Jennifer Moody

All I could think, as both of my Princesses pushed past me at the church soup supper, one to grab first choice from all the desserts, the other to start dishing up her chicken noodle even before the priest said grace, was: “Laura and Mary would never shame their Ma like this.”

We are reading the “Little House” books aloud at bedtime. We’re almost done with “On the Banks of Plum Creek.” I don’t know how the Princesses feel, but I marvel more about the differences between our worlds with every chapter.

Laura and Mary had one dress and one nightgown each. The Princesses have so many T-shirts they can’t close their dresser drawers.

Laura had just one rag doll, Charlotte, and when a little visitor wanted to take her home, Ma told Laura not be selfish and to think of others. The Princesses, in spite of having so many Polly Pockets I’m no longer certain of the color of their bedroom carpet, have a conniption fit if one even shows signs of thinking about playing with the other’s dolls.

Laura and Mary received a whole penny each at one memorable Christmas and counted themselves among the truly blessed. Later, when they learned their Pa and Ma would be charged a penny to buy them a slate pencil, they decided to use one of the Christmas pennies to buy it themselves so their family wouldn’t have to pay even one more cent for their schooling.

I’m not even going to talk about the wailing and gnashing of teeth from our house if the Allowance Fairy is a few minutes late.

Ah, if we could be part of the Ingalls family! Let’s dream about the possibilities …

“Children are to be seen and not heard.” I could have a conversation with Pa without Little Princess piping up to say, “What? What did you say? What are you talking about, Mommy? What does ‘mortgage’ mean, Daddy?”

“Laura knew she had to mind Ma.” I could tell Slightly Older Princess to put down her book and clean the cat box and not hear 1) silence, followed by, 2) “Huh?” followed by, 3) “Whyyyyy?” followed by, 4)  “In a minute,” followed by, 5) “Nowwww?” followed by, 6) “In a minute,” followed by, 7)  “It’s Little Princess’ turn!” followed by, “In a minute,” followed by, 9) “OK, OK! Sheesh, why do you have to be so crabby about it?”

“Every day there was fish for breakfast and fish for dinner and fish for supper.” Laura says these words with glee after Pa builds a fish trap on Plum Creek. Hunting is scarce and the garden is not yet in, so this, and maybe some cornbread from time to time, is all they have. No mashed potatoes or steamed broccoli or chocolate chip cookies for dessert. No meatloaf or spaghetti or even peanut butter sandwiches the next day. I can imagine how well that would go over at our house, where the eye-rolls begin even before the table is set. (”Crisp pork medallions Alfredo over a bed of creamy risotto with a side of seasonal vegetables julienne? Again?”)

Sigh. Oh, the days we would have in Laura’s world …

And yet I wouldn’t really trade my Princesses’ lives for Laura’s or Mary’s. Laura had to earn money for the family by going out to teach at age 16, as I recall, boarding with a sullen homesteader and his psychopathic wife. Scarlet fever, which my child medical care book treats practically as a quaint old notion, stole Mary’s sight. Neither girl had much expectation of ever doing anything but what their parents or husbands thought was right for them.

My Princesses live in a world without smallpox or polio, where they can reasonably expect to live well into their 70s. They go to school with children from many different backgrounds and think nothing of it. They can go into medicine, politics, law, business or professional sports. They can get married, or not, have children of their own, or not, as they choose. I wouldn’t trade that future.

But one thing they cannot do is get in front of all the other people at church just to snatch the first piece of chocolate cream pie. If they ever do that again, this Ma promises to get Pioneer on their behinds.

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