Y'all, I went to get my mail Thursday night. I thought I had a bunch of junk mail. I was throwing all the junk away, because the envelope said Current Resident or Dibbs X, when I noticed that the sender was the Junior League. It was my Two Of A Kind Invitation.
Yes, the Junior League would like to cordially invite the vagrant squatting in my condo to pay $100 and attend our Gala Fundraiser. They will be sad if he cannot attend, and his presence will be sorely missed; but if he can't, they guess it will be okay if Dibbs, the actual member attends.
What has happened? I understand that the goal is to raise money, and thus, as many people as possible should attend the Gala. But, really, the guy off the street? Couldn't we just borrow someone's guest list and invite actual people we know?
Hey, maybe the current resident can be asked to pay my dues, too.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Twinkle: Food Wars
This may be more than you ever wanted to know about my toddler nutrition philosophy, but I just have to vent.
Dinner at the inlaws' was painful. MIL made Chinese, which Twinklette usually loves. She's a foodie--she'll eat anything you put in front of her, including but not limited to salmon, goat cheese, tabouli, channa masala, and steak. Most of the time.
We have certain mealtime standards for her. She eats what we eat (no special, short-order cook-style meals just for her), and she doesn't have to eat anything she doesn't like, but she's encouraged to try everything. If she doesn't want try something, no big deal. If she doesn't like something, no big deal; she can have more of whatever she does like. If she doesn't eat much of anything, no big deal, we just hope for a better appetite at the next meal. The only rules are she has to say, "May I please have..." instead of "I want..." or wild gesturing, and she has to sit in her high chair the whole time we eat. At the end of the meal, she says, "May I have be excused please?" (That's right...there's an extra verb in there; it's just her thing). That's it--it's manners-focused, but laid-back in terms of what she has to eat. I like to think it's the reason she is a good eater.
Here's what we never do, because I don't want to turn mealtime into a game or a power play:
* insist that she eat something specific
* bring more options out if she's not eating what she's served
* hover over every bite she takes--she's on her own in terms of feeding herself
* make a big deal about eating or not eating
Yet, somehow, at these Friday night dinners with the inlaws, she never eats. I fix her a plate, she says, "I don't like it," without taking a bite, and I say, "Well, you don't have to eat it. But you do have to sit here until everyone's finished eating." (At our house, that would be the end of it, and she would probably start eating what was on her plate about halfway into the meal). But then Grams says, "Want me to get you some mandarin oranges, sweetie?" "Did Mommy cut up some chicken for you?" (I already did). "Mmmmmm...this rice is sooooooo yummy. I looooove rice, don't you, Twinklette?" Then (to me): "Did she have a big snack this afternoon?" "Why is she so cranky? Didn't she nap?" "She must be tired." "I think she's getting a cold--that's probably why she's not eating." All the while, Twinklette eats the mandarin oranges Grams brought out especially for her, and continues to complain about wanting to get out of her chair, and everyone concludes once again that I am an unfit mother.
So tonight...Chinese. Twinklette usually tears through chicken fried rice like I tear through a bottle of Hey Mambo: with gusto. Tonight, it was the usual, "I don't like it" followed by the usual drama. I shut down the offer to bring out the mandarin oranges, but the discourse just went on and on, with FIL, MIL, and GMIL harping on what Twinklette's problem was. Finally, FIL said, "You put too much soy sauce in the rice, Grams." And, while I appreciated the criticism of my MIL's cooking, I was like, "No. She likes fried rice. She likes soy sauce. She's a good eater most of the time--because we leave her alone. I think when we come over here, everyone makes such a big deal about it, and that's what the problem is." FIL laughed nervously and MIL looked down at her plate like, "Well, excuuuuse me." Well, I'm sorry. What I said wasn't so bad...it is so obvious that that is the problem. No wonder my SIL is anorexic. (And I swear I don't mean that b*tchy).
After dinner, it was up to me to make a judgment call about whether or not Twinklette could have a piece of chocolate cake after not eating a bite of dinner. And my decision was to let her have it, even though I normally wouldn't (if those circumstances ever existed at home, which they wouldn't), because I didn't want the evening to turn into even more food-related drama than had already been. I'm sure MIL is on the phone with the nutritionist at her elementary school as I write, and on Monday she'll probably contact the state to revoke my custody. But, you know what? I see what she eats every day, and I see to it that she has healthy meals and a healthy attitude about food. I see food as something that keeps us alive and quite often brings us pleasure--I want Twinklette to enjoy it.
How would MIL like it if someone force-fed her something she didn't like, or made her eat when she wasn't hungry? She lied to her own kids when they were growing up--she said she was allergic to lima beans, when really she just didn't like them. Well, I don't mean to judge her parenting, but it's OK for people not to like certain foods sometimes. Why not just be honest and trust your children to make decisions about what they like or don't like by themselves? (She should totally try cooking lima beans in bacon grease...it'll totally change her mind about them).
By the way, I never give Twinklette a snack on Friday afternoons because I want her to be super-hungry for dinner so that I don't have to hear about what she's not eating. Today I even tried to bribe her, telling her that if she ate a good dinner at Grams' house she could have a Valentine Peep when she got home. She didn't want to make a deal...and she loves Peeps. This tells me something significant: she kind of enjoys all the attention and drama surrounding dinner over there.
On the way home, Twinklette said, "I'm hungry," about a hundred times, so when we got home she had some milk and colby cheese. My in-laws don't see that part, the part where we pick out fruit together at Paul's, or when we cook dinner and talk about how herbs add flavor to food. They just think I feed her Twinkies and M&Ms all day (which I don't...except yesterday when she used the potty she got two M&Ms. Of course she had to announce it at dinner: not "I used the potty!" but "I had M&Ms!" I'm sure Child Protective Services will hear all about it). Anyway, they think the only reason she's so smart and well-adjusted is because of their influence, and tireless efforts to undo the damage that I create.
Dinner at the inlaws' was painful. MIL made Chinese, which Twinklette usually loves. She's a foodie--she'll eat anything you put in front of her, including but not limited to salmon, goat cheese, tabouli, channa masala, and steak. Most of the time.
We have certain mealtime standards for her. She eats what we eat (no special, short-order cook-style meals just for her), and she doesn't have to eat anything she doesn't like, but she's encouraged to try everything. If she doesn't want try something, no big deal. If she doesn't like something, no big deal; she can have more of whatever she does like. If she doesn't eat much of anything, no big deal, we just hope for a better appetite at the next meal. The only rules are she has to say, "May I please have..." instead of "I want..." or wild gesturing, and she has to sit in her high chair the whole time we eat. At the end of the meal, she says, "May I have be excused please?" (That's right...there's an extra verb in there; it's just her thing). That's it--it's manners-focused, but laid-back in terms of what she has to eat. I like to think it's the reason she is a good eater.
Here's what we never do, because I don't want to turn mealtime into a game or a power play:
* insist that she eat something specific
* bring more options out if she's not eating what she's served
* hover over every bite she takes--she's on her own in terms of feeding herself
* make a big deal about eating or not eating
Yet, somehow, at these Friday night dinners with the inlaws, she never eats. I fix her a plate, she says, "I don't like it," without taking a bite, and I say, "Well, you don't have to eat it. But you do have to sit here until everyone's finished eating." (At our house, that would be the end of it, and she would probably start eating what was on her plate about halfway into the meal). But then Grams says, "Want me to get you some mandarin oranges, sweetie?" "Did Mommy cut up some chicken for you?" (I already did). "Mmmmmm...this rice is sooooooo yummy. I looooove rice, don't you, Twinklette?" Then (to me): "Did she have a big snack this afternoon?" "Why is she so cranky? Didn't she nap?" "She must be tired." "I think she's getting a cold--that's probably why she's not eating." All the while, Twinklette eats the mandarin oranges Grams brought out especially for her, and continues to complain about wanting to get out of her chair, and everyone concludes once again that I am an unfit mother.
