I keep meaning to mention this - thought of it this morning as I was getting dressed.
Mr-Mama bought me these darling boots for Christmas. She shopped for ages to find the near-perfect match to the gorgeous little suede jacket she purchased for me on our shopping trip back in October. So considerate, truly. She was so pleased to find them and wanted to be certain that I had the right size, so she bought two pairs with plans to take back the pair that didn't fit. She bought a 7 1/2 and an 8.
As she knows, I wear a size 7 shoe. But, she said, the 7 looked so tiny! She was sure I would need something bigger. (For reference, what with being 10 inches taller than I am, Mr-Sister wears a size 12 shoe.) As it happens, the 7 1/2 fit ... a trifle roomy but boots can be worn with thick socks, so all's well that ends well.
Who is so determined to get the right size that she is willing to buy two pairs of shoes, but doesn't buy the size that the gift-recipient actually wears?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Overheard: Dibbs
From our receptionist: "My sister-in-law has six inches of snow. She lives somewhere near California."
To self: "Why do I care?"
Receptionist: "Carroll County, I think."
Self: "Bless."
To self: "Why do I care?"
Receptionist: "Carroll County, I think."
Self: "Bless."
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Julep: Stay on the happy side
Thought I ought to give you girls a bit of an update. As you know, we had dinner last week with my friends who adopted a daughter from China after having two biological sons. It also happens that my friend is the daughter of our town's biggest adoption lawyer, and they are both lawyers themselves who have worked with her dad at least a bit. So they know a lot about adoption, from the personal side and the legal side.
They were so incredibly positive and encouraging, with so many good things to say about their own experience. Even though we won't follow their same road (Mr. J feels strongly about domestic versus international), they gave me a lot of comfort that although this will be a difficult process, someday it will be over and we will have a child of our own even if not a biological child. So although we are still working through the process, we are getting some traction. Planning to contact the adoption-lawyer-dad next week when he returns to town from vacation, and maybe also the local non-profit agency.
Meanwhile, we are continuing to lay ground work. We dropped something off at Mr. J's parents' house last weekend and took the opportunity to broach the subject with his folks. Of course my own mom has been in the loop the whole time, but evidently Mr. J had been somewhat less forthcoming ... no surprise there. Mr-Mama was sort of aware that we had gone to see the fertility doctor but that is all she knew. So we gave them the details on the lack of success, and explained that we were turning our attention to adoption.
They were pretty quiet, mostly, and what little they did say was supportive. Mr-Papa was all "however it happens, it will be a good thing." Mr-Mama referred to a good friend of hers whom I did not realize has two adopted children, and I was glad to hear that because I think it will give her a helpful frame of reference. And then she asked me in a concerned voice, "What does your mom think about this?"
I said something vague about how my mom thinks we should do whatever we need to do, but it struck me as odd ... not that she asked, but the sort of ominous tone she used. I asked Mr. J later what he thought she was getting at, and he said, "She's so different from your mom, it's hard for her to know what your mom thinks about anything. I'm sure she was just curious." Well, maybe.
What I think is that Mr-Mama wanted someone to give her an opening. What with Mr-Papa being all power-of-positive-thinking, she didn't want to head out on the limb as the naysayer. She was hoping my mom would have already voiced some concerns, so that she could get on board and start throwing out her own issues. But my mother's parenting credo is: "whatever makes my kid happy is great with me." As I said to Mr. J, we could tell my mother we are never having kids - great! we are doing IVF and hoping for triplets - great! we are adopting an alien baby - great!
I'm expecting Mr-Mama to have all sorts of things to say once she gets warmed up. I just hope she decides to land on our side ... Mr. J doesn't need any more stress.
They were so incredibly positive and encouraging, with so many good things to say about their own experience. Even though we won't follow their same road (Mr. J feels strongly about domestic versus international), they gave me a lot of comfort that although this will be a difficult process, someday it will be over and we will have a child of our own even if not a biological child. So although we are still working through the process, we are getting some traction. Planning to contact the adoption-lawyer-dad next week when he returns to town from vacation, and maybe also the local non-profit agency.
