Lola: The Return of Mad Men

Darling girls - I have absolutely nothing of any substance to contribute on this beautiful morning, other than in about 5 minutes I am going to bust out for a lovely walk to the sweet tunes of Grace Potter and the Nocturnals on my i-pod. But before I go, I wanted to note the fact that Mad Men will be returning to TV on August 16. So go Mad Men yourselves as I have!

Julep: Just noticed -

... the Twitter feed. Did someone get in a bus accident?

Dibbs: I Don't Care if A. Got a Keyboard

My grandfather called tonight. My parents are out of town, and he needed to chat, so I got the honors. (I know. I truly am grateful to have grandparents who can still call me. Its' just...)

He asked when I would be home next and what time I went to bed and told me all about his sore arm and my grandmother's "puniness." Then the conversation went where it always goes: my cousin A. I think I've sufficiently complained about my cousin A. and my grandparents' obvious favoritism toward her. (I'm pretty sure the other residents at The Ridge think I'm disabled. So inferior I am to A.) Here's the latest: A. got a keyboard. Have I told you this already? It's possible. I've heard it at least six times.

You see, A. wasn't feeling well. She went to the doctor, who told her she might be depressed. You know, because "It's hard to finish school and go into the work world." I agree that it is hard---when you're twenty-two. I hated leaving that sorority dorm and instead getting up for work in the morning all alone. Sucked. However, A. has experience in this matter. She has three Bachelor's degrees. She just never works. The thought just came to me that she really should have gotten a PhD in one area so she can teach. So suited to the life of academia she is that she can't function outside the university walls. Silly A. Next time she goes back to get another degree, I'll mention this idea.

My grandfather often mentions how glad he is that A. has a husband to take care of her. Me, too! If not, he'd be doing it. He already bought the damn keyboard, because, apparently, it's a good treatment for depression. Whatever. I don't want him using his fixed income to take care of a girl who's fully able to get up and work. If she's that depressed, she needs to apply for disability. Ooh, I'm pulling that one out next time he brags about her.

Julep: On the Home Front

So Mr. J and I are going to spend Saturday and Sunday at Kentucky Lake with the in-laws. And BOTH dogs. That's right, she caved. Now everyone please say a little prayer that The Twins behave beautifully all weekend!

Can I switch gears and fuss about my own family? My younger sister Sissy, to be specific. I'm about to head to J-Mama's for our weekly dinner which means I am about to hash through the topic below for about the 800th time. And I need to vent.

Although they both earned bachelor's degrees years ago, for the last six years, either Sissy or her husband (The Saint) have been in school ... Sissy was getting an education certification and master's, and The Saint went back for training in graphic design. But just around the time that Sissy went back to school, the house of her dreams went up for sale -- her best friend once lived there, it's a cute little place right across the street from our high school (and two blocks from my house not that that was a consideration).

J-Mama had been contemplating an investment in rental property, so she bought the Dream House and rented it to Sissy and The Saint -- at a rate far below market due to the ongoing education. But J-Mama thought and I wholly concur that a cute little property in the Highlands is a great place to stash some cash regardless of whether it is currently generating income. (Heck, even in the recent housing market slowdown the properties there have held their own nicely.) And you can't imagine a better tenant than Sissy -- the OCD sure does come in handy for keeping a place tidy.

OK, fast forward to 2009. Poor little J-Mama is getting very anxious about retirement and her 401(k) and the damage done by the economic collapse and what if there's another mass layoff at her place of employment and she can't find another job at her age. I keep telling her not to worry, but you know, she's got a point. Meanwhile, Sissy is fully employed in the public school system. The Saint has graduated from his program, but is still holding down his old job while looking for a graphic design gig. And Sissy is preggers. Yay for them and all that, but she has started making noises about how maybe she won't go back to work after she has the baby.

Now I love a cute little house in the Highlands as much as the next girl. And y'all know that I fully support a woman who chooses to stay home with her child ... IF she can afford to do so. The sad fact is, sometimes people don't have a choice about working. Bills gotta get paid. And I do not think Sissy should be making plans based on the idea that our mother will continue to subsidize her housing arrangements. J-Mama has not raised the rent over there in SIX YEARS. That little house could be generating some positive cash flow for her instead of soaking her every month for a large portion of the mortgage payment.

If The Saint lands a well-paying job, and they can afford to pay market rate rent on the house using his salary alone, then I applaud Sissy if she chooses to stay home. But otherwise, maybe someone who has hit age 30 and is about to birth a child should start thinking of what other people need for a change ... and that includes her parent as well as her pending child.

