Remember the girl upstairs? You know the one. I won't talk about the story again. Well, she's joining the Younger Woman's Club. I saw the list of Member-Elects, and her address was on it. I'm not going to tell y'all which one she is. I want you to be able to look at her normally.
In other news, my cray-cray cousin took Baby Shagari to a crack house today, whereupon her car was stolen. She called me to come get her. Unfortunately, I was two bourbons in at Hullabaloo and couldn't quite do it. I apologized profusely. She said, "Not as sorry as I am." I don't know if you've ever seen your Dibbs quite this angry.
Time to watch Mad Men. Good Night.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Twinkle: More Grievances
I just got back...it was fabulous and yadda yadda yadda. Really, I mostly ignored my in-laws, but any day in which I travel with them is bound to be filled with drama.
So here is one major grievance from today, plus two more earlier ones that I forgot.
Earlier ones:
1). Diapers. I didn't know what the diaper situation would be on the island, so I packed a week's worth of both swim and regular diapers, and figured I'd have that much more room in my suitcase on the way back. Without even consulting me, MIL went to the grocery store in Aruba and stocked up on Twinklette's variety of Pampers, so we had double the diapers we needed for the week and I ended up having to find a place for them in my luggage on the way back. I don't mean to look a gift bag of Pampers in the mouth (although we did pay for them)...maybe it would have been a nice gesture if the overall circumstances were different; maybe I would have considered it nice if she'd said, "Hey--I'm going to the grocery store. Do you need any diapers?" Instead, she just assumed that I didn't have the diaper angle covered and she had to swoop in and take care of it. Again, MIL...I have my sh*t together, and can anticipate my child's needs ahead of time without your help.
2). Elmo vs. Dora. MIL knows how I feel about licensed characters, but what does she pull out on the flight home tonight? A fucking Elmo sticker book. I hate that red somb*tch. Susan, my sister-in-law's MIL (who's super-sweet) got Twinklette a Dora sticker book, and even though Twinklette doesn't watch Dora or know who she is, she really liked it and I appreciated the gesture. After all, Susan doesn't know about me and my crazy ideas about marketing to children. So we graciously accepted the book, Twinklette loves it, and I'm OK with it because I don't have to let her watch the show or even know Dora's name.
Sesame Street is different. Twinklette knows Elmo and Cookie Monster because my MIL introduced the show behind my back. I'm sure she thinks it's educational (I actually beg to differ) and that my objection is based on some ridiculous political bias against the show's liberalism (I couldn't care less about that). Y'all know my objection is based on unfair marketing to children, and I also resent the fact that my MIL is so disrespectful of my beliefs and wishes on the matter.
So, the Dora sticker book comes out and MIL goes, "Twinklette, who's that?" Now, if I don't let my child watch Sesame Street on KET, you'd better believe she's not watching any Dora the Explorer on Nick Jr. (You should see the horrible video gaming Web sites that advertise on Nickelodeon.com and even NickJr.com). I'm not sure if my MIL was trying to expose me as a fraud or what (like, I'm letting her watch Dora but not Sesame Street). I have no idea what she was thinking. Twinklette had no answer--she doesn't know Dora from Shinola. I was scared Susan would think Twinklette didn't like the gift, and I certainly wasn't going to explain my objection when Susan's intentions were good and a sticker book alone is totally harmless.
Today:
3). The airport arrival. Our flight out of Aruba was at 3 p.m. We went to breakfast with the whole crowd, stopped to buy some last-minute Dutch cookies at 10:30, and then Susan and her very nice, very fun husband Skip wanted to stop in downtown Oranjestad for a little more shopping before getting to the airport. The rental car we were sharing with my in-laws was too crowded with luggage, so we were riding with Susan and Skip (how convenient!), and the four of us agreed that there was no need to get to the airport 5 hours early.
Well, when we stopped for Dutch cookies, my in-laws did not like the sound of delaying our arrival at the airport, so they essentially came over to Skip and Susan's car and made us get back in their car and go to the airport with them (like a couple of delinquent teenagers who were out past curfew), so that we'd have plenty of time for customs and TSA and all that. Well, that stuff did take forever. But we made it in plenty of time, and guess who we saw on the other side of all those long lines: Skip and Susan, who stopped in Oranjestad and still made it in plenty of time.
I checked out of the whole thing early on, and decided I didn't really care about any of it. But the bottom line is this: they are fucking insane.
So here is one major grievance from today, plus two more earlier ones that I forgot.
