dead for a hundred-odd years. Suck it up.

The twins were in the nursery taking a nap. Their breaths, punctuated by the occasional squeaking yawn or sleepy lip-smacking, were a steady sound on the baby monitor in the kitchen, where Laura was emptying the dishwasher. When the darkness came, she dropped the glass baking dish in her hands and lunged for the phone and the baby monitor simultaneously. Jesse didn't answer his phone. Mary and Frank's school phone line was busy. And on the baby monitor, that sound that wasn't her babies breathing...

She stopped long enough to feel her way to the study, open a desk drawer and pull out a weapon she had never used before, clutching it in her hand like a talisman. Laura spent the remainder of the twenty minutes of darkness in the nursery, standing guard in front of the twins' cribs with her husband's pistol pointed at the dark hallway and whatever might leap out of it.

[voicemail left on Jesse's phone after Laura watches the evening news]

Jesse James, I am going to kill you when you get home. And when you wake up you're sleeping on the couch for a month.

It must be nice, being able to make spur-of-the-moment decisions like "Hey, I think I'll hop on a train and leave my wife and children alone for a few days while I go wallow in the misery of my death-day by drinking myself into a stupor." Never mind that said children are three months, three months, eight, and ten respectively, and that said wife will have to deal with them all on her own until her stupid pigheaded immortal husband decides he's ready to come home. And of course it doesn't matter that it's a holiday weekend, because of course moping by himself is more important than spending Easter with his family.

I hate this so much, he should never have told me.

I'm beginning to understand what his first wife went through.

[locked from mortals not "in the know"]

I can't believe I'm actually posting this. I feel like an idiot.

I'd like to hire somebody to help me with the kids. Jesse finally agreed to it, but with one stipulation. Whoever we hire has to be "somebody like him." Specifically, someone... immortal. Don't ask me why, I'll never understand that man's reasoning behind some things.

Basically, we're looking for an immortal nanny. There are four children: Mary is twelve; Frank is eight; and the twins are a month old. They're all very well-behaved, mostly low-maintenance with the exception of all Mary's extracurriculars, and it would be a mostly daytime, 9-5ish position. Compensation is at my husband's discretion, but I'm sure he'll agree with me that the care of our children is worth a great deal. If you're interested, let me know and we can see about setting up an interview or something along those lines.

I'd forgotten just how little sleep one gets when caring for an infant -- or in this case, infants. At least, thank God, they seem to be on a similar schedule. If one wakes up, I know the other isn't far behind and I'm not having to worry about getting one down to sleep just as the other wakes up.

I think I'm going to steal the coffee pot from the kitchen and install it in the nursery. It will be of much greater use to me there.

Hannah, thank you so much for watching the kids that night. They had a wonderful time, and Mary can't stop talking about the new lessons you have in mind (don't listen to Jesse, I approve entirely. Now that I have the babies, and with Frank so close with his father, it's good for her to have something to herself). Once I find a suitable nanny, we'll have to make the time to meet again. I need to buy a whole new post-maternity wardrobe and can hardly be expected to do that alone!

Mom and the twins came home from the hospital today! Grandma came over too, she's going to stay for a while to help out.

The babies are cute, I guess. I dunno. It seems like an awful lot of work to take care of them when they don't do a whole lot. But the grownups won't stop fussing over them and Dad and Grandma are fussing over Mom, and she just told Dad that she's going to throw something at him "unless you quit hovering and let me take care of my babies, I have done this before."

I'm gonna go see if they'll let me hold Ellie for a little. Frank already got to hold them both, but Ellie fell asleep before it was my turn.

I was watching the news this morning and saw an interesting story about a theft. Two armed men held up a bank in the financial district yesterday. Not any bank, either -- they held up the branch at One Chase Manhattan Plaza, and in broad daylight. One apparently had an antique Thompson machine gun. They both had their faces covered with kerchiefs like bandits in an old Western, too. Isn't that curious? Robbers doing it the old-fashioned way like that. Kind of puts me in mind of a few people I know...

What exactly were you buying yesterday when you said you were Christmas shopping, Jesse? I think I'd like to see some receipts.

I think we're going to need to look for some help. The idea bothers me a little, but I just don't think I'm going to be able to keep the house running like it is by myself anymore. In a few weeks we'll have two infants, two school-age children who have sports and social lives, and a house (two, but we won't be back there for a while) to keep in order. And while I know I'm pretty talented at multitasking, even I can't handle all of that without tearing my hair out from the stress.

The question now, is do we hire someone to help with the house and cooking, or do we hire someone to help with the children?

Decisions, decisions. I'll finish my Christmas shopping first (oh, the wonders of online shopping) and see if I can find the ornaments and lights for the tree before I start looking into this seriously.

