I Hate You, Match.Com~Dibbs

Oh, Match.Com, I know you're supposed to create more weddings than any other measure. I know you work for some people. For me, my friend, you've sent me a murderer, a swing-dance enthusiast who may or may not me on the Autism spectrum, and a married native of India who I didn't really care if I understood, as he was talking about the inner-workings of computers. I will praise your block feature. That little married creep sent a message that accidentally slipped through and then got blocked on Christmas. Has he been begging me to chat with him for weeks with no reply? I'll pray that he finds someone else. Please, please, find him someone else. And make sure to teach him to delete the messages on his cell phone. It was a turn-off when his wife texted me.

Match, I just don't understand why no one likes me. I'm a Sunny, Southern, fucking Sweetheart for the Love of God. Am I not making that obvious? Coincidentally, every normal person who sends me a message knew me in college, when I was Sunny, Southern, and Sweet and would have been dismayed at an f-bomb being thrown in the middle of that. I don't need you for those guys, Match, they're already my facebook friends. I don't sense a love connection.

Match, you have one more week. Do you hear me, one more week? No more bandannas, mullets, earners of <$25,000, high school graduates, people who live in Brandenburg, tooth-deprived, or line beards. Give me quality or give me my money back.

Your's in Spinsterhood,

Dibbs

Twinkle: First Snowfall, Not the First (or Last) Time Fun Sink Doubts My Parenting Skills

Well, the Ville was dusted with a very pretty 1-1/2 inch of snow last night, so the Twinkle girls were overjoyed to put on their snowsuits and head out into the winter wilderness this morning. You all might have seen the pics on Facebook...the two older sisters headed out to sled in the park with Mr. Twinks, Big Sister hugging an adorable snowman in the front yard.

Mr. Twinks was talking to his mom on the phone tonight, who asked if I took Baby B to the park to go sledding. Seriously, Fun Sink, do you have so little faith in me and my parenting decisions? Do you actually think I'm going to take a not-yet-three-month-old out in the freezing Kentucky morning, put her on a sled with two rambunctious older sisters, and send them all careening down a hill?

I am just disgusted that she felt she had to ask that question. That is all.

Twinkle: Mother/Baby Bonding

What is it about babies wanting their moms that Mr. Twinkle's family objects to?

Remember the bastard baby whose arrival was announced last summer? Well, she was born, 7 weeks early--she's fine but needs a little bit of time in the NICU to get bigger. So the cousin, Kelly, goes there every morning to hang out with her all day (ask me about this baby's name, the tackiest name ever...I'm afraid if anyone Googled it they would be brought directly to this blog, and that would be bad). Mr. Twinkle's grandmother was talking tonight about how Kelly hates to leave her each night because she starts to cry because she wants Kelly. Grandma-in-Law said, "Of course, the baby doesn't really want her...she just wants to be held. The baby doesn't even know her, but of course I didn't tell her that. But Kelly thinks the baby wants her, when really the baby is too little to know her."

The baby was born about 2 weeks ago. I'd venture a guess that she knows the smell and feel of her mother by now, and I think it's perfectly natural and normal for a mother and child to want to be together.

It used to make me so mad when they'd say that about my babies--that they were too little to know or want me. Who are they to speak the babies of the world? Why is it so unbelievable that Kelly's baby would want her? Why does everyone in this family want to diminish the natural bond between mothers and babies?

It's bizarre.

Also, the babymama just got engaged to the babydaddy. My fingers are crossed for a June wedding, with their bastard baby as the miniature flower girl.

Twinkle: About Those Dining Room Chairs...

...I was wondering the same thing myself, Julep. How do you give someone those without offending them/giving them the wrong thing/spending more than you want to spend? Does she...

a.) Give me a cash amount specifying that this is for the dining room chairs? And if I happen to go over budget, I'd be expected to cover the difference myself? (I'd actually prefer this option if we had a normal relationship, but with her it would require an awkward discussion about money, and that would inevitably lead her to judge me for being too extravagant, which she does all the time anyway).

b.) Go with me to choose the fabric? This could get tricky, because who really wants to explain or justify one's purchases to Fun Sink? A budget would have to be agreed upon ahead of time, and that just sounds awkward and icky. I'm sure she'd get all judgy if I chose something she thought was too expensive or just not her taste. (That's right, folks. Fun Sink does not care for my Herend wedding china. She'd prefer a plastic plate that doubles as a frisbee, or this).

c.) Choose something for me? This is obviously the worst option of all--see my post on contemporary judaica.

Fun Sink went with

d.) None of the above.

She didn't end up giving me this, probably because of the potential awkwardness listed above. Looks like Mr. Twinkle is back on the hook for some reupholstery.

Julep: Christmas Classic

I feel like y'all have heard this refrain so many times you can sing it for me, but I've got to share it....

Y'all know we are renovating the house. We will have two newly remodeled bathrooms when finished. (Someday, Lord ... someday!) What does every freshly painted bathroom call for? New towels, of course. And even new rugs. Both Mr-Mama and J-Mama thought this would be a good Christmas gift.

