So, today was the sad, sad Thanksgiving luncheon, and the situation is so dire with Mr. Twinkle's uncle that I was actually glad I wasn't the one in charge of the Thanksgiving meal. The insurance company will only pay for ICU for so long, which has forced the family to make some very awful decisions on Thanksgiving Eve/Thanksgiving Day.
So in the midst of all this, I am trying to make Thanksgiving memories for my children. Which is why I planned a nice Thanksgiving dinner for tomorrow--how could I know he'd be removed from the ventilator then? No one could have.
I'm not worried about the turkey and all the fixings that I bought. I just don't want to do the wrong thing, and if I fix everything and it goes uneaten that'll be OK. I'm doing what Mr. Twinkle wants, and Mr. Twinkle said to go ahead and fix everything. He said his parents probably won't want to cook, so maybe they could come over. And of course they can. His mom is a b*tch to me, but I'm not so heartless as to deny her a nice meal and family time with the grandchildren who will surely cheer her up at least a little, as her brother is dying. If she wants to come, she is welcome. If the meal doesn't happen at all because of how the day goes, that's OK too.
But...y'all know me. I planned a nice meal for my family. Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, corn pudding, green bean casserole, a big, decadent chocolate cake that Mr. Twinkle requested from the pages of this month's Southern Living. We will use our nicest dishes and silver; we always do because enjoying our nice things is part of my whole worldview. Someone might find this meal to be feast-like and--dare I say it--fancy.
I planned the meal for just us, but now they're coming and I can try to tone it down all I want, but I know she will only see that I'm trying to be fancy. And I wish that I could just explain myself to her. I like to use my nice dishes on normal days and holidays, not because I'm trying to be all uppity and fancy, but because I believe in making occasions special. My desire for our own Thanksgiving isn't about me trying to take over, but about me trying to make memories for my children. She just takes everything I do the wrong way, and I know this will be more proof to her that I'm just a big snob with no sense of how to act when tragedy strikes. Never mind that I planned this meal weeks ago and she was never invited to it in the first place and is only coming now because I want to help alleviate a little of her pain in this small way. I'm sure she'll take it all wrong, and I wish I could just get it out in the open that I'm actually a good person with good intentions.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Twinkle: I'm done trying
So Mr. Twinkle's uncle had a stroke, and it's very sad for the family, but my blog posting deals with the fallout from the Thanksgiving plans. This uncle always hosted, but this year's dinner will clearly be kind of sad. There was talk of going to a restaurant, or bringing food in, which I think sounds even sadder, so I offered to host it. I knew my MIL would never let that happen, but I offered anyway.
What happened? She won't let it happen, and I knew she wouldn't. But I still hoped. And I still think having it at my house is preferable to having it at a damn restaurant. And here was how Mr. Twinkle pitched it: it would be a low-key version of the traditional feast, and all the usual guests would be welcome to bring whatever they always do. If they didn't feel like making their usual dish, I said I'd make it. I thought it was a lovely and appropriate gesture, and I meant it. I think that in trying times sometimes it's the traditions that make people feel a little better, especially Thanksgiving since it's so tied up with the same comfort foods year after year.
Yeah, not going to happen.
MIL shot that down and was all, "We don't need to be doing anything fancy." Now I KNOW that everything I touch turns to fabulous--it's what she hates most about me-- but I have nothing if not a sense of decorum. I would never have let this Thanksgiving lunch turn into one of my usual fun family parties (and make no mistake about it--my family parties are more fun than anyone's on that side, which is not saying a whole lot). There would be no mimosas (tacky, under the circumstances), there would be no over-the-top seasonal decor. Just the traditional Thanksgiving meal and maybe a sense of comfort in the chaos and sadness. But, no. Her "fancy" comment is at the heart of her misunderstanding of me and my ability to make occasions special and appropriate.
And I am done. I am done offering to help with every holiday only to be turned away, when everyone else in the family pitches in. I am done offering to prepare a dish only to be told that she has it all under control. I am done saying I will arrange the flowers for one of MIL's dinners (after she ASKS me) only to have her do it herself anyway (which has happened more than once). I don't need a power struggle with this woman, and I don't want one, because I HOLD the power. I have Mr. Twinkle, and my two daughters, and I can make family traditions on my own, with or without her.