So tonight...Chinese. Twinklette usually tears through chicken fried rice like I tear through a bottle of Hey Mambo: with gusto. Tonight, it was the usual, "I don't like it" followed by the usual drama. I shut down the offer to bring out the mandarin oranges, but the discourse just went on and on, with FIL, MIL, and GMIL harping on what Twinklette's problem was. Finally, FIL said, "You put too much soy sauce in the rice, Grams." And, while I appreciated the criticism of my MIL's cooking, I was like, "No. She likes fried rice. She likes soy sauce. She's a good eater most of the time--because we leave her alone. I think when we come over here, everyone makes such a big deal about it, and that's what the problem is." FIL laughed nervously and MIL looked down at her plate like, "Well, excuuuuse me." Well, I'm sorry. What I said wasn't so bad...it is so obvious that that is the problem. No wonder my SIL is anorexic. (And I swear I don't mean that b*tchy).
After dinner, it was up to me to make a judgment call about whether or not Twinklette could have a piece of chocolate cake after not eating a bite of dinner. And my decision was to let her have it, even though I normally wouldn't (if those circumstances ever existed at home, which they wouldn't), because I didn't want the evening to turn into even more food-related drama than had already been. I'm sure MIL is on the phone with the nutritionist at her elementary school as I write, and on Monday she'll probably contact the state to revoke my custody. But, you know what? I see what she eats every day, and I see to it that she has healthy meals and a healthy attitude about food. I see food as something that keeps us alive and quite often brings us pleasure--I want Twinklette to enjoy it.
How would MIL like it if someone force-fed her something she didn't like, or made her eat when she wasn't hungry? She lied to her own kids when they were growing up--she said she was allergic to lima beans, when really she just didn't like them. Well, I don't mean to judge her parenting, but it's OK for people not to like certain foods sometimes. Why not just be honest and trust your children to make decisions about what they like or don't like by themselves? (She should totally try cooking lima beans in bacon grease...it'll totally change her mind about them).
By the way, I never give Twinklette a snack on Friday afternoons because I want her to be super-hungry for dinner so that I don't have to hear about what she's not eating. Today I even tried to bribe her, telling her that if she ate a good dinner at Grams' house she could have a Valentine Peep when she got home. She didn't want to make a deal...and she loves Peeps. This tells me something significant: she kind of enjoys all the attention and drama surrounding dinner over there.
On the way home, Twinklette said, "I'm hungry," about a hundred times, so when we got home she had some milk and colby cheese. My in-laws don't see that part, the part where we pick out fruit together at Paul's, or when we cook dinner and talk about how herbs add flavor to food. They just think I feed her Twinkies and M&Ms all day (which I don't...except yesterday when she used the potty she got two M&Ms. Of course she had to announce it at dinner: not "I used the potty!" but "I had M&Ms!" I'm sure Child Protective Services will hear all about it). Anyway, they think the only reason she's so smart and well-adjusted is because of their influence, and tireless efforts to undo the damage that I create.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Twinkle: Sorry Grandma, No Dice
So Mr. Twinkle got home late tonight, and while we were enjoying a quiet, child-free dinner of baked chicken and a green salad, he brought up the fact that his grandmother had invited us to yet another birthday dinner, this one for January family member birthdays. (I dread these dull seasonal Sunday-night occasions). He said his grandmother asked if I'd be offended if she put Twinklette's name down as one of the guests of honor. I guess somehow she didn't want to usurp my maternal authority.
I guess on some level these people do get me...they understand that I want to be respected as a mother, but they always get it a little bit wrong. (Just like they always take everything I do a little bit wrong). I mean, yes, I do want them to acknowledge that I'm her mother and that she likes me. But that's really all I'm asking for, and anyone who wants to include her on a family birthday list should feel free to do so. I explained to Mr. Twinkle that I would not be at all offended, that no one needs to ask my permission for something like that. Whatever...that's not even the worst of it.
So then he breaks the real bad news to me: she wants to have this boring birthday dinner on Valentine's Day. And he's OK with it! He doesn't mind! Now, as for me, I don't really care if we go out for Valentine's Day on Saturday or Sunday or the actual Valentine's Day or whenever...I'm sure there have been times when Valentine's Day was on a Tuesday or something that we postponed the celebration to a weekend, and that's not a big deal to me. However, I'm not exactly inclined to spend the occasion with Grandma-in-law, MIL, FIL, Uncle B., Uncle L., and the usual cast of crazies, no matter what night it falls on. (Actually, the uncles aren't so bad...but I just don't want to have Valentine's Day dinner with them).
And I'm sure they don't want to have Valentine's Day dinner with us either! Ninety-five percent of attendees at these occasions are married or in committed relationships, and I guarantee you nobody among them wants to spend Valentine's Day there either! I know for a fact that Uncle L. and his wife do that Valentine's package that White Castle offers (I know it sounds tacky...they're totally normal and probably eat at Corbett's on a regular night...but that's their Valentine's Day thing and I think it's totally cool). Anyway, I'm convinced that no one wants to go--and no one wants to be the one to say no.
So we were the ones to say no, and I am proud of us.
I mean, it's just the principle, really. Mr. Twinkle didn't love the idea of going, but he was willing to do it, just like everyone always is. No one will ever say no in that bunch. It's psychotic, and it's driving me to madness. Any time anyone decides to plan anything and invites you to it, you had just better be there, dammit. You don't even have the option of saying no! Can you imagine the stress? No wonder Mr. Twinkle is so mild-mannered and yet so hardcore about obligation. And thank goodness he has me to ignite a little bit of healthy rebellion once in awhile!
So he did call Grandma and say I'd already made set-in-stone Valentine's Day plans for us. And it's a good thing he did. I didn't tell him this, because I'm not big on threats, but if we'd had Valentine's Day dinner at Grandma's, there wouldn't be much dessert back at our place if you know what I'm saying. And I think you do.
Now I guess we've got to go figure out something fabulous and totally-not-cancellable for us to do on Valentine's Day.
I guess on some level these people do get me...they understand that I want to be respected as a mother, but they always get it a little bit wrong. (Just like they always take everything I do a little bit wrong). I mean, yes, I do want them to acknowledge that I'm her mother and that she likes me. But that's really all I'm asking for, and anyone who wants to include her on a family birthday list should feel free to do so. I explained to Mr. Twinkle that I would not be at all offended, that no one needs to ask my permission for something like that. Whatever...that's not even the worst of it.
So then he breaks the real bad news to me: she wants to have this boring birthday dinner on Valentine's Day. And he's OK with it! He doesn't mind! Now, as for me, I don't really care if we go out for Valentine's Day on Saturday or Sunday or the actual Valentine's Day or whenever...I'm sure there have been times when Valentine's Day was on a Tuesday or something that we postponed the celebration to a weekend, and that's not a big deal to me. However, I'm not exactly inclined to spend the occasion with Grandma-in-law, MIL, FIL, Uncle B., Uncle L., and the usual cast of crazies, no matter what night it falls on. (Actually, the uncles aren't so bad...but I just don't want to have Valentine's Day dinner with them).
And I'm sure they don't want to have Valentine's Day dinner with us either! Ninety-five percent of attendees at these occasions are married or in committed relationships, and I guarantee you nobody among them wants to spend Valentine's Day there either! I know for a fact that Uncle L. and his wife do that Valentine's package that White Castle offers (I know it sounds tacky...they're totally normal and probably eat at Corbett's on a regular night...but that's their Valentine's Day thing and I think it's totally cool). Anyway, I'm convinced that no one wants to go--and no one wants to be the one to say no.
So we were the ones to say no, and I am proud of us.
I mean, it's just the principle, really. Mr. Twinkle didn't love the idea of going, but he was willing to do it, just like everyone always is. No one will ever say no in that bunch. It's psychotic, and it's driving me to madness. Any time anyone decides to plan anything and invites you to it, you had just better be there, dammit. You don't even have the option of saying no! Can you imagine the stress? No wonder Mr. Twinkle is so mild-mannered and yet so hardcore about obligation. And thank goodness he has me to ignite a little bit of healthy rebellion once in awhile!
So he did call Grandma and say I'd already made set-in-stone Valentine's Day plans for us. And it's a good thing he did. I didn't tell him this, because I'm not big on threats, but if we'd had Valentine's Day dinner at Grandma's, there wouldn't be much dessert back at our place if you know what I'm saying. And I think you do.
