Read Online Cheaper by the Dozen by Frank B. Gilbreth, Ernestine Gilbreth Carey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Frank B. Gilbreth, Ernestine Gilbreth Carey
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used to drive Mother and us to Sunday school, and then sit outside in the car, reading The New York Times and ignoring the shocked glares of passing churchgoers.
"You at least might come in where it's warm," Mother told him. "You'll catch your death out here."
"No," Dad replied. "When I go to meet my Maker, I want to be able to tell Him that I did my praying on my own, halted by neither snow nor sleet nor icy stares, and without the aid of any black-frocked, collar-backwards cheerleader."
"You might at least park where they won't all see you."
"All the glares in Christendom won't force me to retreat," Dad said. "Besides, I'll bet I have half the town praying to save my soul."
Dad told Mother that the only church he'd even consider joining was the Catholic church.
"That's the only outfit that would give me some special credit for having such a large family," he said. "Besides, most priests whom I have known do not appear to be surreptitious pinchers."
"Like this," said Ernestine, pinching Anne where she sat down.
"You stop that," said Mother, shocked. And turning to Dad.
"You're really going to have to watch the stories you tell in front of the children. They don't miss a thing."
"The sooner they know what to expect from preachers, the better," said Dad. "Do you want to have them all eating off the mantelpiece?"
Although Mother always claimed that she liked church, she usually was ready to go home immediately after Sunday school.
"What's the matter, Lillie?" Dad would ask. "Stay around awhile. I'll take the children home and come back for you."
"No, I guess not this morning."
"You're not going to be able to get past St. Peter just on the strength of going to Sunday school, you know."
"Well, I'd be miserable up there anyway without you," Mother would smile. "Come on. Let's go home. I'll go to church next Sunday."
Mother did take an active part in the Sunday school work, though. She didn't teach a class, but she served on a number of committees. Once she called on a woman who had just moved to town, to ask her to serve on a fund-raising committee.
"I'd be glad to if I had the time," the woman said. "But I have three young sons and they keep me on the run. I'm sure if you have a boy of your own, you'll understand how much trouble three can be."
"Of course," said Mother. "That's quite all right. And I do understand."
"Have you any children, Mrs. Gilbreth?"
"Oh, yes."
"Any boys?"
"Yes, indeed."
"May I ask how many?"
"Certainly. I have six boys."
"Six boys!" gulped the woman. "Imagine a family of six!"
"Oh, there're more in the family than that. I have six girls, too."
"I surrender," whispered the newcorner. "When is the next meeting of the committee? I'll be there, Mrs. Gilbreth. I'll be there."
One teacher in the Sunday school, a Mrs. Bruce, had the next-to-largest family in Montclair. She had eight children, most of whom were older than we. Her husband was very successful in business, and they lived in a large house, about two miles from us. Mother and Mrs. Bruce became great friends.
About a year later, a New York woman connected with some sort of national birth control organization came to Montclair to form a local chapter. Her name was Mrs. Alice Mebane, or something like that. She inquired among her acquaintances as to who in Montclair might be sympathetic to the birth control movement. As a joke, someone referred her to Mrs. Bruce.
"I'd be delighted to cooperate," Mother's friend told Mrs. Mebane, "but you see I have several children myself."
"Oh, I had no idea," said Mrs. Mebane. "How many?"
"Several," Mrs. Bruce replied vaguely. "So I don't think I would be the one to head up any birth control movement in Montclair."
"I must say, I'm forced to agree. We should know where we're going, and practice what we preach."
"But I do know just the person for you," Mrs. Bruce continued. "And she has a big house that would be simply ideal for holding meetings."
"Just what we want," purred Mrs. Mebane.
"You at least might come in where it's warm," Mother told him. "You'll catch your death out here."
"No," Dad replied. "When I go to meet my Maker, I want to be able to tell Him that I did my praying on my own, halted by neither snow nor sleet nor icy stares, and without the aid of any black-frocked, collar-backwards cheerleader."
"You might at least park where they won't all see you."
"All the glares in Christendom won't force me to retreat," Dad said. "Besides, I'll bet I have half the town praying to save my soul."
Dad told Mother that the only church he'd even consider joining was the Catholic church.
"That's the only outfit that would give me some special credit for having such a large family," he said. "Besides, most priests whom I have known do not appear to be surreptitious pinchers."
"Like this," said Ernestine, pinching Anne where she sat down.
"You stop that," said Mother, shocked. And turning to Dad.
"You're really going to have to watch the stories you tell in front of the children. They don't miss a thing."
"The sooner they know what to expect from preachers, the better," said Dad. "Do you want to have them all eating off the mantelpiece?"
Although Mother always claimed that she liked church, she usually was ready to go home immediately after Sunday school.
"What's the matter, Lillie?" Dad would ask. "Stay around awhile. I'll take the children home and come back for you."
"No, I guess not this morning."
"You're not going to be able to get past St. Peter just on the strength of going to Sunday school, you know."
"Well, I'd be miserable up there anyway without you," Mother would smile. "Come on. Let's go home. I'll go to church next Sunday."
Mother did take an active part in the Sunday school work, though. She didn't teach a class, but she served on a number of committees. Once she called on a woman who had just moved to town, to ask her to serve on a fund-raising committee.
"I'd be glad to if I had the time," the woman said. "But I have three young sons and they keep me on the run. I'm sure if you have a boy of your own, you'll understand how much trouble three can be."
"Of course," said Mother. "That's quite all right. And I do understand."
"Have you any children, Mrs. Gilbreth?"
"Oh, yes."
"Any boys?"
"Yes, indeed."
"May I ask how many?"
"Certainly. I have six boys."
"Six boys!" gulped the woman. "Imagine a family of six!"
"Oh, there're more in the family than that. I have six girls, too."
"I surrender," whispered the newcorner. "When is the next meeting of the committee? I'll be there, Mrs. Gilbreth. I'll be there."
One teacher in the Sunday school, a Mrs. Bruce, had the next-to-largest family in Montclair. She had eight children, most of whom were older than we. Her husband was very successful in business, and they lived in a large house, about two miles from us. Mother and Mrs. Bruce became great friends.
About a year later, a New York woman connected with some sort of national birth control organization came to Montclair to form a local chapter. Her name was Mrs. Alice Mebane, or something like that. She inquired among her acquaintances as to who in Montclair might be sympathetic to the birth control movement. As a joke, someone referred her to Mrs. Bruce.
"I'd be delighted to cooperate," Mother's friend told Mrs. Mebane, "but you see I have several children myself."
"Oh, I had no idea," said Mrs. Mebane. "How many?"
"Several," Mrs. Bruce replied vaguely. "So I don't think I would be the one to head up any birth control movement in Montclair."
"I must say, I'm forced to agree. We should know where we're going, and practice what we preach."
"But I do know just the person for you," Mrs. Bruce continued. "And she has a big house that would be simply ideal for holding meetings."
"Just what we want," purred Mrs. Mebane.
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