Earlier ones:
1). Diapers. I didn't know what the diaper situation would be on the island, so I packed a week's worth of both swim and regular diapers, and figured I'd have that much more room in my suitcase on the way back. Without even consulting me, MIL went to the grocery store in Aruba and stocked up on Twinklette's variety of Pampers, so we had double the diapers we needed for the week and I ended up having to find a place for them in my luggage on the way back. I don't mean to look a gift bag of Pampers in the mouth (although we did pay for them)...maybe it would have been a nice gesture if the overall circumstances were different; maybe I would have considered it nice if she'd said, "Hey--I'm going to the grocery store. Do you need any diapers?" Instead, she just assumed that I didn't have the diaper angle covered and she had to swoop in and take care of it. Again, MIL...I have my sh*t together, and can anticipate my child's needs ahead of time without your help.
2). Elmo vs. Dora. MIL knows how I feel about licensed characters, but what does she pull out on the flight home tonight? A fucking Elmo sticker book. I hate that red somb*tch. Susan, my sister-in-law's MIL (who's super-sweet) got Twinklette a Dora sticker book, and even though Twinklette doesn't watch Dora or know who she is, she really liked it and I appreciated the gesture. After all, Susan doesn't know about me and my crazy ideas about marketing to children. So we graciously accepted the book, Twinklette loves it, and I'm OK with it because I don't have to let her watch the show or even know Dora's name.
Sesame Street is different. Twinklette knows Elmo and Cookie Monster because my MIL introduced the show behind my back. I'm sure she thinks it's educational (I actually beg to differ) and that my objection is based on some ridiculous political bias against the show's liberalism (I couldn't care less about that). Y'all know my objection is based on unfair marketing to children, and I also resent the fact that my MIL is so disrespectful of my beliefs and wishes on the matter.
So, the Dora sticker book comes out and MIL goes, "Twinklette, who's that?" Now, if I don't let my child watch Sesame Street on KET, you'd better believe she's not watching any Dora the Explorer on Nick Jr. (You should see the horrible video gaming Web sites that advertise on Nickelodeon.com and even NickJr.com). I'm not sure if my MIL was trying to expose me as a fraud or what (like, I'm letting her watch Dora but not Sesame Street). I have no idea what she was thinking. Twinklette had no answer--she doesn't know Dora from Shinola. I was scared Susan would think Twinklette didn't like the gift, and I certainly wasn't going to explain my objection when Susan's intentions were good and a sticker book alone is totally harmless.
Today:
3). The airport arrival. Our flight out of Aruba was at 3 p.m. We went to breakfast with the whole crowd, stopped to buy some last-minute Dutch cookies at 10:30, and then Susan and her very nice, very fun husband Skip wanted to stop in downtown Oranjestad for a little more shopping before getting to the airport. The rental car we were sharing with my in-laws was too crowded with luggage, so we were riding with Susan and Skip (how convenient!), and the four of us agreed that there was no need to get to the airport 5 hours early.
Well, when we stopped for Dutch cookies, my in-laws did not like the sound of delaying our arrival at the airport, so they essentially came over to Skip and Susan's car and made us get back in their car and go to the airport with them (like a couple of delinquent teenagers who were out past curfew), so that we'd have plenty of time for customs and TSA and all that. Well, that stuff did take forever. But we made it in plenty of time, and guess who we saw on the other side of all those long lines: Skip and Susan, who stopped in Oranjestad and still made it in plenty of time.
I checked out of the whole thing early on, and decided I didn't really care about any of it. But the bottom line is this: they are fucking insane.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Twinkle: Airing of Caribbean Grievances
The trip with my in-laws hasn't been bad...other than the first miserable day of travel (made more dramatic by the fact that Twinklette had a cold and only got one hour of sleep before our 4 a.m. airport departure). But for the most part it's been fine, and I've had lots of time to float on a raft in the sea, not thinking or caring about my longsuffering MIL, who prefers not to take complimentary shots from friendly native bartenders, and who'd rather sit smugly and responsibly, guarding the towels and beach bags instead of snorkeling with everyone else. Do I look like I care? 'Cause I don't. But she was a major party pooper not to take that shot with everyone else at the table.
Of course, there are certain grievances. And here they are:
1). The Benadryl. Picture it, Standiford-Field, 4:10 a.m. Twinklette sneezes. MIL says, "Did you bring any Benadryl?" I'd packed every traditional and holistic remedy in my entire med-arsenal--before I even knew Twinklette was going to be sick--except, of course the Benadryl. I considered packing it, but ruled against it, because I couldn't remember what other medicines that I'd packed could be mixed with Benadryl. But I was wrong to worry about drug interactions. MIL wanted Benadryl, and I didn't have any. So clearly I'm not fit to wipe Twinklette's nose...which brings me to...