Now I guess we've got to go figure out something fabulous and totally-not-cancellable for us to do on Valentine's Day.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Dibbs: Mother Effer
Sorry. It's not very nice to begin a post that way, is it?
So, on Friday night our friend Amanda (we'll call her Amanda for anonymity's sake) and I went to a fundraiser for Green Hill Therapies. We felt a beer tasting would be prime territory to meet new guys. On the way in, Amanda said, "Walk faster, Dibbs, faster." Someone she had dated with a poor ending was behind us with his girlfriend. He proceeded to run from us all night until Amanda accidentally winked at him. Oops.
Anyway. As we were playing our money, I heard a familiar singing voice from the front of the room. Yep, the band I was vehemently Never. Going. To. Hear. Again. was right in the front of the room. Yep, one mere week after my proclamation. One week after the e-harmony betrayal, I had already violated by terms, and I didn't even do it on purpose. Mother effer.
Amanda and I discussed. We had just paid $30. We decided the band was way in the front of the room. He would never see us. Until three minutes later when he left the stage for a break. Natch. And where did he make a beeline? Why, the Arrogant Bastard beer line with me, of course. After a big hug and some small talk, we did a toast of our cups. He had a big cup; I had a tiny tasting cup. He said, "Big cup--big heart." I replied, "Small cup--wee little bead of a heart encased in a block of ice." He disagreed. Whatevs.
He told his fellow betrayer all about the next night---on their date. She reported that no one at the dinner party would talk to her; love me some Junyaleeg. (One guy mentioned my name during the dinner. Big ups.) She also thinks our friendship is too valuable to waste on a guy (now that she's been out with him three times and doesn't understand his sense of humor.) Apparently he's really smart, and she just doesn't think he's funny. Maybe she shouldn't say that out loud.
So, on Friday night our friend Amanda (we'll call her Amanda for anonymity's sake) and I went to a fundraiser for Green Hill Therapies. We felt a beer tasting would be prime territory to meet new guys. On the way in, Amanda said, "Walk faster, Dibbs, faster." Someone she had dated with a poor ending was behind us with his girlfriend. He proceeded to run from us all night until Amanda accidentally winked at him. Oops.
Anyway. As we were playing our money, I heard a familiar singing voice from the front of the room. Yep, the band I was vehemently Never. Going. To. Hear. Again. was right in the front of the room. Yep, one mere week after my proclamation. One week after the e-harmony betrayal, I had already violated by terms, and I didn't even do it on purpose. Mother effer.
Amanda and I discussed. We had just paid $30. We decided the band was way in the front of the room. He would never see us. Until three minutes later when he left the stage for a break. Natch. And where did he make a beeline? Why, the Arrogant Bastard beer line with me, of course. After a big hug and some small talk, we did a toast of our cups. He had a big cup; I had a tiny tasting cup. He said, "Big cup--big heart." I replied, "Small cup--wee little bead of a heart encased in a block of ice." He disagreed. Whatevs.
He told his fellow betrayer all about the next night---on their date. She reported that no one at the dinner party would talk to her; love me some Junyaleeg. (One guy mentioned my name during the dinner. Big ups.) She also thinks our friendship is too valuable to waste on a guy (now that she's been out with him three times and doesn't understand his sense of humor.) Apparently he's really smart, and she just doesn't think he's funny. Maybe she shouldn't say that out loud.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Twinkle: Lots of Vignettes...Sorry So Long
A few vignettes from today...
A sweet story and a predictable reaction:
Setup: after a long birthday celebration in Manhattan, Twinklette took a nap on the train and when we got back to the hotel, Mr. Twinkle departed for the Celtics game in Boston. Twinklette went to my SIL's house with everyone else while I took a shower and had the first little bit of downtime in a full day, then I tried to take a shuttle from the hotel but ended up taking a cab from the hotel to my SIL's house because the shuttles don't run there. I also really, really, really wanted to get there by myself, since my in-laws have been dictating everyone's plans as if Mr. Twinkle and I can't do anything for ourselves...and it was getting later and I wanted to enjoy the rest of my daughter's birthday in her presence. Alright now you know the confusing back story, and a little of the hurried, emotional, increasingly desperate of state of mind I was in when I got into this cab.
So I had some cash, but the cabbie had trouble with his GPS system and ended using up half the cab fare I had with me while we were sitting in the hotel parking lot waiting for him to figure out where we were going. I told him, I only had x much money, and I was afraid that since we sat in the lot for so long with the meter running, I wouldn't be able pay him when we got there. He started driving and I reiterated, "Hey--my cab fare's half gone and we're still next to the hotel. Why don't you drop me off at this WalMart?" I was hating him at that moment...and my voice cracked a little at the humiliating thought of being dropped at a WalMart and having to be picked up by my MIL--I mean, what better confirmation that I don't have my sh*t together as an adult than having to come out and pick me up at a random WalMart less than a mile from my hotel after a taxi cab debacle? She might as well just go ahead and take custody of my child.
So I was upset, and the cabbie said, "It's OK. Don't cry. Don't cry. I'll take you there," and he turned off his meter. Well, that really set me off, because I know he needs to make a living, too, but I simply didn't have the cash and Mr. Twinkle had the debit card with him. So basically he insisted on taking me and was talking about showing kindness to people when you can, and choosing to help someone because some things are more important than money, and there's a lot of bad in the world but we make it better when we choose to be kind. He also said, when I protested, that sometimes when people are trying to show us a kindness when we need it, we should just accept it graciously. And he's right--we should.
So I calmed down, and got his name and address so I can compensate him when I get home (which I fully intend to do), and I told him a little about why I'm so emotionally fragile...my MIL's a b*tch, she's bossing everyone around, I was going to look like an idiot if she had to pick me up at WalMart, etc. And then I asked him about himself.
Yeah, he's from Haiti.
So we talked about his family (he hasn't talked to any of them, and of course he's worried sick and resigned to the worst), his career (he's a former ballet dancer), his family (he has a wife and 6-year-old daughter here), Twinklette's birthday, and we talked about deeper things like losing loved ones and being scared, and choosing to show kindness when we can. I thanked him profusely for showing kindness to me, and we parted the best of friends.
And then I walked into my SIL's house, profoundly moved and feeling uplifted, like maybe there's actually some warmth and kindness out there in the world, waiting for us in the most unlikely places. And MIL greeted me with an eyeroll and, "Well, how much did that cost you?" And I just played it off...I wasn't going to let her take the joy out of it, and I certainly wasn't going to bastardize the story by trying to repeat it to her. I'm sure she'd just find a way to cheapen it or make into it a bad thing. GMIL (grandmother-in-law) was also all concerned about the cab fare...but honestly, I got more out of it than I ever could have paid. I really do believe that sometimes God uses people as angels.
...
My in-laws hate American Girl and think it's extravagant...so GMIL always has to get in a dig about that. She said, "Was the restaurant crowded?" And I said, "Well, it was a school day, but, yes, it was full. Mostly people having birthdays." And she said, shaking her head, "I'm surprised that people still go there...you know, with the economy. People just can't afford that anymore." She needs to back off on the d*mn economy. Yes, we're in a recession and it sucks, but that doesn't mean that parents won't pay through the nose to give their daughters a magical day of girl empowerment. She's the same person who says she's surprised the Uptown Cafe is still open, because "people in that part of town can't afford to go out to a nice restaurant, like the ones in the east end can." How out of touch can you be? Yes...poor me, living in those awful tenements right by Seneca and Cherokee Parks. And let's not even discuss the ghetto-esque Strathmoor/Belnap/Eastern Parkway/Cherokee Triangle area the rest of you poor, destitute near-hobos live in. And, last time I checked, the east end McMansion lifestyle involved a lot of trips to the Chili's by Tinseltown.
...
My SIL's SIL...we'll call her Beth, since that's her name and her identity is so far removed from anyone we know...is notorious for being one of these regimented Nazi mommies. I'm not really like that; we have a loose schedule but mostly I just kind of go with the flow, but tonight I wanted Twinklette to get to bed early since the last two days have been so off-schedule and exhausting. I'd planned to eat dinner over there, eat the cake my SIL generously ordered, and come back here early. MIL was in agreement (actually, she informed me that's what we were doing before I had the chance to tell her it was my plan, too). Lots of people were coming over to eat a casual dinner and have birthday cake before turning in early, as most people traveled today.