Twinkle: A Free Exchange of Love and Germs

So, for the third time in my tenure as a mother, Twinklette has caught something unpleasant and passed it directly to me. It obviously can't be avoided, as babies are unfamiliar with quarantine procedures and think nothing of drooling, sneezing, or barfing on others. Most of the time, the willing recipients of these germs are their moms, who notice the same symptoms a few days later.

So I've got a nasty little summer head cold, which I actually seem to be getting over. Mr. Twinkle insisted that I take some Benadryl Allergy Sinus last night, even though he knows I only believe in the effectiveness of controlled narcotics. To my surprise, the Benadryl actually seemed to work. I woke up with my symptoms alleviated, but still exhausted from the meds, so Mr. Twinkle very graciously called his mom to come get Twinklette this morning. And I kind of wish he hadn't because I'm not that tired, but it's sweet that he wants me to get better, so I thanked him and acted appreciative. And it is sort of nice to have a break.

So when my MIL came to the door this morning, Twinklette ran to the door to greet her and MIL picked her up and said, "Say bye to Mommy." I leaned in to kiss Twinklette and MIL turned her head so that I could kiss the back of it. I took her little face in my hands and turned it around to give her two firm kisses on the cheek. I mean, Twinklette is the one who made me sick! She has immunity! And who is my MIL to determine what is and isn't safe between Twinklette and me? I've been the one wiping her nose for a week; I'm the one who knows about the schedule for her medicine. It's infuriating.

The worst was last winter, around Superbowl time when I had a horrible cold (much worse than now), caught from one Miss Twinklette. We were going to watch the Superbowl at a friend's house (even though I was in terrible shape), and MIL was watching Twinklette. When I went to say goodbye to my daughter, MIL exclaimed, "Don't kiss her!!!!!" I said, "She made me sick--I think she's immune," and kissed her repeatedly. That display by my MIL was much more blatant than the one today, but the sentiment was the same.

It's to be expected, and it's indicative of a larger issue: MIL thinks she has to protect the babies of the world from their inexperienced and irresponsible (or just plain selfish) mothers. No one is more concerned than I am about preserving the health and happiness of Twinklette, and the fact that MIL doesn't believe that is just so typical.

Dibbs: Weekend Notes

Hi, girls. Happy Sunday. I drank too much wine last night, my back and hips hurt, I took two Lortab, and now I'm chatty. So...I thought you all might want to know about my weekend. Call me if you want entertainment. I'm funny right now, if I do say so myself.

Last night I went to a tapas and sangria party, courtesy of a mutual friend of ours. You simply must come to the next one. Those people go all out.
Because it was this particular party, the man-who-changes-moods was there. If anyone got my late- night twitter about kicking someone in the shins, he is the culprit. TMWCM was nice as could be when I got there. He helped me set out my food, he opened my chips so I wouldn't spill them, and he found the missing brandy so I could finish the sangria. We were telling stories and having a grand old time. Then the singer did her little set. TMWCM was making the noise we share. He can roll his "r's." I can't. So once we established a signal that I could give and he would roll "r's" for me. Cute. After the songs were over, I asked if he remembered our signal. He said, and I quote, "Keep groovin', babe." Then he walked away.
I realize this may sound petty, but I was furious. I felt so stupid for reminding him of our signal, when he obviously doesn't even remember and feels no need to try.
When I left he complimented me on my fabulous guacamole. (It was fabulous; I bought it at Seviche.) He was at that time chatting up a girl who posts skanky things on his facebook. A friend of mine calls her a crack-whore. I don't know about that, but she sure does like botox. He usually ignores this girl (at least when I'm around.) Who knows. I told him I was sure he would find a way to have a good night and made my exit. I did not have a tantrum--until I got home. That doesn't count.

On another note, I just heard that Sarah Palin is writing a book. I read her resignation speech. It was terrible--random capitalized WORDS, the use of words like "gotta" and "nah," and multiple ((parentheses.)) Her poor editor. I hope it isn't the one Billy Gillispie is using. That person will lose all faculties.
I know. I'm not supposed to talk about Sarah Palin. Or Max Gilpin. I offend people when I do. Sorry.

Speaking of crack-whores, little brother Dibb's mother just threatened to kill him and even went so far as to pull a knife. He had to call the po-po. She says she's moving to Johnson City, Tn. You know that makes me happy. I can sing about it! The party never ends around here.

Also, my work lesbian just said on facebook that she had to bath her dog. I hate it when people use the word "bath" as a verb. I think it's a mountain thing, but just as I don't say "fixin to," we all need to correct our natural grammar when we find it's incorrect. And she's supposed to be the intellectual...

Now I have to go. I need to write an entry about the chaos at the Country Club on my other blog. Check it out.

P.S. I forgot about anonymity and had to edit. Sorry.