Meanwhile, we are continuing to lay ground work. We dropped something off at Mr. J's parents' house last weekend and took the opportunity to broach the subject with his folks. Of course my own mom has been in the loop the whole time, but evidently Mr. J had been somewhat less forthcoming ... no surprise there. Mr-Mama was sort of aware that we had gone to see the fertility doctor but that is all she knew. So we gave them the details on the lack of success, and explained that we were turning our attention to adoption.
They were pretty quiet, mostly, and what little they did say was supportive. Mr-Papa was all "however it happens, it will be a good thing." Mr-Mama referred to a good friend of hers whom I did not realize has two adopted children, and I was glad to hear that because I think it will give her a helpful frame of reference. And then she asked me in a concerned voice, "What does your mom think about this?"
I said something vague about how my mom thinks we should do whatever we need to do, but it struck me as odd ... not that she asked, but the sort of ominous tone she used. I asked Mr. J later what he thought she was getting at, and he said, "She's so different from your mom, it's hard for her to know what your mom thinks about anything. I'm sure she was just curious." Well, maybe.
What I think is that Mr-Mama wanted someone to give her an opening. What with Mr-Papa being all power-of-positive-thinking, she didn't want to head out on the limb as the naysayer. She was hoping my mom would have already voiced some concerns, so that she could get on board and start throwing out her own issues. But my mother's parenting credo is: "whatever makes my kid happy is great with me." As I said to Mr. J, we could tell my mother we are never having kids - great! we are doing IVF and hoping for triplets - great! we are adopting an alien baby - great!
I'm expecting Mr-Mama to have all sorts of things to say once she gets warmed up. I just hope she decides to land on our side ... Mr. J doesn't need any more stress.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Twinkle: The Epic Swingset Battle
I just waged it, and won.
It happened, conveniently enough for Mr. Twinkle, when he and Twinklette had just left for a little early afternoon sledding in the park. It's probably better that I handled it myself. If I'd sent him out there to deal with the situation, I would have a swingset smack dab in the middle of my back yard right now. I would also have no hope of a garden, ever.
It was a hard-fought battle. My FIL and the handyman, Terry, had the thing set up right in the center, where it would have taken up every square inch of any garden I'd ever hoped to have. They tried to argue that I needed to watch the children from inside the house. They tried to argue that my ideal placement of the swingset wouldn't work because of the trees/garage, and because the swingset is a behemoth. My FIL even said, "Can't you just plant tomatoes in that corner over there?"
And you, my attorney friends, would have been so proud of me. I was not intimidated by these two men trying to tell me how to use my yard. I stood up for myself! I made my case for not needing to watch the children from the house. I argued that I thought it would fit, which was the whole reason why we measured before choosing the swingset in the first place. I said that no, a corner of the yard reserved for tomatoes is unacceptable. (I'm pretty sure my FIL doesn't begin to comprehend my grandiose Carloftis-like vision. And why would he, when he has spent his entire life with a woman completely devoid of imagination?). It was my own little feminist rebellion against the patriarchy. Hands off my womb and my garden, sons of b*tches!
I know my FIL is probably annoyed with me for not just going with what he wanted for the yard and the swingset. (Terry was slightly nicer about it). Maybe I seem like a spoiled b*tch, or some annoying harridan who will not be silenced. But am I really so spoiled for wanting my yard the way I want it? I think it's a pretty reasonable request, and there are worse things to want in life than a garden.
Anyway, I won. After several configurations and a lot of attitude from my FIL, who no one in the family ever stands up to, the swingset is going to be nestled under the trees, behind the garage, in the shade, out of sight from the house, and not taking up any (or all) precious sunny spots in the yard. And it actually doesn't look half bad. It looks like a really nice place for little girls to play...and it'll be even better when I go all Carloftis back there.
I sort of have to now, don't I?