J-Mama told me she was thinking about buying us new rugs and towels, asked if that was something we really wanted, then came over and spent probably far longer than necessary in our new master bathroom (the one that is 90% finished) measuring the floor and asking what size rugs would suit us best and consulting us about colors. So when we opened our Christmas present, we found exactly what we would have picked out for ourselves, but for free!

Mr-Mama just went out and bought us a whole suite of towels and rugs. No asking. Wrong color, wrong sizes. No gift receipt.

When I told my mom, true to form, she tried to see Mr-Mama's perspective and pointed out to me that some people really like gifts that surprise. Sure, but you know, I don't need the element of surprise at the holidays as much as I need a comfortable bathroom that doesn't subtly irritate me every morning when I take a shower. And if you are going to buy people something they will use every day, don't you think you should be sure to buy what they want, not what you think they should want?

This whole escapade made me think of Twinkle's Hanukkah dining room chairs. How did that turn out?

Twinkle: Kiss My *ss, Fun Sink. Just kiss it.

Well, it has been a crazy couple of months as I've adjusted to three children, and this month was especially challenging as I made Hanukkah and Christmas magic happen for all. I always feel like the month of December wants to fight me, and every year when I win, I feel a huge sense of relief and accomplishment. That's what I felt today.

Tree/stairway garland down and out the door: check

House understatedly decorated for winter: check

Healthy dinner made and actually consumed (at least by one kid): check

Final transition of older sisters sharing a bedroom: check

The last one was huge, and it went off with much sisterly sweetness and minimal drama (knock on wood). So y'all can understand that when I sat down tonight, I felt pretty good. I felt like I was getting a handle on it all, like the three girl thing gives me more good moments than hard ones, like it's really and truly becoming a lot of fun.

And then Mr. Twinkle talked to Fun Sink, who just has a way of knocking the wind out of my sails every single time. I guess he mentioned that A and E started sharing a room, and she was unsupportive and asked him why we were doing it now (so that E doesn't have to give up her crib and her room and all her personal space all at once--and also because the girls are excited about being roommates--that's why, not that it's any of Fun Sink's business). She was mostly concerned because A likes to read before bed and E needs the light off. I'm sorry, but that's not her problem. If she had any faith in me as a mother, she'd trust that I'd taken care of it. I know A likes to look at her books. I encourage it, which is why I let her choose a book light so that she can still read in bed. Problem solved. Mind your own business, Fun Sink. It just bothers me that Fun Sink thinks I'm not going to encourage reading, or that I can't come up with a solution to the little problems that arise without her intervention. I mean--a light being on or off--why is that Fun Sink's concern? Talk about micromanagement.

And at the end of the day, all I can say is screw her. We've got a private girl club over here, and she's not in it. If she had any common sense, she'd start being nicer to the president.

Twinkle: It's a Hanukkah Dream Come True (Sort Of)

Here's a funny exchange between Mr. Twinkle and me tonight:

Me: So I take it you haven't exactly finished your Hanukkah shopping for me?

Mr. Twinkle: No. I still need to shop.

Me: (Trying to throw a guy a bone). Well, I have an idea. Why don't I go pick out some fabric to re-cover the dining room chairs, and that can be my Hanukkah?

(Glamorous, I know, but it desperately needs to be done).

Mr. Twinkle: Um...I think you might already be getting that...

Me: What? ... Your mom! ... That b*tch!

---

It's funny, but there's something different about me knowing it needs to be done and taking care of it, and her taking it upon herself to make it happen. It's nice of her; it's necessary, but it's also mildly annoying. I do find it hilarious that it's something that I want and need, but coming from her it seems pushy.

Twinkle: Amicable Cake Detente

So, I've decided I'm not going to bring the cake, mostly because I think competing over baked goods is stupid and I'm just refusing to participate in the attempted competition.

Mr. Twinkle was upset when he found out that I was asked not to bring the cake. I asked him what he thought happened. Completely on his own, he came up the same theory I have: Fun Sink found out I was bringing the cake and realized it couldn't happen because everyone would like it too much, so she took measures to ensure that I didn't bring it. Just the fact that Mr. Twinks knows how she operates--and is annoyed by it--is somehow enough for me in this instance.

So I'm making the cake for us on Friday, and the Thanksgiving masses will have to be content with my kick-ass green bean casserole (which is, obviously, slightly less kick-ass than the cake). Part of me wonders how Fun Sink convinced Amanda to tell me not to bring the cake--my guess is she said that it was too involved and time-consuming for a busy mother of three who doesn't have her sh*t together. Clearly I can handle the cake, as I'm making that in addition to a whole Thanksgiving meal, and I want both Fun Sink and Amanda to know that. I think it will be enough for me if Mr. Twinkle will just bring up the cake and how much he loves it in front of Fun Sink, and make sure she knows that I'm making it anyway, and he that likes it more than any cake she has ever made or could ever dream of making. Is that too much to ask for?