Twinkle: Your Family Planning is My MIL's Business

The timeless struggle between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law is a fascinating one indeed, and one that I'm trying to reconcile as a mother. Granted, I don't have a son, and I think mothers influence their sons and daughters in different ways. Mothers of girls get to watch their daugthers grow up to have similar traits and characteristics, whereas mothers of boys have to watch their sons live lives with girls who were not raised by them. That's the central tragedy to moms of boys, I think--that their sons marry girls who were raised by different mothers, sharing some other mother's mannerisms and traits. If incest were legal and advisable, I'm sure my MIL would think there's no better match for Mr. Twinkle than his sister.

The thing I love about your attitude, Julep, is that you're respectful of her rules but are still making your own decision about how to handle the (rather arbitrary) two-dog mandate. It's the best kind of punishment, because she brought it all on herself. And if this woman shows such blatant favoritism to some dogs, I hate to think what will happen if one grandchild gets better grades than another one. Perhaps you all should take the smartest one on vacation with you.

This sort of reminds me of my own MIL, who is practical in all matters, especially family planning. This is a woman who wanted no more than 2 children so the adults in the house wouldn't be outnumbered. No one told her that she's bigger than kids and also the boss; she has no trouble wielding authority, so I really don't know why she thought more than 2 were out of the question. She also spaced them 5 years apart so she wouldn't have to pay for more than one college education at a time. These were her decisions, and they make a lot of sense from a practical standpoint, and it's not my place to judge them. Nor is it her place to judge Mr. Twinkle's and my desire for a large family, nor the fact that we want our children to be close enough in age that they can play together and have something in common. These things are important to us just as her reasons were important to her.

Just as she believes she's the only person who can take care of an infant, my MIL also thinks she knows what's best about everyone's family planning choices (not just people in her family). If she hears talk of some random having Irish twins, we all have to sit through a long soliloquy on the perils of having two in diapers. If someone has 5 kids, we have to hear her wonder how those parents will ever pay for everyone's college. At a bris, she'll marvel (and not in a good way) about the number of babies there. I mean, who does she expect the parents of this newly-minted Member of the Tribe to hang out with if not other parents of babies? (We can't all be in the 60-and-over mah jong group at the Glenview). The worst wrath was reserved for the octo-mom, and the fact that the octo-mom aroused such ire in my MIL actually made me want to defend the indefensible.

I do think there's a desire to influence our decisions in her endless ranting and raving about other people's family planning, but there's also a sincerity that makes me believe she thinks she really does know best.

And I've got news for her. We didn't consult her the first time around, and we won't be asking her advice next time, either. We're going to do things our own way, which is not necessarily her way. I can't help it that she didn't raise me.

Julep: I Don't Think So, Lady.

Let me start with the backstory. In May, Mr. J's parents bought this new boat, which eventually will live in Florida/ the Caribbean, but will be at KY Lake for the next two summers while my FIL gets everything situated to his liking. There was much talk about how the whole family could vacation on the boat -- it's not stretching too far to call it a yacht, as it sleeps 10.

Well, then my MIL decides there will be a rule: no more than 2 dogs on the boat at a time. As she has a dog herself, this means that Mr. J's sister can visit at her whim with dog in tow, but Mr. J and I -- loving owners of two dogs, The Twins -- will have to find a dog-sitter for at least one of our dogs. (And it turns out the"2 dog" rule is actually a "only one of your dogs at a time" rule. We were not allowed to bring them both even when she did not have her dog with her. So we stayed home, to her displeasure.)

Mr. J and I discussed, and I was very happy to realize we were on the same page: absolutely no way were we splitting up our dogs. The Twins are attached at the hip. They have never been separated for a night since they met 18 months ago. Black Twin is utterly codependent and would have some kind of breakdown if he were left without his people OR his buddy for more than 5 minutes. Brown Twin spent the first six months of her life in a miserable animal shelter in Franklin County, and while she has socialized beautifully since we adopted her, we are not going to torture her by leaving her alone in her crate for hours on end with no buddy right next to her.

So, we concluded, there will simply not be many trips to the boat for us while it's up here at the lake. It's her boat and she can make whatever rules she wants for it. But they are our dogs, and we decide how we are going to treat them. It's way too much hassle to find a dogsitter every other weekend, plus we don't actually like leaving them all the time.

OK. With this backdrop, yesterday Mr. J and I stopped by his parents' house to drop some stuff off , and the topic came up of whether we will join them down at the lake next weekend. See, my MIL just will not accept that her own stupid rule is getting in the way of what she wants, namely these happy happy weekends with everyone at the lake together. She is determined that we should just leave one of our dogs at home and come hang out on her boat.