It happened, conveniently enough for Mr. Twinkle, when he and Twinklette had just left for a little early afternoon sledding in the park. It's probably better that I handled it myself. If I'd sent him out there to deal with the situation, I would have a swingset smack dab in the middle of my back yard right now. I would also have no hope of a garden, ever.
It was a hard-fought battle. My FIL and the handyman, Terry, had the thing set up right in the center, where it would have taken up every square inch of any garden I'd ever hoped to have. They tried to argue that I needed to watch the children from inside the house. They tried to argue that my ideal placement of the swingset wouldn't work because of the trees/garage, and because the swingset is a behemoth. My FIL even said, "Can't you just plant tomatoes in that corner over there?"
And you, my attorney friends, would have been so proud of me. I was not intimidated by these two men trying to tell me how to use my yard. I stood up for myself! I made my case for not needing to watch the children from the house. I argued that I thought it would fit, which was the whole reason why we measured before choosing the swingset in the first place. I said that no, a corner of the yard reserved for tomatoes is unacceptable. (I'm pretty sure my FIL doesn't begin to comprehend my grandiose Carloftis-like vision. And why would he, when he has spent his entire life with a woman completely devoid of imagination?). It was my own little feminist rebellion against the patriarchy. Hands off my womb and my garden, sons of b*tches!
I know my FIL is probably annoyed with me for not just going with what he wanted for the yard and the swingset. (Terry was slightly nicer about it). Maybe I seem like a spoiled b*tch, or some annoying harridan who will not be silenced. But am I really so spoiled for wanting my yard the way I want it? I think it's a pretty reasonable request, and there are worse things to want in life than a garden.
Anyway, I won. After several configurations and a lot of attitude from my FIL, who no one in the family ever stands up to, the swingset is going to be nestled under the trees, behind the garage, in the shade, out of sight from the house, and not taking up any (or all) precious sunny spots in the yard. And it actually doesn't look half bad. It looks like a really nice place for little girls to play...and it'll be even better when I go all Carloftis back there.
I sort of have to now, don't I?
Twinkle: See for Yourselves
I know you've seen and lived the difference firsthand, and I'm going to stop harping on this League thing for now. But when I saw these pics posted online, the glaring differences in our and other Leagues became all the more apparent. I'm not saying the girls of the Charleston League never get their hands dirty, as I've never been a member there, and I'm not saying I'm opposed to doing manual labor.
Actually, I am opposed to manual labor. I would much rather raise or donate money and pay someone else to do manual labor. Add that to my credentials as an uppity b*tch who clearly no longer has a place in today's Junior League. But the main point is that the differences between Leagues speak for themselves.
Actually, I am opposed to manual labor. I would much rather raise or donate money and pay someone else to do manual labor. Add that to my credentials as an uppity b*tch who clearly no longer has a place in today's Junior League. But the main point is that the differences between Leagues speak for themselves.
Our League:
Charleston League:
I rest my case.
Charleston League:
I rest my case.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Twinkle: Garden in Peril
I'm of the belief that yards and gardens--even (especially!) ones near houses where children live--can be full of natural beauty and magic. With love and imagination, I think they can be considered fabulous and delightful by people of any age, a la The Secret Garden. My particular bit of earth (backyard) is a complete and utter empty slate. It was a slate I'd hoped to fill with something lovely and Jon Carloftis-like. It could take years, but that's how long we'd like to stay here.
I'm not one to look a gift swingset in the mouth, but when my in-laws proposed said swingset and came over to measure for it, they wanted to buy one so large that it would have taken up the entire yard. Literally. (It's not that hard to do--the yard isn't large by any means. Your standard Lake Forest-style McMansion swingset would easily fill up the whole space). Mr. Twinkle and I requested a smaller model, something we could stick behind the garage under a cluster of tall trees--a magical, semi-secluded spot that wouldn't interfere with a garden and would be a shady, delightful place for our girls to play.
Well, the day of reckoning is here, as I learned this afternoon when I walked downstairs to find a familiar silver Camry parked in my driveway, and a certain father-in-law snooping around my back yard. My first impulse was to hide and pretend not to be home, but I figured if I didn't, the swingset would end up exactly where I didn't want it. So I went out there to defend my garden-to-be. And how ridiculous is it that I even have to?