2). The Kleenex. Every time Twinklette sneezed or looked like she was going to, MIL instantly had a Kleenex. It was as if she literally had a Kleenex up her sleeve, just for the express purpose of beating me to the nose-wipe to make me look somehow unfit. I'm not making this up. Even Mr. Twinkle noticed/was annoyed by her quick-draw Kleenex technique.
3). The medicine. Remember all that medicine I packed? Well, it was liquid, so I checked it. And all day long as we travelled, MIL would keep asking me about it like I was some unfit mother who was withholding treatment from my child. And all day long I'd explain, "I had to check it. Darn terrorists." And again she'd ask for it. When we got our bags, I couldn't exactly remember which bag the meds were in (there was a little late-night shuffling of luggage contents, as I held my screaming child for 6 hours that she should have been asleep and tried to do the last of the packing). Well, of course, when my SIL got there, she had her child's medicine right there and knew right where it was, so she whipped that off-brand infant Tylenol out faster than you can say shalom y'all (good mommies know that, since the big Tylenol recall, it's best to use off-brand). For the rest of the day, any time Twinklette showed the slightest signs of her cold, MIL would say, "Your SIL has some Tylenol she can use."
4). The breakfast smoothie. Mr. Twinkle has discovered a new talent on this trip: making fresh-fruit breakfast smoothies for everyone, and they are absolutely delicious. He's made them every morning with whatever tropical fruits we've had in our condos, and he's gotten rave reviews all around. And every morning, at least 4 times, MIL says, "This would be a great breakfast for Twinklette; if you added a little yogurt it would be a whole healthy breakfast all its own." She has said it, and said it, and said it, and I suppose she thinks all we ever feed Twinklette for breakfast are Fruity Pebbles with a little Mrs. Butterworth drizzled on top.
5). The beach reading. It's true. On my kindle, I'm reading Living Dead in Dallas: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel, and loving every delicious page of trash. And I read Henry James' Portrait of a Lady before I left for this trip, to fill my head with literature before I filled it with trash. And I consistently read better quality books than she does, so I don't appreciate snide comments from my MIL, a literary enthusiast whose favorites include The Peach Cobbler Murder and Dead Men Don't Crochet. My worst guilty pleasure is better than her highest literary pursuit, which, if I'm not mistaken, is Glazed Murder: A Donut Shop Mystery. Sookie Stackhouse is Moll Flanders compared to that.
6). The eyes. Last night at dinner, SIL was saying that some of her work colleagues think her daughter and mine look alike (so much so that they thought my SIL had an older daughter). I agreed, to be polite, that yes, certain features--the eyes--do bear a resemblance. FIL said to SIL, "They both have your eyes." And MIL screamed out, "They're MY eyes." Who does that? Let other people say it, Grams! Does this woman think no one gives her any credit, or what?
Two observations:
1). Hotel bed sheets. This is totally inappropriate, but I'm pretty sure my MIL would never do the nasty in a hotel room. I get sort of grossed out by the thought of it, too (even just sleeping on those linens, whose history is totally mysterious, is kind of gross). But I'll put my reservations on hold in the name of a good time, especially if it's a nice hotel that launders everything (even the duvet cover). That's the key. I'll bet my FIL is just totally out of luck in that regard, though. MIL would probably b*tch to everyone about it, if it were in any way appropriate, "The nerve of FIL...thinking I would do that on a hotel bed."
2). Today while we were eating lunch, I exclaimed, "Mr. Twinkle makes a mean PB&J." And I realized that MIL would never say anything like that about her husband, or son, or anyone else. She'd never give credit where credit is due, or just say something nice to make a guy in her life feel good (I, too, make a mean PB&J...but it doesn't hurt if Mr. Twinkle gets a pat on the back for the one he made). MIL is all about taking, taking, taking credit, but never giving any credit or saying thank you to anyone. That's her central tragedy. That, and her refusal to take that delicious blue shot.
Off to see what that literary legend Sookie Stackhouse is up to.
Of course, there are certain grievances. And here they are:
1). The Benadryl. Picture it, Standiford-Field, 4:10 a.m. Twinklette sneezes. MIL says, "Did you bring any Benadryl?" I'd packed every traditional and holistic remedy in my entire med-arsenal--before I even knew Twinklette was going to be sick--except, of course the Benadryl. I considered packing it, but ruled against it, because I couldn't remember what other medicines that I'd packed could be mixed with Benadryl. But I was wrong to worry about drug interactions. MIL wanted Benadryl, and I didn't have any. So clearly I'm not fit to wipe Twinklette's nose...which brings me to...
2). The Kleenex. Every time Twinklette sneezed or looked like she was going to, MIL instantly had a Kleenex. It was as if she literally had a Kleenex up her sleeve, just for the express purpose of beating me to the nose-wipe to make me look somehow unfit. I'm not making this up. Even Mr. Twinkle noticed/was annoyed by her quick-draw Kleenex technique.