This woman is far too used to getting her own way, and I have some bad news for her. In 33 1/2 years, no one has ever successfully pushed me into doing something I don't think is the right thing to do. And I am not going to feel guilty or sorry about not giving in to her, either. Nor will she be getting the usual guilty, sorry response from her son now that he has me on his side. For years she has made him feel bad about not doing whatever she thought he should do (no matter how stupid or unsuited to him her idea was). Well, that day has passed.

And this was the kicker: as she was explaining that it is just so much trouble to attend to more than one dog, she segued into how much trouble it is to have more than one kid. (Note: she has 2 herself.) And then she actually said, "When you have kids, if someone volunteers to take one of them while you go on vacation, that would be great."

Excuse me? Let me get this straight. She's not saying that Mr. J and I should take a little trip together, just the two of us, and leave our progeny at home in the loving care of the grands - which I certainly hope we will do from time to time. No, in her mind, Mr. J and I will have two (or more) children, and leave one of them at home with Grandma while we take the other one(s) on a family vacation. That is a sure road to sibling harmony right there.

I realize that she thinks owning two dogs is a horrible inconvenience and she can't understand why we chose to adopt two (without consulting her, natch.) If we didn't think we could keep up with two dogs (though it really is no more trouble than one, maybe less because they keep each other occupied), we wouldn't have adopted two. We, not she. And if we don't think we can keep up with more than one child, we won't have more than one child. Also not a subject on which she will be getting a vote.

Twinkle: I Can't Comment, So I'll Just Post

Anyone else have trouble with the comment feature? I couldn't seem to make it happen.

My heart also goes out to this hillbilly baby, and while I feel sorry for them, I have to blame his bucktoothed parents. I see many families with young children and large dogs walking around the Highlands, and I never hear of their golden retrievers going all Tatiana (the Tiger) on anyone. This sort of mauling only seems to happen in backwoods rural settings, or occasionally in Louisville's Portland neighborhood. Not to bring up uncomfortable issues about socioeconomic class, but I'd venture to guess that there's a direct correlation between a couple's education level and the probability that their baby will be mauled by wild dogs. But y'all know I'm a snob.

I am the owner of a very large mutt and a very hostile Siamese cat, and I was unsure of what their reactions would be when I brought home a new little bundle around whom everything revolved. And I have to report that they both behaved like champions...Kitty K-Fed deserves extra credit for rising to the occasion. His initial reaction to her was indifference, but as she's gotten mobile, that indifference has turned to fear. He isn't exactly nice to Twinklette in the sense that she can ever play with him; mostly he just runs away before she can pull his tail or put a Bitty Baby bonnet on him. Although yesterday I did witness their first cute moment of playing together when Twinklette waved a wand with long ribbon streamers at a delighted Kitty K-Fed. Our dog can be poked, prodded, stepped on, kicked, or dressed up and she'll return a big kiss on Twinklette's head. It's kind of gross, but I'll take it over a mauling.

I'm pretty sure that when we brought Twinklette home from the hospital, we let them sniff one of her little hats or something (that's what the hospitals recommend), but I also did not ever leave either of them alone with her until they'd proven themselves repeatedly (probably a year or more), and I also made sure (and still do) that when she's sleeping, the door to her room is closed completely so that only those with opposable thumbs can get in. I now know that our dog is a willing playmate and that Kitty K-Fed has the good sense to get the hell away from her if she's chasing him with the doll stroller, so now everyone has free run of whatever space we're playing in. I actually trust our dog to watch her if I'm in the next room, or let me know if something's wrong--she is very loving and caring with Twinklette and also quite protective. And she never minds wearing Bitty Baby's hat.

And now on to the important matter of babymakin'. I actually drank margaritas at a similar time as you, so I think maybe they bring good luck. Cheers to little ones, their canine friends, and adult beverages for future mothers-to-be!

Supernanny, Where Are You?

Okay, before I even start I give all of you permission to tell me I never should have spent a morning this way. I know. I asked for it.
A few weeks ago I emailed a few of my college friends to see if they'd like to have lunch. We never, ever see each other. One of them, mother-of-three, explained that she couldn't have lunch, but why didn't we all have a play date. (Why do I want to go on a play date? I don't, really.)
I arrived at 10:00 to see one friend with her two adorable daughters. One was a little whiny, but that's just part of being a kid. No biggie. Mother-of-three arrived a little later. Immediately her nine-year-old asked me if I still didn't have a husband and I still didn't have children. I've told this child before that I don't appreciate her line of questioning, so I really don't excuse her. I did not say, "No, I'm not having children. They might turn out like you."
Then the almost-four-year-old fireworks began. She had no less than fifteen temper tantrums because another child (the owner of the toys) was playing with the toy she wanted. At no point did her mother say, "Demon, if you are going to have a fit, you can't play with the toy at all. Sit on the porch for a three-minute time out." No, we just heard how difficult she is. Well, yeah, she's difficult. You aren't doing anything about it.
Our conversation revolved around choosing schools and gluten-free diets. Let me be perfectly clear: I don't care. And gluten does not cause autism. Neither do immunizations. Autism is genetic and and caused by a difference in brain chemistry. Sista.
Obviously, I would rather have children, but as a childless member of society, I reserve the right not to deal with any of that crap. And I don't watch animated movies. Or play board games. Or play in the pool. And I guess that's all I have to say about that.