My father-in-law informed me that the swingset might be too big to fit where I want it, and if so they might need to put it somewhere else. And don't I want to be able to see the swingset from the kitchen window? (Well, no, actually I don't think I need to. When Twinklette and her sister are little, I will probably be out there playing with them anyway, and when they get older I think they'll be fine out there in the highly secure fenced back yard by themselves. Not that my reasoning is anyone's business but mine and Mr. Twinkle's. Why do I even have to explain myself on this?)
I explained that I want a garden, and that I like the idea of the swingset being in the shade, and that they need to find a way to put it where Mr. Twinkle and I want it. I was informed that it still might not fit. I thought that was why we measured the yard and decided on a particular model before. And if it doesn't fit where I want it, I say instead of finding a new spot for it, we find a new swingset.
My father-in-law then informed me that he'd need to set up the swingset in my garage right now, so that he and a handyman can put it in the yard tomorrow. This means that Mr. Twinkle and I won't be able to park in the garage tonight. In the 4-6 inches of predicted snow. If the snow's bad, who even knows if they can get over here and install the swingset tomorrow? Our cars could be parked outside in the elements for several days. As I was writing this, there was a knock on the door and I was informed that I needed to remove my car from my garage right this minute, so that swingset assembly could officially begin.
I feel like my in-laws are getting awfully bossy over a swingset that I could take or leave.
I'm not one to look a gift swingset in the mouth, but when my in-laws proposed said swingset and came over to measure for it, they wanted to buy one so large that it would have taken up the entire yard. Literally. (It's not that hard to do--the yard isn't large by any means. Your standard Lake Forest-style McMansion swingset would easily fill up the whole space). Mr. Twinkle and I requested a smaller model, something we could stick behind the garage under a cluster of tall trees--a magical, semi-secluded spot that wouldn't interfere with a garden and would be a shady, delightful place for our girls to play.
Well, the day of reckoning is here, as I learned this afternoon when I walked downstairs to find a familiar silver Camry parked in my driveway, and a certain father-in-law snooping around my back yard. My first impulse was to hide and pretend not to be home, but I figured if I didn't, the swingset would end up exactly where I didn't want it. So I went out there to defend my garden-to-be. And how ridiculous is it that I even have to?
My father-in-law informed me that the swingset might be too big to fit where I want it, and if so they might need to put it somewhere else. And don't I want to be able to see the swingset from the kitchen window? (Well, no, actually I don't think I need to. When Twinklette and her sister are little, I will probably be out there playing with them anyway, and when they get older I think they'll be fine out there in the highly secure fenced back yard by themselves. Not that my reasoning is anyone's business but mine and Mr. Twinkle's. Why do I even have to explain myself on this?)
I explained that I want a garden, and that I like the idea of the swingset being in the shade, and that they need to find a way to put it where Mr. Twinkle and I want it. I was informed that it still might not fit. I thought that was why we measured the yard and decided on a particular model before. And if it doesn't fit where I want it, I say instead of finding a new spot for it, we find a new swingset.
My father-in-law then informed me that he'd need to set up the swingset in my garage right now, so that he and a handyman can put it in the yard tomorrow. This means that Mr. Twinkle and I won't be able to park in the garage tonight. In the 4-6 inches of predicted snow. If the snow's bad, who even knows if they can get over here and install the swingset tomorrow? Our cars could be parked outside in the elements for several days. As I was writing this, there was a knock on the door and I was informed that I needed to remove my car from my garage right this minute, so that swingset assembly could officially begin.
I feel like my in-laws are getting awfully bossy over a swingset that I could take or leave.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Just Thought You Needed To Know: Dibbs
As I was exiting Jack Fry's tonight, I saw Gary, Mayor of Bardstown Rd. He was drinking a White Russian. I did not spot the Seque.