3). The medicine. Remember all that medicine I packed? Well, it was liquid, so I checked it. And all day long as we travelled, MIL would keep asking me about it like I was some unfit mother who was withholding treatment from my child. And all day long I'd explain, "I had to check it. Darn terrorists." And again she'd ask for it. When we got our bags, I couldn't exactly remember which bag the meds were in (there was a little late-night shuffling of luggage contents, as I held my screaming child for 6 hours that she should have been asleep and tried to do the last of the packing). Well, of course, when my SIL got there, she had her child's medicine right there and knew right where it was, so she whipped that off-brand infant Tylenol out faster than you can say shalom y'all (good mommies know that, since the big Tylenol recall, it's best to use off-brand). For the rest of the day, any time Twinklette showed the slightest signs of her cold, MIL would say, "Your SIL has some Tylenol she can use."
4). The breakfast smoothie. Mr. Twinkle has discovered a new talent on this trip: making fresh-fruit breakfast smoothies for everyone, and they are absolutely delicious. He's made them every morning with whatever tropical fruits we've had in our condos, and he's gotten rave reviews all around. And every morning, at least 4 times, MIL says, "This would be a great breakfast for Twinklette; if you added a little yogurt it would be a whole healthy breakfast all its own." She has said it, and said it, and said it, and I suppose she thinks all we ever feed Twinklette for breakfast are Fruity Pebbles with a little Mrs. Butterworth drizzled on top.
5). The beach reading. It's true. On my kindle, I'm reading Living Dead in Dallas: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel, and loving every delicious page of trash. And I read Henry James' Portrait of a Lady before I left for this trip, to fill my head with literature before I filled it with trash. And I consistently read better quality books than she does, so I don't appreciate snide comments from my MIL, a literary enthusiast whose favorites include The Peach Cobbler Murder and Dead Men Don't Crochet. My worst guilty pleasure is better than her highest literary pursuit, which, if I'm not mistaken, is Glazed Murder: A Donut Shop Mystery. Sookie Stackhouse is Moll Flanders compared to that.
6). The eyes. Last night at dinner, SIL was saying that some of her work colleagues think her daughter and mine look alike (so much so that they thought my SIL had an older daughter). I agreed, to be polite, that yes, certain features--the eyes--do bear a resemblance. FIL said to SIL, "They both have your eyes." And MIL screamed out, "They're MY eyes." Who does that? Let other people say it, Grams! Does this woman think no one gives her any credit, or what?
Two observations:
1). Hotel bed sheets. This is totally inappropriate, but I'm pretty sure my MIL would never do the nasty in a hotel room. I get sort of grossed out by the thought of it, too (even just sleeping on those linens, whose history is totally mysterious, is kind of gross). But I'll put my reservations on hold in the name of a good time, especially if it's a nice hotel that launders everything (even the duvet cover). That's the key. I'll bet my FIL is just totally out of luck in that regard, though. MIL would probably b*tch to everyone about it, if it were in any way appropriate, "The nerve of FIL...thinking I would do that on a hotel bed."
2). Today while we were eating lunch, I exclaimed, "Mr. Twinkle makes a mean PB&J." And I realized that MIL would never say anything like that about her husband, or son, or anyone else. She'd never give credit where credit is due, or just say something nice to make a guy in her life feel good (I, too, make a mean PB&J...but it doesn't hurt if Mr. Twinkle gets a pat on the back for the one he made). MIL is all about taking, taking, taking credit, but never giving any credit or saying thank you to anyone. That's her central tragedy. That, and her refusal to take that delicious blue shot.
Off to see what that literary legend Sookie Stackhouse is up to.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Twinkle: The Road to Wit Begins in the Nursery
For awhile now, I've thought it was weird that Mr. Twinkle's family doesn't laugh at my always-hilarious jokes. I could come up with the kind of ingenious witty comment that would have all of y'all simply in stitches (and would likely get snappy retorts from all of you), and I will get stone-faced stares from that crowd. As you know, I stopped caring about all this around a month ago, and my mental health is all the better for it.
But I noticed something tonight: they don't laugh at Twinklette's jokes, either.
Twinklette is in a very silly phase. She will make giggly exclamations such as "cock-a-doodle ice cream!" and then laugh hysterically at her own joke, which I always think is funny so I laugh, too. Plus, it's polite to laugh. And "cock-a-doodle ice cream" is the first step towards a witty night of conversation and cocktails with your girlfriends, so I'm damn well going to encourage it.