Julep: Dogs and Babies

Keep posting, Twinks ... I'm reading regularly, I have just had not much to say! Fortunately this morning that streak broke. Did y'all see this article about the dog that dragged the baby out of its crib into the woods?

OK, first of all, let me just say: Kentucky, sometimes you make me so proud to be a native. Sigh. Just yesterday I was patting KY on the back for coming in at #2 on this ESPN list of top ten sporting events to experience in one's lifetime ... the Derby came second only to the Masters, which I can live with. Now today, here's more very classy news coverage sure to get our fine state national attention in such a positive light.

Secondly, The people on the radio this morning were all talking about whether or not the dog should be put down. I kind of want to know what the dog was doing with the baby -- just carrying it along, or actively trying to hurt it? And had these people ever seen their dog around a small child before? Was the dog aggressive? And even if it wasn't, I've got to call out the parents here. Who the hell leaves a three-day-old baby unsupervised in grabbing distance of a large dog? Am I missing something?

All that aside, should I be viewing this as a tale of Kentucky backwoods parenting gone horribly awry, or a cautionary tale in regards to my own dear dogs and future baby? Twinks, how did you and Mr. Twinkle go about introducing the pets to Twinklette? I would assume that at this point, you know whether it's OK to leave them alone for a few moments together -- am I wrong?

Now on a personal note ... the saga continues. Not to get all TMI on you girls or anything, but this month is THE Month; finally, Mr. Julep and I are in the same city at the critical time. Everyone say prayers in our direction for the next couple of weeks and we'll see what happens. Last night Mr. Julep wanted to go out for Mexican food, and I treated myself to the extra-large frozen raspberry margarita on the grounds that it may well be the very last such beverage I get to have for quite some time. The power of positive thinking in effect?

Twinkle: Charity Gets Me Nowhere

Where is everyone and why am I the only one who posts? I want reports of Dibbs' dating dramas, Julep's babymakin' marathon, and Lola's pre-conception self-analysis toute de suite. (There's a reason why it's a stealth blog, ladies...)

So, I was feeling charitable and thought I'd throw my MIL a bone. Her friend is keeping some grandchildren, so MIL had asked me a few days ago if she could take Twinklette to play with these kids one afternoon. I said sure and called her today to finalize the plans--not because I needed a break, but because I was trying to do something nice for my MIL. So I said in the course of the conversation that Twinklette takes really long naps these days, so a morning playdate might be better. Apparently these kids can't do mornings, but MIL was all, "Well, we can do a late afternoon playdate, but I'll take her on a different morning...to give you some time to yourself so you can get something done." And she didn't ask; she announced.

MIL is all about giving me "time to myself" so I can "get something done." She actually wants me to have it more than I want it. I mean, I get time to myself every day from noon to four-ish (if I'm lucky), plus after 7 at night. The only activities that are actually hindered by Twinklette's presence are antiquing and spa treatments, and I seriously doubt the "something" my MIL wants me to "get done" is a chemical peel. I can do basic household maintenance while Twinklette is playing or sleeping, and I know MIL secretly thinks my house is clean because one time she forgot herself and asked if I was having company when I wasn't. No ma'am...I'm just really good at "get[ting] something done," even with a little child running around.

The last time I was supposed to "get something done," I went to the pool with our eight-months-preggo friend and laid around all morning...and it was wonderful. But I could tell my MIL was a little disappointed, upon her return, that I was all bronzed up, bathing suit peeking out of my shirt, instead of doing something productive. MIL doesn't know how to lie around by a pool, and we're all worse off for it.

I do appreciate when MIL watches her if I have something else going on, but I dread the times when she asks for Twinklette to go off with her when I'm not doing anything else. Believe it or not, I wanted to have a child for many reasons, none of which was because I wanted "time to myself." (If that's what I'd wanted, I would have stuck with anti-social and sometimes sociopathic Siamese cats). Not that time to myself isn't nice...it is. But when I generously offer for MIL to take her as a favor to her (and get "time to myself" then), and then she announces, "I'll take her Friday morning, too," it makes me feel like it's never enough.

I know some people would think that sounds really nice. Maybe I just object to the dishonesty of it all. It's not about me getting time to myself or getting something done; we all know it's about my MIL having time with Twinklette. And she should have time with Twinklette--special grandmother/granddaughter time that is theirs and theirs alone. But she shouldn't demand it under the pretense of doing me a favor, when it's really the other way around.

