Laura Irene James

[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.

Right, so I'm not quite sure what this is. I was bored at work and got to writing, and turned this out. It's not quite a narrative, nor is it a fic... but I like it so I figured I would post it anyway and let you fair folks be the judges.

( Come on, you voyeurs. Have a peek inside her head. )

I can't feel bad that the truth is out. I understand his reasoning for not being particularly fond of the holiday after everything. However, that doesn't mean I particularly enjoyed fighting traffic to get back into the city to take the children to the Macy's fireworks display all by myself this year. We'll stay the night here at the apartment and make the drive to the farm sometime tomorrow. No way I'm awake enough to drive all the way back at this time of night.

( Jesse )

( Private )

Mmmyeah. I had a lot of time to kill before work this morning so I decided to work on a new set. And I've finished this one!

( More bite-sized James family fic! )

Ten random prompts from the Gamma set, because I can't work in order.

( Featuring all of the Jameses! )

How is it that I've gained five pounds when I can hardly stomach anything more than dry toast, certain fruits, and juice? Even cooking dinner for the family is enough to make me feel ill! At least with my first two, they were close enough in age that I wasn't entirely unused to pregnancy. Now, though, it may as well be the first time all over again. It's been close to eight years, after all, and I'm not as young as I was with the other two. Try telling that to my libido, though, good heavens. It's not like we never have sex -- it happens on a pretty consistent basis, really. More frequently while we're away for the summer, even. But it's not enough and seriously, my sex life (or significant lack thereof) is not exactly something that ought to be topping my priority list. This is silly. I should be worrying about Mary's summer lessons or how on earth we're fitting an entire nursery set in the fourth bedroom of the apartment, or that I have no maternity clothes that aren't boxed up in storage somewhere.

Ten weeks so far. Hopefully by the time we leave for Missouri, I'll be over the worst of it. If not... well, at least I won't have to worry about motion sickness. These little monsters are making sure that just sitting up in bed is worthy of motion sickness.

( Left in Jesse's study Sunday morning )

( Voicemail left on Jesse's phone Monday morning )

Everything's going to be all right. We're all right. I think

I have two beautiful children and two more on the way, and a husband who loves us and works hard to provide for us. That said husband happens to be an immortal former outlaw is... well, I'm working on it. Our family is more important right now.

So here's the thing: I'm stuck at work until 5 and should in theory be slogging through updating the emergency contact list for our 280+ stores... but who actually wants to work at work? I'd much rather jump on the drabble bandwagon!

Any character of mine is fair game. Meetings between characters, random prompts, anything goes! Oh my god I'm so bored HELP ME.

These kidlets are mine:
Laura laurairene
Helen athousandships
Laudanum blackdrops
Television couch_spud
Johnny Rebel takemystand
Biological Warfare breathedeeply

( Phone call from Mary to Jesse )

He's also apparently a millionaire. A multi-millionaire. A multi-millionaire who supposedly made said millions by robbing banks and trains up and down the country over a hundred years ago. And here I thought the 250 thousand per year he makes at the company was enough to make us quite well-off.

I can't decide whether or not that's more or less believable than the fact that my children are also apparently half... immortal. Namely because I can't figure out precisely how one can be only half immortal.

And when did I start believing all this nonsense?

It would have been nice to know I was marrying a complete lunatic before I said yes, married him, and had two three, oh my God how am I supposed to tell him now children with him. Just saying. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

....Oh my God. What just happened? It's not possible, I was seeing things, it was a trick, nobody could have survived that

I think I feel sick.

I shouldn't really be surprised by this sort of behavior anymore. A few times a year he'll go off to his study and close the door, and a couple of hours later I'll find him passed out on his desk with an empty bottle of brandy next to him. I get him to bed, get the study cleaned up, and hide the liquor, but that never stops it from happening again.

It always happens on or around certain days, too. I can't help but think there's some reason behind this, and the curiosity's nearly gotten the better of me some times. But we never talk about it the next day -- I never ask, he never tells, and life goes on like normal. Until the next occasion.

[locked from Jesse and Bonnie]

I bet he tells Bonnie. Ten years I've been married to that man, and there are times I feel like she knows more about him than I ever have or will.

He says they're just friends. I say they're awfully close for "just friends." If he is having an affair --dear God, I don't know what I'll do if that's the case, haven't I been a perfect wife and mother?-- she's the first one I'd suspect of being the other woman.