Well, Twinklette was in a particularly silly mood tonight at Cafe Lou Lou, and was breaking out every number in her two-and-a-half-year-old repertoire, and she didn't get so much as a halfhearted grin from any of them.
I said I don't care what they think about anything, and I really don't. But I wouldn't be the Twinkle you know and love if I didn't enjoy pressing their buttons from time to time. So Twinklette got an extra-silly slice of me tonight, and so did everyone else. Twinklette was pretending to splash everyone as if we were already in Aruba, and I'd say, "Don't splash Grams! Don't you dare splash Grams! Oh no--don't splash Zeide!"...Twinklette thought it was hilarious but none of the pretend-splash recipients played along. We were in a restaurant, but this was by no means a raucous game, Lou Lou is pretty loud, and I doubt if anyone who did happen to overhear us (and I'm pretty sure no one did) would have minded hearing peals of laughter from a small child. What I'm saying is, they couldn't have objected on the grounds that it was obnoxious, because it wasn't. They objected because they haven't a silly bone in their bodies--or a witty one, for that matter. My parents always play along with the silliness, for the record--to extreme degrees.
My in-laws can think whatever they want of me, that I'm irresponsible, don't have my sh*t together as a mother, too uppity, too frivolous. (Although, when a cousin stepped on a bee at a recent picnic, guess who had Band-Aids and Neosporin: Ms. Doesn't-Have-Her-Sh*t-Together). Anyway, y'all know I'm not going to sit around and let anyone turn Twinklette's sparkling personality into the dour demeanor of a strict fourth-grade teacher.
But I noticed something tonight: they don't laugh at Twinklette's jokes, either.
Twinklette is in a very silly phase. She will make giggly exclamations such as "cock-a-doodle ice cream!" and then laugh hysterically at her own joke, which I always think is funny so I laugh, too. Plus, it's polite to laugh. And "cock-a-doodle ice cream" is the first step towards a witty night of conversation and cocktails with your girlfriends, so I'm damn well going to encourage it.
Well, Twinklette was in a particularly silly mood tonight at Cafe Lou Lou, and was breaking out every number in her two-and-a-half-year-old repertoire, and she didn't get so much as a halfhearted grin from any of them.
I said I don't care what they think about anything, and I really don't. But I wouldn't be the Twinkle you know and love if I didn't enjoy pressing their buttons from time to time. So Twinklette got an extra-silly slice of me tonight, and so did everyone else. Twinklette was pretending to splash everyone as if we were already in Aruba, and I'd say, "Don't splash Grams! Don't you dare splash Grams! Oh no--don't splash Zeide!"...Twinklette thought it was hilarious but none of the pretend-splash recipients played along. We were in a restaurant, but this was by no means a raucous game, Lou Lou is pretty loud, and I doubt if anyone who did happen to overhear us (and I'm pretty sure no one did) would have minded hearing peals of laughter from a small child. What I'm saying is, they couldn't have objected on the grounds that it was obnoxious, because it wasn't. They objected because they haven't a silly bone in their bodies--or a witty one, for that matter. My parents always play along with the silliness, for the record--to extreme degrees.
My in-laws can think whatever they want of me, that I'm irresponsible, don't have my sh*t together as a mother, too uppity, too frivolous. (Although, when a cousin stepped on a bee at a recent picnic, guess who had Band-Aids and Neosporin: Ms. Doesn't-Have-Her-Sh*t-Together). Anyway, y'all know I'm not going to sit around and let anyone turn Twinklette's sparkling personality into the dour demeanor of a strict fourth-grade teacher.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Lola: An apropos article interlude
Because y'all know I love to share a good article with people, I found Julep's post below particularly timely, as I just happened to be reading the following articles about parenting. The first very extensive article was published by the New Yorker magazine, and the second is more an opinion-piece from the Washington Post. Both of these article touch on recent polling which suggest that parents are less happy than their child-free peers. In light of my own delicate condition, I am not certain how to best incorporate these into my own world-view, other than to just hope for the best, I suppose. But I have been trying to embrace, own, and revel in the current countdown of my child-free state, while mentally steeling myself for the impending drudgery of infant-parenting. (I figure if one is pragmatic that it won't be all rainbows, fairies, and Dreft-smelling wonderment, one is less likely to find herself in a severe case of PTSD - or the mommy equivalent thereof, PPD.) Again, here's hoping.
And not to say that I don't stare at my shifting belly with wonderment that there is a whole other person moving around in there; and that I don't find myself tearing up in the shower thinking about walking hand-in-hand with him on his first day of school - perhaps a little nerd-child with glasses and a big, curly jew-fro. But I also anticipate that the heartburn does not necessarily end at delivery; and that my child will not be the center of the universe. In the end, you just have to roll with a water-off-a-duck's back attitude... or Else.