Twinkle: MIL in Denial

In addition to "f*ck off" and "baby ducks," Twinklette has another phrase that she loves repeating over and over again: "mommy." Unlike "f*ck off," it seems like a perfectly normal thing for an 18-month-old to enjoy repeating over and over again, and as y'all can imagine, it's music to my ears.

Well, we all know my MIL is less than willing to believe that Twinklette actually shares a special bond with me. She'd rather believe that I'm just one small part of a large, extended "village" of caretakers--and one of the more inexperienced members at that. Of course, Twinklette and I know the truth about the existence of a mother/daughter bond, whether or not my MIL believes it or not. Long before Twinklette could tell anyone what she wanted, I grew accustomed to MIL saying, "She's hungry! She's thirsty! She's cold!" (followed by, "Why isn't she wearing her hat?!?!?!?"), and, of course, "She wants Grams!" Never once has that woman uttered those four obvious words that are true for any unhappy baby: "She wants her mommy." I don't know if it doesn't occur to her, or if she truly believes I'm not important. I gave up on trying to figure it out a long time ago, and it's so egregious that it sort of became something Mr. Twinkle and I joke about.

So tonight, after General Tzo's vegetables at Sesame, it came time to pay the bill. Twinklette was sitting on the lap of my father-in-law, who was paying with a credit card, and when she looked at me and said, "Mommy," my mother-in-law said, "What? Money?" Weary of the whole subject of whether or not my child likes me, I said, "No. She's saying 'mommy'." MIL said, "Oh. I though she was saying 'money'," and I said (not in a b*tchy way), "I really don't think she associates credit cards with money." (I mean, really--Twinklette doesn't know what money is, much less credit! How could she even have the concept of money at this point in her young life?!?) Just then, Twinklette launched into another of her favorite phrases, "MamaDaddy," confirming my earlier assertion that she was saying "mommy" all along.

I know it's totally predictable behavior and I resigned myself to it a long time ago, but I find myself unable to believe it each time she sinks to a new level of denial. I wonder how MIL will deny it when Twinklette can speak in complete sentences, and actually says, "I want my mommy." It's hard to believe she'd be able to deny something so blatant, but I'm sure she'll find a way.

Twinkle: F*ck off

They're not words that Twinklette hears every day...or ever, for that matter. I know I'm not the perfect mother. If I were I'd probably sing the clean-up song more often and not harbor such disdain for those stick figure families you see on the back of minivans. Like anyone else, I have my slip-ups, like the time in Costco when I remembered too late about their cash/check-only policy and said to myself, "Sh*t," only to hear 13-month-old Twinklette repeat it back to me. I am not that big of a curser, but sometimes the situation warrants it. After the Costo episode, I have tried to hold my tongue so as not to foster bad habits and tackiness in Twinklette. "F*ck off" is not a phrase that I have ever used a whole lot, even when provoked, because it just seems unintelligent to me. I like to think that, when the opportunity presents itself, I can come up with something better than "Oh yeah? Well f*ck off!"

And yet, now it seems that Twinklette's favorite series of syllables to pronounce is, "F*ck-awf*ck-awf*ckawf*ckawf*ckaaaawwwww!" It's a charming display, especially since Mr. Twinkle cracked up the first time she did it even as I tried to ignore it. Then he told her not to say that anymore, which led her to mouth the syllables without letting any sound come out. (Because Twinklette loves to push the envelope). She has other syllabic patterns that she likes to repeat; it just so happens that this series makes it seem like she's been raised by the Flavor of Love girls.

I know that it's only a matter of time before she commences this endearing routine in front of my mother-in-law, which will only confirm what she already knew about me: that I'm the Andrew Dice Clay of pool moms. And I'm wondering if it's bad of me to hope, since Twinklette will inevitably say it at some point, that she will save it for the perfect time.

MIL: What does the duck say?!?!?!?! What color is it!?!?!?! How many are there!?!?!?! (because everything has to be educational, all the freakin' time!)

I'm hoping my child chooses this moment to echo the sentiment I have felt so many times, answering with a nice, enthusiastic, "F*ckawf*ckawf*ck-aaaawwwww!"