So tonight, Beth and fam came for dinner when the rest of us were finishing. And Beth proceeded to disappear to breastfeed her kid for 45 minutes. And then her other kid had to eat lasagna. Meanwhile, a whole houseful of people were waiting around for Beth and fam to be ready sing Happy Birthday and to eat birthday cake so we could go back to the hotel. We waited and waited. Finally, Beth and fam were headed out the door. They don't allow their kids to have birthday cake (WTF?)...so basically they delayed us all an hour and prevented us from eating cake in front of their kids, thus pushing back Twinklette's bedtime again.
But at least Beth's kids are on schedule.
...
That's all...more tomorrow I'm sure.
A sweet story and a predictable reaction:
Setup: after a long birthday celebration in Manhattan, Twinklette took a nap on the train and when we got back to the hotel, Mr. Twinkle departed for the Celtics game in Boston. Twinklette went to my SIL's house with everyone else while I took a shower and had the first little bit of downtime in a full day, then I tried to take a shuttle from the hotel but ended up taking a cab from the hotel to my SIL's house because the shuttles don't run there. I also really, really, really wanted to get there by myself, since my in-laws have been dictating everyone's plans as if Mr. Twinkle and I can't do anything for ourselves...and it was getting later and I wanted to enjoy the rest of my daughter's birthday in her presence. Alright now you know the confusing back story, and a little of the hurried, emotional, increasingly desperate of state of mind I was in when I got into this cab.
So I had some cash, but the cabbie had trouble with his GPS system and ended using up half the cab fare I had with me while we were sitting in the hotel parking lot waiting for him to figure out where we were going. I told him, I only had x much money, and I was afraid that since we sat in the lot for so long with the meter running, I wouldn't be able pay him when we got there. He started driving and I reiterated, "Hey--my cab fare's half gone and we're still next to the hotel. Why don't you drop me off at this WalMart?" I was hating him at that moment...and my voice cracked a little at the humiliating thought of being dropped at a WalMart and having to be picked up by my MIL--I mean, what better confirmation that I don't have my sh*t together as an adult than having to come out and pick me up at a random WalMart less than a mile from my hotel after a taxi cab debacle? She might as well just go ahead and take custody of my child.
So I was upset, and the cabbie said, "It's OK. Don't cry. Don't cry. I'll take you there," and he turned off his meter. Well, that really set me off, because I know he needs to make a living, too, but I simply didn't have the cash and Mr. Twinkle had the debit card with him. So basically he insisted on taking me and was talking about showing kindness to people when you can, and choosing to help someone because some things are more important than money, and there's a lot of bad in the world but we make it better when we choose to be kind. He also said, when I protested, that sometimes when people are trying to show us a kindness when we need it, we should just accept it graciously. And he's right--we should.
So I calmed down, and got his name and address so I can compensate him when I get home (which I fully intend to do), and I told him a little about why I'm so emotionally fragile...my MIL's a b*tch, she's bossing everyone around, I was going to look like an idiot if she had to pick me up at WalMart, etc. And then I asked him about himself.
Yeah, he's from Haiti.
So we talked about his family (he hasn't talked to any of them, and of course he's worried sick and resigned to the worst), his career (he's a former ballet dancer), his family (he has a wife and 6-year-old daughter here), Twinklette's birthday, and we talked about deeper things like losing loved ones and being scared, and choosing to show kindness when we can. I thanked him profusely for showing kindness to me, and we parted the best of friends.
And then I walked into my SIL's house, profoundly moved and feeling uplifted, like maybe there's actually some warmth and kindness out there in the world, waiting for us in the most unlikely places. And MIL greeted me with an eyeroll and, "Well, how much did that cost you?" And I just played it off...I wasn't going to let her take the joy out of it, and I certainly wasn't going to bastardize the story by trying to repeat it to her. I'm sure she'd just find a way to cheapen it or make into it a bad thing. GMIL (grandmother-in-law) was also all concerned about the cab fare...but honestly, I got more out of it than I ever could have paid. I really do believe that sometimes God uses people as angels.
...
My in-laws hate American Girl and think it's extravagant...so GMIL always has to get in a dig about that. She said, "Was the restaurant crowded?" And I said, "Well, it was a school day, but, yes, it was full. Mostly people having birthdays." And she said, shaking her head, "I'm surprised that people still go there...you know, with the economy. People just can't afford that anymore." She needs to back off on the d*mn economy. Yes, we're in a recession and it sucks, but that doesn't mean that parents won't pay through the nose to give their daughters a magical day of girl empowerment. She's the same person who says she's surprised the Uptown Cafe is still open, because "people in that part of town can't afford to go out to a nice restaurant, like the ones in the east end can." How out of touch can you be? Yes...poor me, living in those awful tenements right by Seneca and Cherokee Parks. And let's not even discuss the ghetto-esque Strathmoor/Belnap/Eastern Parkway/Cherokee Triangle area the rest of you poor, destitute near-hobos live in. And, last time I checked, the east end McMansion lifestyle involved a lot of trips to the Chili's by Tinseltown.
...
My SIL's SIL...we'll call her Beth, since that's her name and her identity is so far removed from anyone we know...is notorious for being one of these regimented Nazi mommies. I'm not really like that; we have a loose schedule but mostly I just kind of go with the flow, but tonight I wanted Twinklette to get to bed early since the last two days have been so off-schedule and exhausting. I'd planned to eat dinner over there, eat the cake my SIL generously ordered, and come back here early. MIL was in agreement (actually, she informed me that's what we were doing before I had the chance to tell her it was my plan, too). Lots of people were coming over to eat a casual dinner and have birthday cake before turning in early, as most people traveled today.
So tonight, Beth and fam came for dinner when the rest of us were finishing. And Beth proceeded to disappear to breastfeed her kid for 45 minutes. And then her other kid had to eat lasagna. Meanwhile, a whole houseful of people were waiting around for Beth and fam to be ready sing Happy Birthday and to eat birthday cake so we could go back to the hotel. We waited and waited. Finally, Beth and fam were headed out the door. They don't allow their kids to have birthday cake (WTF?)...so basically they delayed us all an hour and prevented us from eating cake in front of their kids, thus pushing back Twinklette's bedtime again.
But at least Beth's kids are on schedule.
...
That's all...more tomorrow I'm sure.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Twinkle: Major Disaster Averted
So we're up here in quaint Connecticut (I love it here) and things are going well despite the obvious annoyances with the extended in-law family. They love running everyone's life, from dictating accommodation arrangements to how Mr. Twinkle, Twinklette, and I will get into Manhattan tomorrow morning, to telling Mr. Twinkle which bathroom he should use at any given moment. Yes, they are in rare form, and MIL is in her element since she loves nothing more than to order everyone around.
But I'm not here about that.
So we flew into Hartford today, and there's a bit of a drive from Hartford to Weston (an hour, give or take). Twinklette and I were relegated to the back of a ginormous rented Chrysler Town and Country (which FIL drives like a madman), and Twinklette immediately fell asleep. So I texted my mom to let her know we were there, then I proceeded to sext Mr. Twinkle (who was tired from the journey and having none of it...which made it all the more outlandish) for the remainder of the car ride. I consider sexting a bit adolescent and it's not something I've ever done before...it was just something sort of fun to do to pass the time. The sexting was really more of a joke than anything, and eventually turned into a provocative means of goading Mr. Twinkle.
Well, imagine my surprise when I got to the hotel tonight, fired up the MacBook, and noticed that the text message I'd sent to my mother was posted for all of Facebook to see. And it's a good d*mn thing I didn't post what I was really thinking at the time..."MIL won't stop b*tching about all the peanut butter and crackers FIL ate on the plane"..."MIL's mother bit the dust at the terminal, went flying through the air, and drama ensued," (she's OK), "About to self-medicate with Xanax and check out for the next 5 days..." It could have been bad.
But then, in a flash of panic, I remembered the sexts and my heart sank about what I might have mistakenly posted for my FaceBook status...such gems as...