And not to say that I don't stare at my shifting belly with wonderment that there is a whole other person moving around in there; and that I don't find myself tearing up in the shower thinking about walking hand-in-hand with him on his first day of school - perhaps a little nerd-child with glasses and a big, curly jew-fro. But I also anticipate that the heartburn does not necessarily end at delivery; and that my child will not be the center of the universe. In the end, you just have to roll with a water-off-a-duck's back attitude... or Else.
Julep: For the Love
Hey Twinkle, you know how your MIL thinks that her daughter is the be-all-end-all of perfection? We should really introduce her to my sister, who appears to be under the impression that her child is the Second Coming. I actually had a pretty nice telephone chat with Sis the other day. But when I hung up the phone, there were a few things that stuck with me.
(1) Sis is not going to our cousin's wedding this Saturday, because she doesn't want to upset Baby's routine. They took Baby to a dinner party on Memorial Day weekend, and dinner wasn't served until 8 pm, so Baby didn't get to bed at his usual time, and she could just tell that he was not himself - for the next TWO WEEKS. It was so upsetting for Baby, she just doesn't want to put them all through that again.
Perhaps you are thinking (as I was thinking) that Sis could leave Baby at home with his daddy and attend the wedding with moi. But no ... Baby is still nursing, and she can't leave him for five or six hours to drive to Harrodsburg and attend the wedding. Let us recall that Baby is eight months old. She has not spent more than three hours out of his presence since his birth. "You know, it's the first year, right? I mean, that's just how it goes, we have to make sacrifices." I realize that she is nursing, but you know, most people would just pump. Nope, Baby goes straight to the source. Why? "I just don't like to give him bottles."
(2) Sis -- a public school teacher, when gainfully employed -- can totally see now that she is a parent why people get so upset about their children's school. "You know, you just want the best for them!" Thank heavens she has five years before she has to make a decision with Baby, because she just can't imagine sending Baby to school ... with, you know, other kids. "You just want them home, you know? Even [Her Friends] who send their kids to a great school were so relieved when it was summertime and they could have the kids away from all those other influences."
And as for school assignment, well, she just thinks that we need to go back to a system of neighborhood schools so kids who live in the good neighborhoods get the good schools and if you can't afford to live in a good neighborhood, too bad for your kids. The lack of self-awareness was remarkable, given that this statement was coming from a woman whose mother subsidizes her mortgage.
(3) The phone conversation ended when it was time for her to begin Baby's nighttime routine. At 6:45 pm. She suggested that I could stop by to see Baby sometime, in the hours that he receives visitors ... probably a weekend will be best. Not too early in the morning, or during the midday while he is napping, and again, 6:45 is when his evening routine kicks in. So let's see, that's ... a Saturday or Sunday between 9:30 and 11, or from 5-6:30. Because those are totally convenient times for people who have other things to do on the weekend.
I'm not sure this post does it justice - it was really amazing. Sis has always been a solipsist. Evidently her perspective has now shifted, and instead of seeing the entire world as a function of how it suits herself, she now sees it all revolving around her and Baby.
(1) Sis is not going to our cousin's wedding this Saturday, because she doesn't want to upset Baby's routine. They took Baby to a dinner party on Memorial Day weekend, and dinner wasn't served until 8 pm, so Baby didn't get to bed at his usual time, and she could just tell that he was not himself - for the next TWO WEEKS. It was so upsetting for Baby, she just doesn't want to put them all through that again.
Perhaps you are thinking (as I was thinking) that Sis could leave Baby at home with his daddy and attend the wedding with moi. But no ... Baby is still nursing, and she can't leave him for five or six hours to drive to Harrodsburg and attend the wedding. Let us recall that Baby is eight months old. She has not spent more than three hours out of his presence since his birth. "You know, it's the first year, right? I mean, that's just how it goes, we have to make sacrifices." I realize that she is nursing, but you know, most people would just pump. Nope, Baby goes straight to the source. Why? "I just don't like to give him bottles."
(2) Sis -- a public school teacher, when gainfully employed -- can totally see now that she is a parent why people get so upset about their children's school. "You know, you just want the best for them!" Thank heavens she has five years before she has to make a decision with Baby, because she just can't imagine sending Baby to school ... with, you know, other kids. "You just want them home, you know? Even [Her Friends] who send their kids to a great school were so relieved when it was summertime and they could have the kids away from all those other influences."
And as for school assignment, well, she just thinks that we need to go back to a system of neighborhood schools so kids who live in the good neighborhoods get the good schools and if you can't afford to live in a good neighborhood, too bad for your kids. The lack of self-awareness was remarkable, given that this statement was coming from a woman whose mother subsidizes her mortgage.