Twinkle: 10 Things I Hate About My Gym

When I moved back to town I was given a membership to My Gym, and I assumed that the people there would love me as much as everyone at Bubbles Academy did. I was truly at the top of the mothers' popularity food chain there; everyone loved my charming Southern accent and well-dressed baby. My Gym proved to be a more challenging setting, probably because of the hostile suburban undertones of it all. Here are 10 things I hate about it:

1. Circle Time. Have you ever tried to make a toddler sit in a circle and be still? I might as well bring my cat to class and try to hold him in my lap, tapping his paws on his head, shoulders, tummy, and knees, at the appropriate time during the song. I'm sure he would love it, and his struggles to escape couldn't be any more upsetting to the other children than Twinklette's loud, screeching protests. She seems to be the only one who doesn't enjoy circle time, probably because I encourage her to be a free spirit. Those other little clones have clearly been brainwashed by the teacher, Mr. Bill.

2. The Anonymity. During circle time, each mother has to go around and say her child's name (because the children are too young to do it, mind you). The mothers actually go around in the circle and say their children's names, but not their own. It is wrong on so many levels; it actually makes me want to burn my bra right there next to the balance beam.

3. Mr. Bill's Voice. Mr. Bill is this large, brutish man whose shirt says, "Got Kids?" Well, obviously, I do, Mr. Bill. I'm certainly not here at My Gym because I enjoy shooting hoops in the 3-foot-tall Little Tykes basketball goal. Mr. Bill greets all the little girls with a baby-ish, sing-songy, "Hiiiiiii, Twink-lettttttttte," and greets each boy with a, "NOAH--my ma-an! How's it hangin' bro? WAZZUP?!?!?" Every time some kid completes even the most remedial task (Olivia did some lame baby push-up with the help of assistant Miss Katie), Mr. Bill screams, "Ta-DAH!!!!" The worst part about Mr. Bill is that there's this thin veneer of enthusiasm barely masking a raw, boiling hatred within. Outside he's all smiles and "Ta-DAH!" but I suspect he's one whining kid away from hanging himself on the donut swing.

4. The Feat of the Week. I don't know what this is really called, but they always have some random trick to teach the children like they're a bunch of trained orangutans. The worst part is that Twinklette never wants any part of the feat, but I feel like I should encourage her since we're already on Mr. Bill's sh*t list for not sitting in the circle.

5. Vapid Conversation. The standard mommy pick-up line is, "How old?" It's a good opener, but when followed up with digging questions about developmental milestones, it's a bit exhausting. There is never any mom-to-mom conversation about any subject other than children; Mr. Bill likes to keep us all in a state of blissful isolation. Conversations with potential are immediately snuffed out by Mr. Bill yelling "Ta-DAH!" and asking if our kids have tried the bouncers yet this week. It might be a shame that I haven't really gotten to know these moms, if they seemed the sort of people worth getting to know. Then again, I didn't introduce myself in circle time either.

6. The Music. I find that there's a lot of bad children's music out there, and there's some that isn't so bad. Twinklette has some kids' cds...there's Barenaked Ladies' Snacktime, a witty and musically-interesting collection of songs from the beloved group, most of whom are now fathers, there's Let's Sing and Dance in French, a charming compilation of French children's songs set to complex rhythms and very low-key jazz beats. She also enjoys the Indigo Girls, Bluegrass, and classic R&B, and I object to the idea that children should endure bad music just because they're children...and there's a lot of bad adult music, too. The exclusive soundtrack of the My Gym experience is the soft rock hits of the '80s, '90s, and today. The fact that it's not children's music seems to scream, "Look--you're still cool! You can play with your baby while you listen to a continuous loop of Celine Dion, Phil Collins, and Mariah Carey! Oh, and you look like a total MILF driving that Dodge minivan, too." The only way the soundtrack of My Gym could be worse is if Mr. Bill sings along, which he often does.

7. Madison. All God's children come to My Gym, but everyone knows that some of God's children are cuter than others. Madison comes with her grandmother, whose tight-cropped permed hair may or may not be a wig, and Madison's stringy mop of hair is not much better. She is one of those insipid, washed-out looking kids who is just screaming for a makeover. A bow and a brightly-colored tee would do wonders for Madison.

8. The "Games." Here's a newsflash for Mr. Bill: when you take a toddler, give her a task (kick a tetherball!), and then cheer for her when she does it, she's going to want to do it again and again. When you do it with 10 toddlers, they're all going to want to do it. At the same time. They do not understand the concept of taking turns, and trying to turn it into a "game" is pointless because kids this small don't get the concept of games and are too little to have empathy or understand taking turns. Instead, I'm physically restraining Twinklette who wants to push past all the other toddlers who are trying to take their turns at the tetherball, and all across the room there are tears and wails because everyone in the room wants to kick that tetherball. You would think that a child development expert like Mr. Bill would recognize this and not put everyone through it each week.

9. "Separation Time." At one point during class (yes, this class lasts a long *ss time), all the children go into the middle of the circle to play while the moms sit on the sidelines and watch them. And the moms aren't supposed to cross the threshold of that circle, because it's "separation time," which is supposed to foster independence. Well, Twinklette has never met a circle that she wanted to stay in, so during "separation time" she either comes up to me and wants to snuggle, or else she disappears into the large jungle gym in back of the room and I don't know whether to go after her or not.