We do our own Thanksgiving dinner, just for us, on the Friday after. She has no control there, and she has no control over our day-to-day lives. This prejudice she has against me is officially her problem, because I am done trying and done caring, done expecting ever to be truly included, and done having my feelings hurt when I am not. Her son obviously finds something redeeming about me, and my daughters think I'm pretty fabulous. And I'm the person who gets to teach them everything about family and traditions and how to throw a party and when and when not to have a champagne toast. The day she finally learns that will be a sad day for her, because she alienated me long ago, and the tragedy for her is that she also alienated herself.
What happened? She won't let it happen, and I knew she wouldn't. But I still hoped. And I still think having it at my house is preferable to having it at a damn restaurant. And here was how Mr. Twinkle pitched it: it would be a low-key version of the traditional feast, and all the usual guests would be welcome to bring whatever they always do. If they didn't feel like making their usual dish, I said I'd make it. I thought it was a lovely and appropriate gesture, and I meant it. I think that in trying times sometimes it's the traditions that make people feel a little better, especially Thanksgiving since it's so tied up with the same comfort foods year after year.
Yeah, not going to happen.
MIL shot that down and was all, "We don't need to be doing anything fancy." Now I KNOW that everything I touch turns to fabulous--it's what she hates most about me-- but I have nothing if not a sense of decorum. I would never have let this Thanksgiving lunch turn into one of my usual fun family parties (and make no mistake about it--my family parties are more fun than anyone's on that side, which is not saying a whole lot). There would be no mimosas (tacky, under the circumstances), there would be no over-the-top seasonal decor. Just the traditional Thanksgiving meal and maybe a sense of comfort in the chaos and sadness. But, no. Her "fancy" comment is at the heart of her misunderstanding of me and my ability to make occasions special and appropriate.
And I am done. I am done offering to help with every holiday only to be turned away, when everyone else in the family pitches in. I am done offering to prepare a dish only to be told that she has it all under control. I am done saying I will arrange the flowers for one of MIL's dinners (after she ASKS me) only to have her do it herself anyway (which has happened more than once). I don't need a power struggle with this woman, and I don't want one, because I HOLD the power. I have Mr. Twinkle, and my two daughters, and I can make family traditions on my own, with or without her.
We do our own Thanksgiving dinner, just for us, on the Friday after. She has no control there, and she has no control over our day-to-day lives. This prejudice she has against me is officially her problem, because I am done trying and done caring, done expecting ever to be truly included, and done having my feelings hurt when I am not. Her son obviously finds something redeeming about me, and my daughters think I'm pretty fabulous. And I'm the person who gets to teach them everything about family and traditions and how to throw a party and when and when not to have a champagne toast. The day she finally learns that will be a sad day for her, because she alienated me long ago, and the tragedy for her is that she also alienated herself.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Julep: Some kind of help is the kind of help we all can do without.
I hope none of you will think I'm a bad mother when I say that I am currently concocting ways to torture my child. He refused to sleep during the dark hours last night, and I am determined to get him straightened out today. If anyone has suggestions on how to keep a sleepy baby awake all day (other than a walk, running errands, and a bath - which he hates) please pass them along.
But that is not what I came here to say. I must vent. Y'all know we did not have much time to prepare for the arrival of Babycakes. The nursery walls were already cream and the carpet blue, and there is a cozy yellow chair in there, so I bought yellow gingham crib sheets and skirt and curtains. Blue, cream, yellow. Very sunny, not cutesy or babyfied but I was OK with that. I prefer a minimalist style of decor.
Well, while we were stranded Across The River waiting for the paperwork to come through to bring Babycakes home, Mr-Sister was staying at our house with the pets. (So sweet of her, truly - a huge help.) She asked if I would like for her to paint a sailboat mural on the wall. One of her friends did something similar for her own baby a few months back and Mr-Sis loved it. And yes, the walls were bland. So I said that would be great, Mr-Sis accepted direction on which wall to paint on, and it is indeed really cute.
But it didn't stop there. Oh no, not the Mr-Family. Mr-Mama got in on the act, and by the time we got home from Across The River, the nursery had acquired two sailboat picture frames, two anchor-shaped wall pegs, a model boat, a stool with a compass rose on the top, and a full-sized oar with sea-themed appliques stuck to it and painted letters spelling out Babycakes dangling from it. OK, the nautical theme is established.
"Tell me if it's too much," said Mr-Sis, "I know how we can be." It's cute, I said, but we're done now. Well, she said, her mother was looking for a sailboat-themed lamp. I like the lamp that's in here, I said - it's a pretty little crystal lamp with low light and it's perfect for a baby's room. In case telling Mr-Sis were not enough, I told Mr. J: you had better tell your mom not to hunt for a lamp. I do not want any more themed articles in this room. We could use a night light, or perhaps a yellow throw rug, and I'd love to have some yellow cushions for the rocking chair. If she wants to shop for something, tell her to look for those things.