(3) The phone conversation ended when it was time for her to begin Baby's nighttime routine. At 6:45 pm. She suggested that I could stop by to see Baby sometime, in the hours that he receives visitors ... probably a weekend will be best. Not too early in the morning, or during the midday while he is napping, and again, 6:45 is when his evening routine kicks in. So let's see, that's ... a Saturday or Sunday between 9:30 and 11, or from 5-6:30. Because those are totally convenient times for people who have other things to do on the weekend.
I'm not sure this post does it justice - it was really amazing. Sis has always been a solipsist. Evidently her perspective has now shifted, and instead of seeing the entire world as a function of how it suits herself, she now sees it all revolving around her and Baby.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Julep: Raspberries, Pimento Cheese and Sympathy
I am having a little lunch here at the desk, and thought I would check the blog. Not much time to write - but I think this will be longer than a mere "comment." Twinkle, your post made me think not of my marriage (Mr. J is a pretty good defender) but of my mother. My mom is a lot like Mr Twinkle on this count ... she loves her family so dearly, and she just does not have the confrontation gene.
Used to be that my sisters were horrid to me whenever the family was together. I never wanted to cause a big scene by telling them off, but one of the hardest parts of how mean they were was that my mom would not stand up for me. I would have these long impassioned talks with her about how awful they were and beg her to say to them, "You can't talk to your sister that way in my house." But even though she could acknowledge later that they were being awful, she never would tell them to be nice or go home.
Declaring your emotional independence from it all is really the biggest step. (Somehow I had a liberating revelation the year I turned 30.) It was never that she didn't love me enough to fight for me - I know how much my mom loves me, and I know you know how much Mr. Twinkle loves you. You just can't get blood from a stone.
Used to be that my sisters were horrid to me whenever the family was together. I never wanted to cause a big scene by telling them off, but one of the hardest parts of how mean they were was that my mom would not stand up for me. I would have these long impassioned talks with her about how awful they were and beg her to say to them, "You can't talk to your sister that way in my house." But even though she could acknowledge later that they were being awful, she never would tell them to be nice or go home.
Declaring your emotional independence from it all is really the biggest step. (Somehow I had a liberating revelation the year I turned 30.) It was never that she didn't love me enough to fight for me - I know how much my mom loves me, and I know you know how much Mr. Twinkle loves you. You just can't get blood from a stone.
Twinkle; Monster-In-Law Rears Her Passive-Aggressive Head
It seems that keeping a Zen attitude toward my MIL is going to take serious mental fortitude, but just because I'm a self-declared pacifist in the MIL realm doesn't mean I can't come on here and talk some trash. (No fear, Julep...it never meant that I'd stop blogging. I'm just trying to find a way to reconcile my MIL's bad behavior with my own irrepressible desire to b*tch about her, while still staying sane).
Here is the source of the drama. My parents are returning from vacation today (it's my dad's last weekday off before returning to work after the holiday weekend) and they would like to see Twinklette. MIL has been taking Twinklette to a class at the zoo most Friday mornings this month, followed by swimming and lunch, so she's all miffed because I asked her to bring Twinklette back immediately after the zoo class today. Letting the grandparents share the morning is the only solution I can think of that will give all of them the time they think they rightfully deserve, and I think it's pretty d*mn fair. (And, indeed, my parents deserve it more than anyone, as they have not seen her in more than a week). My MIL got to play with Twinklette for most of the morning yesterday, and she is spending the night with them tonight, which means that MIL can once again openly defy me by showing Twinklette Sesame Street tomorrow morning. I'm sure that'll give her an extra boost of joy, but it's not enough to keep her from acting out her passive-aggressive angst on me for the past two days and the next two weeks.
And I almost fell for it this morning when she picked up Twinklette. I forgot my epiphany and b*tched about both sets of parents with Mr. Twinkle. We were laughing about moving away from the whole lot of them, eagerly anticipating the day when he will take the Florida bar and we will at least get some breaks from all their ridiculous expectations. (And, after talking to a friend about this very issue, I'm told that this is not an uncommon issue with grandparents). There was a note of seriousness to the conversation, too, an undercurrent of pleading for him to please make your mother be nice to me and understand that it's perfectly fair for my parents to want to see her today.
He will never stand up to her, or my FIL, as everybody knows. They have had him by the cajones since the day he was born (pardon my Cervantes). And that's his problem, and it's my choice as to whether or not it's going to be my problem. And I choose not to let it. The best I can do is continue living my life and doing what I think is best for my child. If I let her antics bother me--or drive a wedge between Mr. Twinkle and me--then she has me by by the cajones, too.