Twinkle: Frivolous League Rant
Have you all seen the new Southern Living? Of course you have. But I'm wondering how in-depth you all read those Best of the South Travel Awards. There is a simply gorgeous picture of several Southern belles lounging and looking pretty in an opulent room wearing dresses designed by an up-and-coming Charleston designer, Lucinda Robinson. The dresses are Grecian-inspired and designed to flatter any figure, and I'm totally coveting one for the upcoming YWC ball.Anyway, I missed it the first time around but just saw the caption: Designer Lucinda Robinson, foreground, with Junior League provisional members at the Aiken-Rhett house in Charleston, South Carolina.
Now, I'm pretty much through with trash-talking our League here because most of us have moved on to greener pastures, but this just made me a little sad. That's what it's all about, girls--reclining on antique chaise lounges with your friends, holding bone china teacups and wearing beautiful flowing dresses, preferably designed by a fellow League member. This picture was what I envisioned League life would be like when I emerged fresh-faced from my sorority house and joined the League as a recent college grad.
Instead, what did I get? You all know the answer: a bunch of whining about how too many of us are blonde and live in Prospect (and, incidentally, none of us Daddy Rabbit girls do). An initiative to increase the diversity of our members' zip codes. Evening meetings/recruitment events at the Boys and Girls Club at 38th and Dumesnil. Relaxed membership standards. No ball even though the members beg for one. Five dollar bag sales. And a whole lot of Pendennis animosity and hatin' on white gloves and pearls.
Even the word "provisional" gave me a pang of nostalgia--do we still call them that? I don't pay much attention anymore, but it seems like the kind of word our League would change in favor of something more politically-correct. (Don't get me started on how you can't use the word "rush" or call sorority pledges "pledges" anymore. It's a modern tragedy.)
Can you imagine if Southern Living approached a business owner from our League and wanted to run a picture like that? Ninety percent of y'all have been on the board and know exactly how something like that would go down: there would be major drama about how it represents the wrong image of our League and how we're not a "white glove organization" anymore. One reason I went sustainer was to avoid hearing the phrase "we're no longer a white glove organization" ever again. It's just too upsetting. What is so wrong with white gloves, anyway?
All I know is, that picture represents the best of what could have been for our League, and for us. I will always be loyal to the League because, as I've said so many times before, it brought me all of you. But when I look at that picture I can't help but think of what we missed out on, thanks to the Dooner League members who came before us. It was our bad luck that they got their turn at white gloves and gentility, then turned around and made sure we didn't get ours.
I'll tell you one thing: if our League acted more like the picture above, it wouldn't be begging for members and money all the time.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Julep: Let me explain.
Lola, I appreciate the support, I really do. I know that you are speaking from your good, kind, loving heart full of sympathy. And I am very glad that the woman who wrote the NY Mag story is happy with the way her situation has turned out. I am not sitting in judgment on anyone whose conscience does not object to these things - although I think it is a sad reflection on our culture that we have gotten to the point where so many people's consciences do not object.
As for me, I am morally opposed to IVF, let alone surrogacy. It isn't simply that I take seriously my obligation to form my conscience by educating myself as to the Church's teachings -- although I do. It so happens that on this subject, what the Church teaches matches up with what I have always thought and felt. Life should not be created in a laboratory (... or destroyed in an exam room for that matter. People struggling with infertility wouldn't feel like these measures are necessary if women with unwanted pregnancies were given the support, resources, and encouragement they need to pursue adoption instead of abortion. But I digress). Just because science has developed to the point that we can do something doesn't mean we should do it.
Surely God will love a baby however it comes into being - that's not what I'm worried about. I'm not going to abandon my moral principle now that my circumstances are making it inconvenient.
On a more practical note, there is no reason to believe that IVF would work for us: we don't have the conditions (low sperm count, irregular ovulation) that it is able to ameliorate. And while adoption is evidently going to be a huge hassle and expense, I can't envision any less of a hassle or expense in finding an egg donor, and/or a sperm donor, and/or a surrogate to generate a baby who won't be genetically related to us and whom I can't nurse. I'll just have to find one who is already out there and needs a family.
