Twinkle: Off the Grid

It's true I've been off the grid, girls. It's been a difficult week for the House of Twinkle as a beloved aunt (wife to my late uncle), who was diagnosed with lung cancer in May, became very sick last Wednesday, spent several days in the hospital with the family rallying around her, and passed away on Saturday. The funeral is tomorrow, after which I plan to rejoin the social (and social networking) world.

And with all the back-and-forth to and from Lex-vegas, and the long hours at the hospital with Twinklette (a real trooper) in tow, and planning a party chez nous for Mr. Twinkle's side of the family this weekend, I have just not had a moment to catch my breath until now. Anyway, I was thrilled to log on and find all the new posts...love that the blog has been so active!

And I must add to the subject addressed by Lola: the controversial (at least at our house) topic of the water park. Mr. Twinkle and I were discussing this issue long before we were even engaged; he is of the opinion that it's a great opportunity for old-fashioned family fun, while I stand by my firm assertion that it's a great way to catch worms from a trashy person.

Of course, I'm also against those horrible playground things at the fast food restaurants (and I'm also mostly against fast food restaurants, too, as I'm convinced that the meat they serve never had a face, and, call me old-fashioned, but I like the meat I'm eating to have had a face at some point). Anyhoo, Mr. Twinkle took Twinklette to breakfast at Chick-Fil-A last weekend while I was sleeping late (and if someone lets me sleep in and takes Twinklette to breakfast, far be it from me to criticize the restaurant choice), and he smugly informed me that she played on the playground. He was pleased to see that I was appalled. I'm OK with playgrounds in public parks--because they have lots of time to air out. But the gigantic plastic tubes? Those things look filthy, and I'm convinced that you could get stuck in one. There is no telling what kind of uncleanliness lurks there. Would I look OCD if I sprayed down the whole thing with CleanWell? Well, one mention of the playground and Twinklette's mouth started to draw down at the corners. So traumatic was it that Mr. Twinkle had made her leave the playground, her voice cracked and she burst into tears at the mere reminder of it. And I'm thinking it's best if we just avoid Chick-Fil-A in the future, which we were probably going to do anyway.

So there's the sanitary aspect of water parks, as well as the obvious drawbacks associated with these places: listening to thousands of children scream all day and and the thought of being a grown woman in a bathing suit, careening down a gigantic yellow slide. I know that keeping Twinklette out of such places may be a lost battle, but Mr. Twinkle knows where I stand. Like a clandestine trip to the Chick-Fil-A playground, that's something they can do without me on family trips. If they need me, I'll be at a spa or getting drunk at the Four Seasons.

And, Lola--Mr. Twinkle's dad was also the water park patron of the family back in the day. Heaven forbid MIL should ruin that bird's nest she calls a hairdo.