So I apologized to him. And when MIL brings back Twinklette in 15 minutes, I will not to let the bad attitude get to me, and I will not call Mr. Twinkle and complain about what a b*tch she was, because I cannot continue making so many of our family dynamics about her. She is a manipulator and a troublemaker, all wrapped up in a smiling matron who knits and sends my friends nice wedding gifts. But we have our own family life to get on with--Mr. Twinkle, Twinklette, and me. And I'm not going to let her come between us because it's a complete waste of time and energy.
I'm not saying it's not going to take some serious effort on my part, and I may need to return to yoga class with Lola for this one. I also may need to go with Dibbs for an old-fashioned aura-cleansing.
Here is the source of the drama. My parents are returning from vacation today (it's my dad's last weekday off before returning to work after the holiday weekend) and they would like to see Twinklette. MIL has been taking Twinklette to a class at the zoo most Friday mornings this month, followed by swimming and lunch, so she's all miffed because I asked her to bring Twinklette back immediately after the zoo class today. Letting the grandparents share the morning is the only solution I can think of that will give all of them the time they think they rightfully deserve, and I think it's pretty d*mn fair. (And, indeed, my parents deserve it more than anyone, as they have not seen her in more than a week). My MIL got to play with Twinklette for most of the morning yesterday, and she is spending the night with them tonight, which means that MIL can once again openly defy me by showing Twinklette Sesame Street tomorrow morning. I'm sure that'll give her an extra boost of joy, but it's not enough to keep her from acting out her passive-aggressive angst on me for the past two days and the next two weeks.
And I almost fell for it this morning when she picked up Twinklette. I forgot my epiphany and b*tched about both sets of parents with Mr. Twinkle. We were laughing about moving away from the whole lot of them, eagerly anticipating the day when he will take the Florida bar and we will at least get some breaks from all their ridiculous expectations. (And, after talking to a friend about this very issue, I'm told that this is not an uncommon issue with grandparents). There was a note of seriousness to the conversation, too, an undercurrent of pleading for him to please make your mother be nice to me and understand that it's perfectly fair for my parents to want to see her today.
He will never stand up to her, or my FIL, as everybody knows. They have had him by the cajones since the day he was born (pardon my Cervantes). And that's his problem, and it's my choice as to whether or not it's going to be my problem. And I choose not to let it. The best I can do is continue living my life and doing what I think is best for my child. If I let her antics bother me--or drive a wedge between Mr. Twinkle and me--then she has me by by the cajones, too.
So I apologized to him. And when MIL brings back Twinklette in 15 minutes, I will not to let the bad attitude get to me, and I will not call Mr. Twinkle and complain about what a b*tch she was, because I cannot continue making so many of our family dynamics about her. She is a manipulator and a troublemaker, all wrapped up in a smiling matron who knits and sends my friends nice wedding gifts. But we have our own family life to get on with--Mr. Twinkle, Twinklette, and me. And I'm not going to let her come between us because it's a complete waste of time and energy.
I'm not saying it's not going to take some serious effort on my part, and I may need to return to yoga class with Lola for this one. I also may need to go with Dibbs for an old-fashioned aura-cleansing.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Julep is not a particularly nice person.
Mr. J has been super-busy lately with working for the Family - plus the beautiful weather means people want to take those sailing lessons they've paid for already - plus that Hippie Music Festival is coming up and that means Mr. J is running around attending to every little detail because the Festival's guru (a very talented promoter and seeker of sponsorship dollars) is so unorganized as to the practicalities that he can't find his @$$ with two hands and a flashlight.
So Mr. J is working too hard, and it's making him short-tempered. That only underlines the fundamental truth of our relationship: I am married to a much nicer person than I am myself. When I am overworked and stressed and impatient, and I snap at Mr. J about things that aren't really his fault, he makes allowances. He's patient, and loving, and he doesn't snap back.
When he snaps at me (a far rarer occurrence), I snap back. And even then the real reason it doens't mature into a full-fledged fight about nothing is because he is usually smart enough to leave the room.
Every time I feel bad about it, and promise myself that I will do better in the future. And then I don't. Sigh.
So Mr. J is working too hard, and it's making him short-tempered. That only underlines the fundamental truth of our relationship: I am married to a much nicer person than I am myself. When I am overworked and stressed and impatient, and I snap at Mr. J about things that aren't really his fault, he makes allowances. He's patient, and loving, and he doesn't snap back.
When he snaps at me (a far rarer occurrence), I snap back. And even then the real reason it doens't mature into a full-fledged fight about nothing is because he is usually smart enough to leave the room.
Every time I feel bad about it, and promise myself that I will do better in the future. And then I don't. Sigh.
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