[Locked from Jesse]
I hate him. I hate him for doing this to me. It's not fair. I shouldn't be feeling guilty about the twins, knowing that I'm giving him more children he's just going to outlive. Just like he outlived his last family, he's going to outlive us. And he knew that from the start! That stupid, selfish man took advantage of me. I was twenty-three and smitten, of course I was going to say yes to his stupid proposal, while he -- what, while he was only interested in taking care of his loneliness without thinking about what this would do to me and the family we would have? We're a temporary stopgap, that's all. If he moved on from them, when we all die he can move on from us just as easily. And I absolutely hate that.

I should be stressing about what color to paint the nursery. Instead, I'm worrying about how we're going to tell the twins about who their father really is. Will it just be an open thing at home? Will we lie to them until they're old enough, like he lied to us? How will it affect them? How will they even deal with the knowledge that they're going to die before their father does?
[/]

Took a delightful trip to the doctor's today. We got our seasonal flu vaccines and the H1N1 vaccine -- Mary and I were each fine with one dose, but Frank has to go back for a second one in three weeks. He isn't thrilled about that, you can imagine.

I know it's a while away, but I need to start thinking about Thanksgiving. I'll undoubtedly be forbidden from getting near the oven, the range, the knives, the polish for the good silver... in fact, it's a good guess I won't be allowed into my own kitchen at all. Which means we can either go to my parents' for Thanksgiving, have my parents over for Thanksgiving, or see which one of my sisters has enough space at her table for us.

Or I could attempt the impossible and try to teach my husband to cook. I'm sure that would end well. Chinese take-out for Thanksgiving, anyone?

Al Capone's hideout being auctioned off

Jesse James, you are not allowed to put in a bid on this place. Nor are you allowed to have anybody make a bid on your behalf, and you most certainly can't involve your poor accountant in this -- I've already made him aware of the situation and he'll be giving me a running commentary on every single penny you spend tomorrow.

Move family back from Long Island to the city? Check. Get children prepared for and sent off to a new school year? Check. Re-enroll children in all their extracurriculars? Check. Spend a ridiculous amount of money and several hours making sure husband set up the nursery just right? Check, though I'm still not sure I like the cribs where they are. Go to doctor's and find out sex of the twins?

Oh, yes. Check. One of each, a boy and a girl! She's been moving around more than him lately, according to the doctor's estimation of which one is curled up where inside. The little man doesn't mind his sister taking the spotlight, I guess.

Having done all of that, I've decided that this next week is going to be devoted exclusively to sleep and buying enough new clothes to outfit a dozen babies with full seasonal wardrobes. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I can do both without even getting out of bed -- though that may not be the best of ideas. I shudder to think what the apartment would look like if I lazed around in bed for a week. Maybe just one day, then.

Finally found something to wear for this ridiculous costume thing. I have to say, something doesn't quite feel right about spending close to a thousand dollars for this outfit to wear to an event supposed to be raising money for charity. Perhaps I'll find myself feeling quite poorly on the day of the event; it's not like anybody ever questions whether a pregnant woman is faking being unwell. Most convenient excuse ever.

One thing I don't have a problem spending money on? The nursery, which I can finally start decorating. I suppose we ought to start thinking about names, too.

It seems my son has made it his new mission to scout out the city's immortals and get acquainted with them. I read the other comments on that post of his, and... well, most of them -- most of you were very sensible. Thank you. He means well; he's just a very curious boy. His father and I didn't expect he'd get quite so motivated in the short while we were outside, but there you have it. If Frank finds out about something and decides he wants to know more, you'll have a hell of a time stopping him. Though an indefinite period of time with no computer privileges unless he's specifically supervised by one of us ought to curb that a little.

I still don't think Mary quite believes what we told her. She keeps asking if she can stab Jesse with her fencing sword. At this point, I'm inclined to say yes just so we can have it all over with. What's one little stab wound compared with the bullet through the heart he used to convince me? No, I'm not still having nightmares about that, not at all, the sound and the gun and the blood and

Maybe we should've waited until they were older.

We're leaving for Missouri tomorrow and nothing is ready. Maybe if a certain someone would leave off trying to make me stop "overtaxing" myself, I'd have more done. Honestly, piling clothes into suitcases will not tire me out. Promise. And it's not like I intend to be the one carrying them, anyway. That part is all his.

I just know tomorrow is going to be a hassle and then some. A pregnant woman, two small children, and a man whose ideal form of travel is by horseback, confined to a plane for several hours... oh, I just can't wait.

I ended up taking a serious nap after dinner and only just woke up. I think I shouldn't do that anymore. My son showed me a list of reasons he's come up with as to why his father is the Jesse James from his books, which was bad enough, but then, well. I went out to the living room to check on Jesse and Mary, and neither was there. But he left his computer on the table and the browser was open...

I look just like her.

Damn it, I look like her. Now not only do I have to put up with all the stories about their epic love in the books and things Frank's so fond of; I have to deal with the fact that we look like we could be sisters. For all I know, he married me precisely because of the resemblance. The man can't let go of anything else from his past, so why not try to recreate it entirely?

Of all the men in the world, I picked the one with quite possibly the most emotional baggage one single person has ever had. My luck.