Cheaper by the Dozen: Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey, Chapters 5–9

Dad’s mother, Grandma Gilbreth, believed that her children were fated to make important marks in the world, and that her first responsibility was to educate them so they would be prepared for their rendezvous with destiny.

Subtle innuendoes like that never worried Dad.

“Your chairman recognizes the assistant chairman,” he said, nodding to Mother to let her know he had just conferred that title upon her person.

After some prodding by Dad, the motion on allotting work finally was introduced and passed.

Martha, who had been carefully coached in private caucus, arose.

"Second the motion,” said Lillian, yanking Dad out of his reverie.

"A dog,” Dad mimicked, "would be an accursed nuisance. He would be our master. He would eat me out of house and home. He would spread fleas from the garret to the porte-cochere. He would be positive to sleep on the foot of my bed. Nobody would wash his filthy, dirty, flea-bitten carcass.”

"Lillie, Lillie, open your eyes,” he implored. "Don’t you see where this is leading us? Ponies, roadsters, trips to Hawaii, silk stockings, rouge, and bobbed hair.”

A utilities committee levied one-cent fines on wasters of water and electricity.

Despite Dad’s forebodings, there were no ponies or roadsters.

Dad soon tired of diplomacy and psychology.
"Shut up and listen to me,” he roared.

So there was no more unavoidable delay in the bathroom, and it wasn’t long before we were all speaking at least a pidgin variety of French and German.

"QWERTYUIOP. See what I mean? Get to know them in your sleep. That’s the first step.”
We looked crestfallen.

We knew, then, that for the duration of that particular meal even the dullest facts about India would be deemed of exceptional general interest; whereas neighboring Siam, Persia, China, and Mongolia would, for some reason, be considered of but slight general interest, and events which had transpired in Montclair, New Jersey, would be deemed of no interest whatsoever.

As for report cards, members of the family who brought home good grades were feted and rewarded.

The first stop was Nishuane, the elementary school, an imposing and forbidding structure of dark red brick.

“Good morning, Miss,” said Dad, bowing with a flourish.

"Besides, most priests whom I have known do not appear to be surreptitious pinchers.”

"Exactly what we want. Civic minded, career woman, and—most important of all—a large house. One other thing—I suppose it’s too much to hope for—but is she by any chance an organizer? You know, one who can take things over and militantly drive ahead?”

"It’s almost too good to be true,” said Mrs. Mebane, wringing her hands in ecstasy.

Mrs. Mebane blanched, and clutched her head.

"She’s kept her youth well,” Mother conceded.

Mother had left home after her marriage, as introverted and conservative, and possibly even more shy and bookish, than any of the others.

Mother’s shyness and ladylike demeanor had a quieting effect on him, and he was displaying his most genteel behavior.

Dad slowed the car and cocked his checkered cap belligerently over one eye.

The bricklayer turned around to survey the plump but dapper dude from the East.

He grabbed a brick, flipped it into position in his hand, slapped on the mortar with a rotary motion of the trowel, placed the brick, scraped off the excess mortar, reached for a second brick, flipped it, and was about to slap on more mortar when the workman reached out and took back his trowel.

Fred was the baby, and was train sick all the way from Niagara Falls to the Golden Gate. Lill, the next to youngest, had broken a bone in her foot three weeks before, and had to stay in her berth.

We ate almost all our meals in the drawing room, journeying to the dining car only on those infrequent occasions when Mother yielded to our complaints that scurvy was threatening to set in.

Ensconced again in the bedroom in which she had grown up, she seemed to shed her responsibilities and become again "one of the Moller girls.”

To be efficient, in the Gilbreth family, was a virtue on a par with veracity, honesty, generosity, philanthropy, and tooth-brushing.

To be efficient, in the Gilbreth family, was a virtue on a par with veracity, honesty, generosity, philanthropy, and tooth-brushing.

Our grandparents became worried by our exemplary behavior. They told Mother they didn’t think it was natural, and that it made them nervous the way we tiptoed and whispered.

Bill finally was prevailed upon to dress in his new outfit. But he was sullen, and so were the rest of us when we received our instructions about the party.

"At home,” Martha whispered to the rest of us, "the children visit when the grownups visit. They don’t have to go stand in the garden like darned lepers.”

"I think they feel at home now,” Mother said a little ruefully.

Our godmothers waited on us hand and foot, and we began to enjoy and even revel in the attention.

It seemed natural now for them to call us "dears,” and we began to return the salutation without sarcasm or affectation.

In such cases he launched into hissing Chinese, brandished skillets, and then turned his back and walked away.

It was tacitly understood in the Moller family that the less one knew about his cooking methods and what he put into the food, the better for all concerned.