For three days, I reminded Mr. J: tell your mom not to buy a sailboat lamp. Tell her. I know his mother. I said: no lamp, and if she brings it here, I will tell her to her face that I do not want it and she can take it home. Finally, after copious nagging, Mr. J called his mother yesterday. Well, of COURSE she had already bought a sailboat lamp. She spent two days hunting for it and it is darling. Mr. J refused the lamp, hung up the phone, and accused me of hurting her feelings over something that is "no big deal."
Well excuse the h-ll out of me, but it's a big deal to me. I have accepted the seven useless articles already foisted upon me with good grace, but I am not going to remove an object which I chose and which I like in order to enable Mr-Mama to fill the whole g-dd-mn room with sailboats. That woman goes crazy with a theme. Every single inch of the room where we sleep on her boat has a lighthouse stitched, painted, sculpted, or appliqued on it and although I think it's ridiculous, it's her boat. This is MY g-dd-mn house, and MY g-dd-mn baby, and I will not be compelled to allow my in-laws to decorate his room to their taste. I draw the line here.
I am sorry her feelings were hurt, but IF before she spent two days shopping she had bothered to ASK "would you like a lamp?" I would have said, "no thank you, I like the lamp that is in there now." She could have spent her two days looking for something we actually need, like the rocker cushions.
My mother wanted to buy us things for the baby. My mother took me to Target, let me fill the whole cart with things I needed, and paid for it all. THAT is the kind of help that helping's all about. Mr-Mama doesn't want to help, she just wants to shop. She can do that on her own time.
But that is not what I came here to say. I must vent. Y'all know we did not have much time to prepare for the arrival of Babycakes. The nursery walls were already cream and the carpet blue, and there is a cozy yellow chair in there, so I bought yellow gingham crib sheets and skirt and curtains. Blue, cream, yellow. Very sunny, not cutesy or babyfied but I was OK with that. I prefer a minimalist style of decor.
Well, while we were stranded Across The River waiting for the paperwork to come through to bring Babycakes home, Mr-Sister was staying at our house with the pets. (So sweet of her, truly - a huge help.) She asked if I would like for her to paint a sailboat mural on the wall. One of her friends did something similar for her own baby a few months back and Mr-Sis loved it. And yes, the walls were bland. So I said that would be great, Mr-Sis accepted direction on which wall to paint on, and it is indeed really cute.
But it didn't stop there. Oh no, not the Mr-Family. Mr-Mama got in on the act, and by the time we got home from Across The River, the nursery had acquired two sailboat picture frames, two anchor-shaped wall pegs, a model boat, a stool with a compass rose on the top, and a full-sized oar with sea-themed appliques stuck to it and painted letters spelling out Babycakes dangling from it. OK, the nautical theme is established.
"Tell me if it's too much," said Mr-Sis, "I know how we can be." It's cute, I said, but we're done now. Well, she said, her mother was looking for a sailboat-themed lamp. I like the lamp that's in here, I said - it's a pretty little crystal lamp with low light and it's perfect for a baby's room. In case telling Mr-Sis were not enough, I told Mr. J: you had better tell your mom not to hunt for a lamp. I do not want any more themed articles in this room. We could use a night light, or perhaps a yellow throw rug, and I'd love to have some yellow cushions for the rocking chair. If she wants to shop for something, tell her to look for those things.
For three days, I reminded Mr. J: tell your mom not to buy a sailboat lamp. Tell her. I know his mother. I said: no lamp, and if she brings it here, I will tell her to her face that I do not want it and she can take it home. Finally, after copious nagging, Mr. J called his mother yesterday. Well, of COURSE she had already bought a sailboat lamp. She spent two days hunting for it and it is darling. Mr. J refused the lamp, hung up the phone, and accused me of hurting her feelings over something that is "no big deal."
Well excuse the h-ll out of me, but it's a big deal to me. I have accepted the seven useless articles already foisted upon me with good grace, but I am not going to remove an object which I chose and which I like in order to enable Mr-Mama to fill the whole g-dd-mn room with sailboats. That woman goes crazy with a theme. Every single inch of the room where we sleep on her boat has a lighthouse stitched, painted, sculpted, or appliqued on it and although I think it's ridiculous, it's her boat. This is MY g-dd-mn house, and MY g-dd-mn baby, and I will not be compelled to allow my in-laws to decorate his room to their taste. I draw the line here.