"What's that bulging in your pocket?"
"You're too tired for sexting now...I'm too tired for sex later."
"Oh yeah...screw the TSA. I'm totally going to hijack your cockpit."
"Whatever. You haven't wanted to sext from the beginning and now you're trying to blame Janet Napolitano."
Or, worst of all, the picture of my boobs I discreetly took and sent him.
Anyway, none of it was on there...but it could have been bad. I mean, can you imagine? My Daddy's on there. And so are friends, parents' friends, college professors, former work colleagues, cousins, Lola's and Dibbs' moms, Dibbs' nephews, the inner city kid I tutored at a charter school...it could have been so very bad.
But it wasn't...cheers to dodging a major bullet!
But I'm not here about that.
So we flew into Hartford today, and there's a bit of a drive from Hartford to Weston (an hour, give or take). Twinklette and I were relegated to the back of a ginormous rented Chrysler Town and Country (which FIL drives like a madman), and Twinklette immediately fell asleep. So I texted my mom to let her know we were there, then I proceeded to sext Mr. Twinkle (who was tired from the journey and having none of it...which made it all the more outlandish) for the remainder of the car ride. I consider sexting a bit adolescent and it's not something I've ever done before...it was just something sort of fun to do to pass the time. The sexting was really more of a joke than anything, and eventually turned into a provocative means of goading Mr. Twinkle.
Well, imagine my surprise when I got to the hotel tonight, fired up the MacBook, and noticed that the text message I'd sent to my mother was posted for all of Facebook to see. And it's a good d*mn thing I didn't post what I was really thinking at the time..."MIL won't stop b*tching about all the peanut butter and crackers FIL ate on the plane"..."MIL's mother bit the dust at the terminal, went flying through the air, and drama ensued," (she's OK), "About to self-medicate with Xanax and check out for the next 5 days..." It could have been bad.
But then, in a flash of panic, I remembered the sexts and my heart sank about what I might have mistakenly posted for my FaceBook status...such gems as...
"What's that bulging in your pocket?"
"You're too tired for sexting now...I'm too tired for sex later."
"Oh yeah...screw the TSA. I'm totally going to hijack your cockpit."
"Whatever. You haven't wanted to sext from the beginning and now you're trying to blame Janet Napolitano."
Or, worst of all, the picture of my boobs I discreetly took and sent him.
Anyway, none of it was on there...but it could have been bad. I mean, can you imagine? My Daddy's on there. And so are friends, parents' friends, college professors, former work colleagues, cousins, Lola's and Dibbs' moms, Dibbs' nephews, the inner city kid I tutored at a charter school...it could have been so very bad.
But it wasn't...cheers to dodging a major bullet!
Julep: Resolving a Conundrum
Hope y'all had fun last night in the farewell cocktail for our dear gal ... I hated to miss it but suspect that everyone is happier with me keeping my germs at home, especially those who would not only get to be sick themselves but also would enjoy the fun of sick children. Now I'm in here at the office with the door shut, trying to keep my contamination at a minimum. But I am hopeful that I will be out and lively this weekend ... including a run to the Mall to return some gifts. And that's today's topic.
I know I have discussed this with Lola, and probably Dibbs has heard it too. (And where is Dibbs on this blog lately, anyway?) For Twinks's sake, I'll quickly recap that Mr J's sweet lovely sister gave me a very generous joint Christmas-and-birthday gift, a Dooney and Burke handbag. It's made of some synthetic cloth and printed with sailboats, yet (according to the Macy's website) retails for over $125.
The price is important only because if it were less expensive, I wouldn't mind keeping it and trotting it out once or twice over the summer. But I hate for someone to spend that kind of money on something to go unused. This is not my style, AT ALL. It's just not professional. I am not someone who frequently swaps out purses (I carry red leather 8 months a year, and move to something simple in straw from Derby through Labor Day), but I guess I could occasionally pull it out for a trip to visit the lake with Mr. J's parents. Otherwise, it'll sit in the closet until I get around to giving it to the Goodwill.
With this inevitable future on the horizon, I have concluded that I need to return it while it still has its tags and a future with someone else who will love it. With Lola's good guidance, I've decided I should tell Mr-Sister that it is going back. But what do I say? She was so excited as I was opening the box at Christmas. She thinks this purse is adorable. I don't want to hurt her feelings. How do I tactfully announce my strong dislike for this purse and all its ilk?
Lola, are you sure I can't just tell her that the inside zipper is broken and I need to exchange it - then tell her that they didn't have another one like it and I got something else instead?
I know I have discussed this with Lola, and probably Dibbs has heard it too. (And where is Dibbs on this blog lately, anyway?) For Twinks's sake, I'll quickly recap that Mr J's sweet lovely sister gave me a very generous joint Christmas-and-birthday gift, a Dooney and Burke handbag. It's made of some synthetic cloth and printed with sailboats, yet (according to the Macy's website) retails for over $125.
The price is important only because if it were less expensive, I wouldn't mind keeping it and trotting it out once or twice over the summer. But I hate for someone to spend that kind of money on something to go unused. This is not my style, AT ALL. It's just not professional. I am not someone who frequently swaps out purses (I carry red leather 8 months a year, and move to something simple in straw from Derby through Labor Day), but I guess I could occasionally pull it out for a trip to visit the lake with Mr. J's parents. Otherwise, it'll sit in the closet until I get around to giving it to the Goodwill.
With this inevitable future on the horizon, I have concluded that I need to return it while it still has its tags and a future with someone else who will love it. With Lola's good guidance, I've decided I should tell Mr-Sister that it is going back. But what do I say? She was so excited as I was opening the box at Christmas. She thinks this purse is adorable. I don't want to hurt her feelings. How do I tactfully announce my strong dislike for this purse and all its ilk?
Lola, are you sure I can't just tell her that the inside zipper is broken and I need to exchange it - then tell her that they didn't have another one like it and I got something else instead?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Julep: Higher-Brow
Apparently I had not sufficiently recovered from the Ick yesterday to work a long day ... I left at 4:30 and went home to collapse on the couch for five hours and then go to bed. But I DID get to watch Julie and Julia and y'all were right, it was delightful! (And much nicer than Jersey Shore.)
Mr. J came home 30 minutes into the movie and to my surprise was annoyed that I had started watching it without him. I don't know why I didn't think he'd be into it, he loves cooking and he loves movies. And he loved this one.
To his credit, he let me be the one to point out the similarities between himself and the character of Julie's husband. I too am married to a very very kind man whom I do not deserve. At the end of one scene where hubby soothingly talks Julie down from her meltdown o' the day, I looked at Mr. J and said, "You know what that's like, don't you?" He just laughed and said, "Maybe."
On the topics of meltdowns: Twinks, here's to you. For grace under pressure, you have few equals. It's funny how one can shoulder big disappointment and long-running strain but it's always the one more little thing that tips one over the edge. No doubt the plates were adorable and we shall not see their like again.
Mr. J came home 30 minutes into the movie and to my surprise was annoyed that I had started watching it without him. I don't know why I didn't think he'd be into it, he loves cooking and he loves movies. And he loved this one.
To his credit, he let me be the one to point out the similarities between himself and the character of Julie's husband. I too am married to a very very kind man whom I do not deserve. At the end of one scene where hubby soothingly talks Julie down from her meltdown o' the day, I looked at Mr. J and said, "You know what that's like, don't you?" He just laughed and said, "Maybe."
On the topics of meltdowns: Twinks, here's to you.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Twinkle: A New Problem
Alright, so after a little last-season Big Love action and a Bosc pear, I'm feeling better. (The rest of the fam went to dinner with the rest of the fam...I stayed home to rest).
Anyway, my prediction about a visit from relatives came true...a certain great aunt and uncle to Twinklette dropped by in the middle of our Sunday afternoon to pay a social call and deposit Twinklette's birthday present, a series of black and hot pink outfits involving heart motifs and--I'm not kidding--black tulle ruffles. There's also a zebra-print faux fur coat.
The gift receipt was included, so normally it wouldn't be a big deal. Although, the garments came from the children's department at Macy's, where Scott's aunt works, and she helped choose the ensembles. So I'm probably going to have to exchange the outfits in Lexington...but whatever.