10. The Clean-Up Song. This isn't an official part of My Gym, but after separation time everyone has to help clean up the toys. Apparently there's some Raffi song about cleaning up that certain moms like to sing while toys are being put away. It never fails that when everyone is cleaning up, some mom will break into a rousing chorus of "Clean up, clean up! Everybody everywhere! Clean up, clean up! Everybody do your share!" Never mind the song's socialist overtones; my main objection is to the idea that a nameless adult woman feels the need to break into song to entertain a child who's probably overstimulated to begin with.

I wish that just one of these moms would break out and go get a mimosa with me after class, just so I could make fun of it all with someone who's shared the experience.

Dibbs: Who ARE these people?

I guess I should do my best to keep you updated on my dating life (or lack thereof.) In March, a friend fixed me up on a blind date. In short, I'm not sure what she thinks of me if she has the idea that he might be "the one." This charming specimen did not believe in God or gainful employment. He was, however, convinced of the near deity of Rick Pitino. I accepted date number 2 because I was driving the car with a friend in the passenger seat when he called and didn't know quite what to say. Also, I really like Wild Eggs. I cancelled it because I was, um, occupied elsewhere on the Sunday morning of our brunch. ("Sick." I was very, very "sick.")
Last night, while enjoying cocktails and a burger on the Molly's patio, one of my facebook friends found my number and called to see what I was doing. He met us on hallowed Molly's ground. I've known him for a long time, and he's nice, but I can't always understand what he's talking about. He's very philosophical. And earnest. We'll see...
Anyway, these two fine gentlemen have one thing in common: they both decided to discuss "it" during our first date. Now, I know none of y'all are forced to date anymore, but maybe you can explain to me why someone would think this is a good idea. Nothing makes a girl more uncomfortable than discussing possible...encounters...with a guy on a first date. Who do they think I am, a Candace Bushnell character?
Let me make this clear, on both occasions we were sitting at a table, but the potential for more was not on the table. I'm aware of my body language. It was mum.
Consult with your husbos if you must. Let me know about this.

Twinkle: the Circle of Life

Here's the thing about babies: the more you're around them, the better you are at taking care of them. It's the reason why complete novices to babysitting actually turn out to be decent mothers most of the time--because practice makes perfect. It's true that those first few months with a baby are trial by fire, but when it comes to parenting (as with so many other things), the best way to learn is by doing. It's a bit like making a souffle...no one can tell you how. You just have to follow the directions the best you can, and maybe you do break a few eggs and make a mess along the way. Everyone will mess it up at some point, but you try it all again another day, and in the end you hope for something delicious.

I say all this not to give lofty advice from the trenches, but to point out that this is one point my mother-in-law cannot grasp. It's no secret that she can't fathom that I have my sh*t together when it comes to parenting, but--worse, I believe--she can't allow herself to get excited for her own daughter's pregnancy, because all she sees when she looks at her daughter is a novice who knows nothing about childcare. Why would she know anything? She's never been around a baby...but I guarantee you she will learn pretty darn fast when Dec. 14 rolls around and somebody has to keep that baby fed and happy. It's true that my sister-in-law is inexperienced. Who isn't? I'm inexperienced with 18-month-olds...but in a month I'll be an expert at it and we'll be moving on to the next phase. I have no idea what's involved in potty training, for instance...but, you know what? When the time comes to potty train, I will learn everything there is to know about it and do my best to help my child be successful.

My mother-in-law has completely forgotten the most basic tenets of parenting: do the best you can and learn from everything. I don't even care about the snide remarks or the assumption that Twinklette doesn't eat enough vegetables (she is a wonderful eater, by the way, and eats whatever Mr. Twinkle and I are eating for our meals, but somehow my MIL believes all we ever feed her is mac-and-cheese and cookies). I just find it incredibly sad that my MIL--a mother herself--can't get excited and share the path to motherhood with her own daughter, because of her biases against people who have never taken care of a baby before. Does my MIL assume that she herself was born knowing how to care for an infant? Or does she really believe, after all those years she put in as a mother, that she has license to judge other mothers' lack of experience? I've got news: it's those years that make us all better. Everyone starts somewhere, and I find it really sad for that mother/daughter relationship that my MIL can't rejoice in her daughter's pregnancy.

Yes, Twinklette is my baby, but when/if she ever chooses to become a mother, I promise to trust her, no matter how young and inexperienced she seems compared to all the years I've put in. Everything I do now is teaching her how, and someday I'm going to have to trust her with it. I wish, for my MIL's sake, she could do the same.