I am sorry her feelings were hurt, but IF before she spent two days shopping she had bothered to ASK "would you like a lamp?" I would have said, "no thank you, I like the lamp that is in there now." She could have spent her two days looking for something we actually need, like the rocker cushions.
My mother wanted to buy us things for the baby. My mother took me to Target, let me fill the whole cart with things I needed, and paid for it all. THAT is the kind of help that helping's all about. Mr-Mama doesn't want to help, she just wants to shop. She can do that on her own time.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Twinkle: Swapping Germs
The Familia Twinkle has all had this ragged TB-esque cough for the past two months, and guess what: families pass sh*t around. They also build up immunities to each others' infections. That's just the way it works, and it's why I never worry about sharing germs with my peeps. (Unless of course it involves vomiting and fever, in which case I will break out the Clorox wipes like nobody's business).
So tonight we were all over at my in-laws' for dinner and Mr. Twinkle and I were going to share a Diet Coke. This is normal for us. We always share Diet Cokes and desserts. It's our thing. So MIL was all, "You all do NOT need to be sharing drinks." Um, MIL, I hate to remind you of this and I know you'd rather not think about it, but I have given birth to your son's two children and I snuggle up with him every night and make out with him (and Lord knows we like to keep things hot and spicy), so I assure you a Diet Coke will not be the only thing we're sharing tonight. Seriously? She should not be telling us not to share a Coke. It is not her business, and does she really want to go there? I doubt it.
At dinner I told a story about how Mr. Twinkle and Twinklette like to negotiate over every little thing (because it's funny how much like him she is--you'd think my MIL would like the theme of that story). Basically one night at dinner the two of them had a philosophical discussion about whether Twinklette had to eat "some" or "a lot." Our child is smart and precocious and I love her for it, and it was cute. MIL goes "And WHY are you negotiating with a three-year-old?" She totally missed the point because she just couldn't resist making it all about our parenting shortfalls. You know what? F*ck that. I like that my kid is precocious, and I like that she can negotiate the sh*t out of her lawyer father. Also, Mr. Twinkle and I do the best we can with her. That's really all anyone does, even self-righteous b*tches like my MIL.
It was the same old thing with Tiny Twinklette, too--she would scream her head off any time I left her sight or if someone else was holding her, and everyone was all, "What's wrong, baby? Don't they feed you?" I went to take her back, the screaming stopped, and it was still a big mystery to everyone why she'd been crying before. When my SIL's daughter said, "Mommy carry me," my MIL just thought that was the cutest and greatest thing ever. But when Tiny screams it's because I don't feed her.
So typical...I just had to vent.
So tonight we were all over at my in-laws' for dinner and Mr. Twinkle and I were going to share a Diet Coke. This is normal for us. We always share Diet Cokes and desserts. It's our thing. So MIL was all, "You all do NOT need to be sharing drinks." Um, MIL, I hate to remind you of this and I know you'd rather not think about it, but I have given birth to your son's two children and I snuggle up with him every night and make out with him (and Lord knows we like to keep things hot and spicy), so I assure you a Diet Coke will not be the only thing we're sharing tonight. Seriously? She should not be telling us not to share a Coke. It is not her business, and does she really want to go there? I doubt it.
At dinner I told a story about how Mr. Twinkle and Twinklette like to negotiate over every little thing (because it's funny how much like him she is--you'd think my MIL would like the theme of that story). Basically one night at dinner the two of them had a philosophical discussion about whether Twinklette had to eat "some" or "a lot." Our child is smart and precocious and I love her for it, and it was cute. MIL goes "And WHY are you negotiating with a three-year-old?" She totally missed the point because she just couldn't resist making it all about our parenting shortfalls. You know what? F*ck that. I like that my kid is precocious, and I like that she can negotiate the sh*t out of her lawyer father. Also, Mr. Twinkle and I do the best we can with her. That's really all anyone does, even self-righteous b*tches like my MIL.
It was the same old thing with Tiny Twinklette, too--she would scream her head off any time I left her sight or if someone else was holding her, and everyone was all, "What's wrong, baby? Don't they feed you?" I went to take her back, the screaming stopped, and it was still a big mystery to everyone why she'd been crying before. When my SIL's daughter said, "Mommy carry me," my MIL just thought that was the cutest and greatest thing ever. But when Tiny screams it's because I don't feed her.
So typical...I just had to vent.
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