The real problem is that Twinklette now goes to preschool, and her teacher is the daughter of the person who gave the outfits. (And I'm pretty sure her name was on the card, too). So now when Twinklette shows up to preschool NOT looking like a Staten Island hooker, everyone in the family is going to know about it. To make matters worse, Twinklette saw the faux-zebra coat (lined with magenta satin) and loved it, and threw a fit when I called it tacky and took it away. And now I'm feeling kind of like a mean mommy and an uppity b*tch. What can I say, though?--good taste takes years to cultivate.
Anyway, I'm just sitting here catching up on my Big Love and waiting for Twinklette's smocked snowman dress to dry for tomorrow's school day, and considering the incestuousness of things.
Anyway, my prediction about a visit from relatives came true...a certain great aunt and uncle to Twinklette dropped by in the middle of our Sunday afternoon to pay a social call and deposit Twinklette's birthday present, a series of black and hot pink outfits involving heart motifs and--I'm not kidding--black tulle ruffles. There's also a zebra-print faux fur coat.
The gift receipt was included, so normally it wouldn't be a big deal. Although, the garments came from the children's department at Macy's, where Scott's aunt works, and she helped choose the ensembles. So I'm probably going to have to exchange the outfits in Lexington...but whatever.
The real problem is that Twinklette now goes to preschool, and her teacher is the daughter of the person who gave the outfits. (And I'm pretty sure her name was on the card, too). So now when Twinklette shows up to preschool NOT looking like a Staten Island hooker, everyone in the family is going to know about it. To make matters worse, Twinklette saw the faux-zebra coat (lined with magenta satin) and loved it, and threw a fit when I called it tacky and took it away. And now I'm feeling kind of like a mean mommy and an uppity b*tch. What can I say, though?--good taste takes years to cultivate.
Anyway, I'm just sitting here catching up on my Big Love and waiting for Twinklette's smocked snowman dress to dry for tomorrow's school day, and considering the incestuousness of things.
Twinkle: Oh Woe is Me
Don't read this if you don't want to hear a litany of complaints, I cannot seem to catch a break around here...excuse me for venting but it's been a bad month.
First off, I spent the next two weeks doing double-time on household duties--my usual chores plus the taking-out-the-trash and other manly duties that he normally takes care of. Because he really could do nothing except lie on the sofa and watch football in an Oxycontin-induced coma (really...he was a good patient; it wasn't his fault. But it sure did take the fun out of my holiday season). There were bright moments (that time with the fire department springs to mind), but other than that I felt more like a pack mule than a vibrant modern woman.
All this went down during the joyful season of Christmukkah, so I first busied myself coordinating the eight crazy nights of Hanukkah. And I have to say, that cleaning up sh*tloads of wrapping paper/toy packaging and finding a place for the daily deluge of toys, every day for more than a week (while single-handedly caring for an invalid, a toddler, a gigantic dog and a cranky Siamese cat) is a joyless task. Then we had the over-the-top madness of Christmas and more toys to find homes for...which was fun, and at least there was only one mess to clean up.
Then came birthday party planning/execution for Twinklette, and the bash was a success. I've spent the past week getting ready for it and the past day cleaning up and finding a place for all her toys, and just as I was going to sit down and do nothing, literally for the first time in more than a month...I dropped and broke about 40 glass plates on the kitchen floor (like this only glass with cute pink flowers on the edging). And it just feels like I cannot catch a freaking break. I loved those plates.
I can't vacuum right now because it would interrupt Twinklette's nap, and now Harry is locked up in the basement and b*tching--I can't risk him cutting his paw because knowing my luck he would then run across the sofa leaving a trail of bloody paw prints on my Italian brocade upholstery. (He already added to my burdens this month by barfing up tulle ribbon on my damask bedspread and wiping his ass on the duvet cover...can't wait to pay that dry cleaning bill. Adding to the drama was Wrigley, who disregarded the rules of the house and sat on the sofa in the playroom, muddy pawprints and all...that was a fun day of laundry).
And what's worse in terms of waking up Twinklette? Harry's loud complaining or the vacuum cleaner? I have no idea. One of Mr. Twinkle's relatives will probably come ring the doorbell in a few minutes, anyway.
Sorry about the b*tching, but I just could not believe it when I broke those plates.
First off, I spent the next two weeks doing double-time on household duties--my usual chores plus the taking-out-the-trash and other manly duties that he normally takes care of. Because he really could do nothing except lie on the sofa and watch football in an Oxycontin-induced coma (really...he was a good patient; it wasn't his fault. But it sure did take the fun out of my holiday season). There were bright moments (that time with the fire department springs to mind), but other than that I felt more like a pack mule than a vibrant modern woman.
All this went down during the joyful season of Christmukkah, so I first busied myself coordinating the eight crazy nights of Hanukkah. And I have to say, that cleaning up sh*tloads of wrapping paper/toy packaging and finding a place for the daily deluge of toys, every day for more than a week (while single-handedly caring for an invalid, a toddler, a gigantic dog and a cranky Siamese cat) is a joyless task. Then we had the over-the-top madness of Christmas and more toys to find homes for...which was fun, and at least there was only one mess to clean up.
Then came birthday party planning/execution for Twinklette, and the bash was a success. I've spent the past week getting ready for it and the past day cleaning up and finding a place for all her toys, and just as I was going to sit down and do nothing, literally for the first time in more than a month...I dropped and broke about 40 glass plates on the kitchen floor (like this only glass with cute pink flowers on the edging). And it just feels like I cannot catch a freaking break. I loved those plates.
I can't vacuum right now because it would interrupt Twinklette's nap, and now Harry is locked up in the basement and b*tching--I can't risk him cutting his paw because knowing my luck he would then run across the sofa leaving a trail of bloody paw prints on my Italian brocade upholstery. (He already added to my burdens this month by barfing up tulle ribbon on my damask bedspread and wiping his ass on the duvet cover...can't wait to pay that dry cleaning bill. Adding to the drama was Wrigley, who disregarded the rules of the house and sat on the sofa in the playroom, muddy pawprints and all...that was a fun day of laundry).
And what's worse in terms of waking up Twinklette? Harry's loud complaining or the vacuum cleaner? I have no idea. One of Mr. Twinkle's relatives will probably come ring the doorbell in a few minutes, anyway.
Sorry about the b*tching, but I just could not believe it when I broke those plates.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Julep: Jersey Shore.
Oh. My. Land.
Home alone. In throes of an ick - sore throat, light fever. Bundled up on the couch in layers of fleece clothing and two blankets. Sent Mr. J over to play Wii with his sister. Took sole possession of the remote for a short time before going to bed.
And what to my wondering eyes appears on the TV Guide? Immediately flipped to MTV ... and there, in all his glory, was The Situation, explaining that the recipe for his perfection is simple: "Every day- gym, tan, laundry."
JWoww got flowers from her boyfriend after telling him she cheated on him. Ronny (Why doesn't he have a nickname?) responded, "I'd send her chewing gum and a picture of my d***, sayin' 'Chew on this.'" Next best line: "I think what happened to Snookers [getting punched in the face] brought us all closer together." I think one of the guys may have a nipple ring.
Can't. Look. Away.
Home alone. In throes of an ick - sore throat, light fever. Bundled up on the couch in layers of fleece clothing and two blankets. Sent Mr. J over to play Wii with his sister. Took sole possession of the remote for a short time before going to bed.
And what to my wondering eyes appears on the TV Guide? Immediately flipped to MTV ... and there, in all his glory, was The Situation, explaining that the recipe for his perfection is simple: "Every day- gym, tan, laundry."
JWoww got flowers from her boyfriend after telling him she cheated on him. Ronny (Why doesn't he have a nickname?) responded, "I'd send her chewing gum and a picture of my d***, sayin' 'Chew on this.'" Next best line: "I think what happened to Snookers [getting punched in the face] brought us all closer together." I think one of the guys may have a nipple ring.
Can't. Look. Away.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Julep: Matching patterns.