Unlike the woman in the magazine article, Mr. J and I don't have age issues or medical issues that will interfere with adopting. And if we do have issues -- or if we never get matched with an adoptive child -- I guess we'll chalk it up to God's will and learn to live with it, hard as that may be. My conscience simply is not OK with ordering up a baby like take-out.
As for me, I am morally opposed to IVF, let alone surrogacy. It isn't simply that I take seriously my obligation to form my conscience by educating myself as to the Church's teachings -- although I do. It so happens that on this subject, what the Church teaches matches up with what I have always thought and felt. Life should not be created in a laboratory (... or destroyed in an exam room for that matter. People struggling with infertility wouldn't feel like these measures are necessary if women with unwanted pregnancies were given the support, resources, and encouragement they need to pursue adoption instead of abortion. But I digress). Just because science has developed to the point that we can do something doesn't mean we should do it.
Surely God will love a baby however it comes into being - that's not what I'm worried about. I'm not going to abandon my moral principle now that my circumstances are making it inconvenient.
On a more practical note, there is no reason to believe that IVF would work for us: we don't have the conditions (low sperm count, irregular ovulation) that it is able to ameliorate. And while adoption is evidently going to be a huge hassle and expense, I can't envision any less of a hassle or expense in finding an egg donor, and/or a sperm donor, and/or a surrogate to generate a baby who won't be genetically related to us and whom I can't nurse. I'll just have to find one who is already out there and needs a family.
Unlike the woman in the magazine article, Mr. J and I don't have age issues or medical issues that will interfere with adopting. And if we do have issues -- or if we never get matched with an adoptive child -- I guess we'll chalk it up to God's will and learn to live with it, hard as that may be. My conscience simply is not OK with ordering up a baby like take-out.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Julep: 2011 is off to a great start!
So I talked to my friend who adopted from one of the two non-profit adoption agencies in our town and is now on its board of directors. I learned that adopting with them will cost us a minimum of $27,000 in fees (maybe more), with a projected wait of two years, and a 25% disruption rate, meaning that the birthmother changes her mind before the adoption is final.
The $27,000 is actually a bargain. If we go with a for-profit national agency, while the waits are shorter, the fees go up to about $50,000. I checked some websites and notice that none of the national agencies will say how much they charge. Evidently if you have to ask, you can't afford it.
My friend said that when they left the hospital with her adopted daughter, the agency worker warned her, "Don't fall in love with that baby - she's not yours yet." In Kentucky it takes 30 to 60 days to finalize an adoption. Since I am terrified of tiny infants as a general rule anyway, I can imagine what success I will have at bonding with a newborn whom I can't nurse and must be prepared to relinquish at any moment.
Did I mention the $50,000?
Mr. J talks so little about how he feels, and I know it's because he wants to be strong for me. But his good friend who now lives in Chicago stopped by yesterday with his wife and 6-month-old, and when they left, Mr. J said, "I almost teared up looking at that baby and knowing we aren't going to have our own."
God sucks. That is all.
The $27,000 is actually a bargain. If we go with a for-profit national agency, while the waits are shorter, the fees go up to about $50,000. I checked some websites and notice that none of the national agencies will say how much they charge. Evidently if you have to ask, you can't afford it.
My friend said that when they left the hospital with her adopted daughter, the agency worker warned her, "Don't fall in love with that baby - she's not yours yet." In Kentucky it takes 30 to 60 days to finalize an adoption. Since I am terrified of tiny infants as a general rule anyway, I can imagine what success I will have at bonding with a newborn whom I can't nurse and must be prepared to relinquish at any moment.
Did I mention the $50,000?
Mr. J talks so little about how he feels, and I know it's because he wants to be strong for me. But his good friend who now lives in Chicago stopped by yesterday with his wife and 6-month-old, and when they left, Mr. J said, "I almost teared up looking at that baby and knowing we aren't going to have our own."
God sucks. That is all.
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