Mr J and I dedicated some time over the long weekend to home improvement projects. After nearly three years in the house, we are finally covering the windows. We have a big bolt of fabric we acquired somewhere that I want to use for living room curtains. Mr J had opinions on what they should look like (tab tops, window sill length). We bought heavy thermal curtain liners at Bed Bath and Beyond.
I was interested in making the curtains myself. Seems easy enough. I have my grandma's sewing machine, and I am actually fine at limited projects (straight seams, no patterns to fit). But Mr J said several times, "Why not get Mom to do it? She is a seamstress after all, and it will take her about half the time." This is true, and I don't mind admitting it. So I called Mr-Mama last night and asked for her expertise. She was delighted to help, said she would come by today to get all the materials. All is well.
I just have to note one thing: she was asking me about the fabric we have on hand, to make sure there was enough. I assured her there is ample. She then began explaining that the pattern has to match up so that the same flower will be in the same place across all the panels of curtain so that "the room won't look funny."
Y'all, this is not just something I would not have thought of when cutting the fabric. It is not something I would ever notice when looking around the room. If any of your curtain patterns do not line up, I promise I have never judged.
Lord bless this woman. She needs something to do with her brainpower.
I was interested in making the curtains myself. Seems easy enough. I have my grandma's sewing machine, and I am actually fine at limited projects (straight seams, no patterns to fit). But Mr J said several times, "Why not get Mom to do it? She is a seamstress after all, and it will take her about half the time." This is true, and I don't mind admitting it. So I called Mr-Mama last night and asked for her expertise. She was delighted to help, said she would come by today to get all the materials. All is well.
I just have to note one thing: she was asking me about the fabric we have on hand, to make sure there was enough. I assured her there is ample. She then began explaining that the pattern has to match up so that the same flower will be in the same place across all the panels of curtain so that "the room won't look funny."
Y'all, this is not just something I would not have thought of when cutting the fabric. It is not something I would ever notice when looking around the room. If any of your curtain patterns do not line up, I promise I have never judged.
Lord bless this woman. She needs something to do with her brainpower.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Twinkle: A Confederacy of Crazies
I just don't get these people.
First off, Twinklette's first day of school went smashing--she loved it and sang songs and played with toys and had fun. Not to be a conspiracy theorist, but I suspect the teachers and administrators at Twinklette's school may be in collusion with my MIL. They told me everything today was fine and Twinklette went great--which thrilled me, of course, because I want my daughter to like school, contrary to popular lore. But several times this afternoon and tonight, Twinklette cuddled up to me and said she cried at school because she missed me. It's perfectly normal of her, I think (and, let's face it--I'd miss me too if I were her) but I find it odd that no one mentioned it. I actually asked Mr. Twinkle if I seem like some unbalanced mother from whom everyone feels they need to hide the truth, lest I go all Michelle Duggar and insist on homeschooling and head-to-toe denim. Because that seems to me the only reason why no teacher (cousin), principal, or other school official would mention the fact that my daughter cried because she missed me--when she felt it was important enough to tell me about it. Am I psycho? Is the rest of the world psycho? Or is my MIL's attempt to gaslight me finally paying off?
So, tonight my FIL called me to check on how the day went, and to ask me if we were available for a little birthday dinner for my MIL Thursday night. (She's turning The Big 6-0...hahaha. I had to laugh when Mr. Twinkle told me). So I said we'd be there, of course, and inquired as to where we needed to meet him. Here's how it went down.
FIL: Can you all come out Thursday night for [MIL's] birthday dinner?
Me: Sure. We'll be there. Where are we going?
FIL: I don't know yet. She won't tell me where she wants to go because she doesn't want me to have time to plan any kind of a party.
Me: Oh, OK. Well, just let us know where we need to be and we'll be there.
FIL: OK. I'll also have a few names for you to call, to let them know where to come, too.
Me: (a little confused) So, you're actually throwing her a party even though she doesn't want one?"
FIL: (laughter) I guess so.
So, I really don't know who's more weird, my MIL for going to great lengths to stop my FIL from throwing her a party (if it were me, I'd smile and say "thank you"), or my FIL for going to even greater lengths to throw her a party she doesn't want in the first place. Is my family this psycho, and I just don't see it? Is yours? Or is it just them?
Anyway, Thursday night should be a rockin' time.
First off, Twinklette's first day of school went smashing--she loved it and sang songs and played with toys and had fun. Not to be a conspiracy theorist, but I suspect the teachers and administrators at Twinklette's school may be in collusion with my MIL. They told me everything today was fine and Twinklette went great--which thrilled me, of course, because I want my daughter to like school, contrary to popular lore. But several times this afternoon and tonight, Twinklette cuddled up to me and said she cried at school because she missed me. It's perfectly normal of her, I think (and, let's face it--I'd miss me too if I were her) but I find it odd that no one mentioned it. I actually asked Mr. Twinkle if I seem like some unbalanced mother from whom everyone feels they need to hide the truth, lest I go all Michelle Duggar and insist on homeschooling and head-to-toe denim. Because that seems to me the only reason why no teacher (cousin), principal, or other school official would mention the fact that my daughter cried because she missed me--when she felt it was important enough to tell me about it. Am I psycho? Is the rest of the world psycho? Or is my MIL's attempt to gaslight me finally paying off?
So, tonight my FIL called me to check on how the day went, and to ask me if we were available for a little birthday dinner for my MIL Thursday night. (She's turning The Big 6-0...hahaha. I had to laugh when Mr. Twinkle told me). So I said we'd be there, of course, and inquired as to where we needed to meet him. Here's how it went down.
FIL: Can you all come out Thursday night for [MIL's] birthday dinner?
Me: Sure. We'll be there. Where are we going?
FIL: I don't know yet. She won't tell me where she wants to go because she doesn't want me to have time to plan any kind of a party.
Me: Oh, OK. Well, just let us know where we need to be and we'll be there.
FIL: OK. I'll also have a few names for you to call, to let them know where to come, too.
Me: (a little confused) So, you're actually throwing her a party even though she doesn't want one?"
FIL: (laughter) I guess so.
So, I really don't know who's more weird, my MIL for going to great lengths to stop my FIL from throwing her a party (if it were me, I'd smile and say "thank you"), or my FIL for going to even greater lengths to throw her a party she doesn't want in the first place. Is my family this psycho, and I just don't see it? Is yours? Or is it just them?
Anyway, Thursday night should be a rockin' time.
Julep: The idiot box.
Twinks, you are not alone -- keep writing, I'm reading! And I will do better about writing myself.
I hate to hear about your MIL ruining the fun of the big TV. Seems like sometimes you just have to enjoy something because the other party to your marriage is excited about it. I guess she's been married a lot longer than we have, but I still think that's sort of a sad commentary.
On the broader subject ... there's a big TV in our living room and sometimes I really wish there were not so that I could sit quietly or listen to music while I read my book. But the substantial TV in the living room is not enough for Mr J. I have refused to allow a TV in the bedroom -- he stays up so much later than I do, I would never get any good sleep -- but he is actively plotting for a 60-inch HDTV when we finally get the basement fixed up. I don't know how I feel about that. (Well, I feel that a 60-inch TV is unnecessary anywhere, but setting that aside....)
Although I do sometimes wish I could read my book in peace, I also quite like sitting together in the evenings. But if we are sitting together, there is a TV on. Mr Julep, love him, is not much of a reader. Well, that's not true ... he reads on vacation when there is no TV and if there were another power outage he would quite enjoy finishing the book he's been not-reading for a year. But in his mind, "relaxing" means one thing: television. All kinds of crap TV. Movies he has seen 20 times, many episodes of NCIS (which I do enjoy), anything on the Discovery Channel.
It's a family trait - the entire Mr J family has the TV on all the time. I wonder a bit about how this is going to shake out when we have kids. I'm with you, Twinks, on no TV for the little ones - our kids won't need any boost to build their ADHD. And I frankly don't know what Mr. J will do with himself if he can't put the TV on. Listen to a lot of NPR, I guess - which he loves.
Is it wrong and Twinks-MIL-like to secretly wish for a power outage, or maybe just a cable outage?
I hate to hear about your MIL ruining the fun of the big TV. Seems like sometimes you just have to enjoy something because the other party to your marriage is excited about it. I guess she's been married a lot longer than we have, but I still think that's sort of a sad commentary.
On the broader subject ... there's a big TV in our living room and sometimes I really wish there were not so that I could sit quietly or listen to music while I read my book. But the substantial TV in the living room is not enough for Mr J. I have refused to allow a TV in the bedroom -- he stays up so much later than I do, I would never get any good sleep -- but he is actively plotting for a 60-inch HDTV when we finally get the basement fixed up. I don't know how I feel about that. (Well, I feel that a 60-inch TV is unnecessary anywhere, but setting that aside....)
Although I do sometimes wish I could read my book in peace, I also quite like sitting together in the evenings. But if we are sitting together, there is a TV on. Mr Julep, love him, is not much of a reader. Well, that's not true ... he reads on vacation when there is no TV and if there were another power outage he would quite enjoy finishing the book he's been not-reading for a year. But in his mind, "relaxing" means one thing: television. All kinds of crap TV. Movies he has seen 20 times, many episodes of NCIS (which I do enjoy), anything on the Discovery Channel.
It's a family trait - the entire Mr J family has the TV on all the time. I wonder a bit about how this is going to shake out when we have kids. I'm with you, Twinks, on no TV for the little ones - our kids won't need any boost to build their ADHD. And I frankly don't know what Mr. J will do with himself if he can't put the TV on. Listen to a lot of NPR, I guess - which he loves.
Is it wrong and Twinks-MIL-like to secretly wish for a power outage, or maybe just a cable outage?
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Twinkle: MIL Vignette
Why am I the only one who ever blogs on here anymore? Where is the Daddy Rabbit love?
So, we've established that my MIL is crazy and domineering, with a manipulative, pro-brainwashing world view (unless, of course, she thinks someone else is doing the brainwashing, in which case it's entirely unacceptable). But we haven't talked in awhile about her general lack of charity and joy. This little vignette doesn't really involve me, but I can't help but be struck by how joyless she is--and how willing to suck joy from others.
So, she's re-doing her whole house, stripping out the carpet, putting in hardwood, new paint colors, new family room sofas (one can only hope), and it seems that my father-in-law hit Best Buy the day after Christmas and got himself a gigantic new flatscreen television that is now hanging over the mantle in the den. Most who have seen it agree that it's a wonderful place to hang a tv--especially in light of the other renovations--because it frees up an entire wall that formerly housed a cumbersome entertainment center. Not only that, but my FIL can plug his computer into it run Skype through it, so we can all see the swarthy and floppy-headed new cousin in all her glory on the big screen. Plus, he's a man, and a sports fan, so large televisions with detailed picture quality just make him happy. He's thrilled with it.
As I told Mr. Twinkle, it's not every day you see a 60+ year-old man's eyes light up like a kid at Purim, but his do. His joy over the new tv is practically contagious, which makes it all the more bizarre that my MIL is palpably hostile to the new tv. She actively hates that tv, to the point that no one in the immediate or extended family can discuss its large size or the fact that it looks nice in front of her, because everyone knows she doesn't want to hear about it. She's not just joking around, either. Discussing/hearing about/looking at the new tv absolutely makes her blood boil. (Kind of like mine does when she walks in a room).
When I tried to convince her it looked nice, she looked entirely hopeless and said, "Would you want that hanging over your mantle?" And actually, she seems to have forgotten that I do have one over my mantle. And sure, if I didn't have anyone else's opinions to consider, I probably would have elected to hang an antique mirror there, but the fact is that, like it or not, that room is our main living space and it just made sense to put a tv there. And guess what...I've been known to watch it too. I've also been known to turn it off and enjoy music or silence instead...something she'd never think of doing. So when she elects to read some legitimate literature (Dead Men Don't Crochet doesn't count), instead sitting in front of the tube for an entire evening watching hours of NCIS, then she can complain about the size/placement/existence of the tv.
Another big difference between our respective tvs is that the despised flatscreen tv is in her den, and she has a formal living room where she could hang "art." (I don't...mine is in my living room, for better or for worse, and I've made peace with it because it's the best we can do). That was another complaint: "After all these years, I guess I just hoped [FIL] would want to hang some art there." If she doesn't want to watch tv in her den (where she herself has watched hours of Murder She Wrote), what does she want to do with that room. An art gallery? Really? I guess if there's one thing that house could use, it's more chards of glass.
My biggest problem with the whole ridiculous situation is that she can't recognize her husband's pure joy in the new tv, and she certainly can't put her own opinions aside and just roll with it and be happy for him. Even if she voiced her real objections at one point during the pre-buying process, and they still decided to go with the tv, guess what: it's over. The tv has been attached to the wall with large metal screws that have been drilled into the brick. There's no going back now, so embrace it! Does she know that her bad attitude about the tv diminishes her husband's joy? It would be a fascinating case study to know why she can't let anyone around her have too much pure enjoyment or pleasure. The woman would be absolutely miserable at Mardi Gras.
So, we've established that my MIL is crazy and domineering, with a manipulative, pro-brainwashing world view (unless, of course, she thinks someone else is doing the brainwashing, in which case it's entirely unacceptable). But we haven't talked in awhile about her general lack of charity and joy. This little vignette doesn't really involve me, but I can't help but be struck by how joyless she is--and how willing to suck joy from others.
So, she's re-doing her whole house, stripping out the carpet, putting in hardwood, new paint colors, new family room sofas (one can only hope), and it seems that my father-in-law hit Best Buy the day after Christmas and got himself a gigantic new flatscreen television that is now hanging over the mantle in the den. Most who have seen it agree that it's a wonderful place to hang a tv--especially in light of the other renovations--because it frees up an entire wall that formerly housed a cumbersome entertainment center. Not only that, but my FIL can plug his computer into it run Skype through it, so we can all see the swarthy and floppy-headed new cousin in all her glory on the big screen. Plus, he's a man, and a sports fan, so large televisions with detailed picture quality just make him happy. He's thrilled with it.
As I told Mr. Twinkle, it's not every day you see a 60+ year-old man's eyes light up like a kid at Purim, but his do. His joy over the new tv is practically contagious, which makes it all the more bizarre that my MIL is palpably hostile to the new tv. She actively hates that tv, to the point that no one in the immediate or extended family can discuss its large size or the fact that it looks nice in front of her, because everyone knows she doesn't want to hear about it. She's not just joking around, either. Discussing/hearing about/looking at the new tv absolutely makes her blood boil. (Kind of like mine does when she walks in a room).
When I tried to convince her it looked nice, she looked entirely hopeless and said, "Would you want that hanging over your mantle?" And actually, she seems to have forgotten that I do have one over my mantle. And sure, if I didn't have anyone else's opinions to consider, I probably would have elected to hang an antique mirror there, but the fact is that, like it or not, that room is our main living space and it just made sense to put a tv there. And guess what...I've been known to watch it too. I've also been known to turn it off and enjoy music or silence instead...something she'd never think of doing. So when she elects to read some legitimate literature (Dead Men Don't Crochet doesn't count), instead sitting in front of the tube for an entire evening watching hours of NCIS, then she can complain about the size/placement/existence of the tv.
Another big difference between our respective tvs is that the despised flatscreen tv is in her den, and she has a formal living room where she could hang "art." (I don't...mine is in my living room, for better or for worse, and I've made peace with it because it's the best we can do). That was another complaint: "After all these years, I guess I just hoped [FIL] would want to hang some art there." If she doesn't want to watch tv in her den (where she herself has watched hours of Murder She Wrote), what does she want to do with that room. An art gallery? Really? I guess if there's one thing that house could use, it's more chards of glass.
My biggest problem with the whole ridiculous situation is that she can't recognize her husband's pure joy in the new tv, and she certainly can't put her own opinions aside and just roll with it and be happy for him. Even if she voiced her real objections at one point during the pre-buying process, and they still decided to go with the tv, guess what: it's over. The tv has been attached to the wall with large metal screws that have been drilled into the brick. There's no going back now, so embrace it! Does she know that her bad attitude about the tv diminishes her husband's joy? It would be a fascinating case study to know why she can't let anyone around her have too much pure enjoyment or pleasure. The woman would be absolutely miserable at Mardi Gras.
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