I guess what I'm really competing for here is my husband's loyalty. I know I'll win every time because he loves that cake, and he sees how completely manipulative and controlling his mother is--and how maniacally obsessed she is with being the best baker of the family--and did I mention he loves the cake? I'm also nice to him--nice enough not to put him in the crossfire of a cake war between his mother and me. Cake or no cake, I've already won, because he'll choose me over her every time.

Twinkle: Cakeblocked, Again!

Remember last Thanksgiving? Mr. Twinkle's uncle was sick and everybody came over for our little private Thanksgiving dinner on Friday, and I was stressed out about it being too fancy and over-the-top? And then it worked out OK?

Well, apparently the whole thing meant a lot to Mr. Twinkle's aunt (the one whose husband later died), because she's said a lot of nice things about it, and she asked me to bring the cake I made then to her Thanksgiving lunch this year: the Chocolate Gingerbread Toffee Cake from Southern Living. Baking this behemoth is no small feat, but all the effort is worth it. It is the most over-the-top cake I have ever made.

So it meant a lot to me that she remembered the cake and asked me to bring it (she's an old-school Southern lady from Philadelphia, Mississippi--the kind of woman who appreciates a labor-intensive cake from Southern Living, and so different from the rest of this family). So today I got all the ingredients and I was gearing up to spend the eve of Thanksgiving (and my birthday) baking this SOB.

She called today, explaining that Fun Sink is actually bringing the desserts. Fun Sink has made a lemon cake (which she makes for everything) and has procured a store-bought apple pie, which she plans to cover with caramel icing, Homemade Pie Kitchen-style. What Thanksgiving really needs now is a green bean casserole, so that's my new assignment. It's typical of Fun Sink to try to steal my cake thunder. What is this woman's deal with baking? I don't want this to be a competition, but she always makes it one. Why can't we both bring cakes?

So I'm thinking I should just bring the cake anyway, and we'll see who gravitates to ordinary lemon cake or store-bought faux Dutch apple pie, and who chooses the cake that was worthy of the cover of Southern Living's Christmas edition last year. Of course I'll bring the green bean casserole, too.

You know, this sort of thing always comes back to bite me. I'll stay up until 2 a.m. making ginger whipped cream, and no one will touch my cake because everyone loves Fun Sink's damn lemon cake. And yet I continue to try; I can't stop myself. One day I will prevail; one day Fun Sink will go down.

And, in that charitable and generous spirit, I bid you all a Happy Thanksgiving.

Twinkle: Quick Rant

I don't want to sound ungrateful for my three precious angels, because that's not it. I'm sure one day, when I am sipping Bellinis with the Twinkle girls in the spa at the Four Seasons, Mama Shoe-style, this will all be worth it, but right now it is hard. So when Mr. Twinkle's cousin called me four times this afternoon and then sent me a frantic text asking me to call her (presumably about what my girls want for Hanukkah), I really could not come to the phone. Really and truly, I could not. I was making sure no one fell down the steps, choked on an apple slice, drowned in the bathtub, or got electrocuted. And I'm happy to report that no one did, so I guess I can chalk this day up to a success. If I'd had time to answer the phone, I can't promise that I would have, because that cousin is annoying. But still, I really and truly couldn't, so maybe she should remember that I have three children under the age of four and just cut me some f*cking slack.

Twinkle: Anniversary Plans

Tomorrow marks 6 years of wedded bliss, and I really don't expect too much--maybe a nice casual dinner and a movie, preferably child-free. I'd be happy with that.

What I'm not happy with is this: my in-laws want to take us to brunch on our anniversary. I don't think this is normal; I think it's weird. Am I being a b*tch for just wanting to hang out and be lazy with my girls tomorrow morning, instead of trying to control the inevitable chaos that is restaurant dining with three children under age 5, in the presence of the very judgy Fun Sink? Maybe I should be more thankful that they want to spend time with us and treat our brood to a delicious meal. But I still don't think it's normal.

Mr. Twinks asked where I wanted to go. I said Silver Dollar.

We're going to North End.

Twinkle: Monster Cookie

I'm sure y'all are sick of me harping on my laissez-faire attitude about my children eating sweets and how I constantly feel judged for it by Fun Sink and my SIL, but I have something to add to my growing list of evidence that my philosophy isn't really so bad.

Have you seen the monster cookie at the Homemade Pie Kitchen? It's a large chocolate chip cookie, folded in half, filled with icing, and accentuated with a "monster" face--it's over-the-top, and my kids seem to love the silly look of it more than they love actually eating it.

Miss A.M. had a field trip today, and I packed one of these monster cookies as a special treat. Incidentally, her lunch was commensurate with those of the other children--most included sandwiches, fruit, veggies, and some special sweets since it was a field trip. This tells me that--this will come as a shock to Fun Sink--I'm not a bad mom. I'm doing the same exact thing as all the other moms.

A.M. finished her lunch and took exactly one bite of the monster cookie. One bite. This happens more often than not, because she knows it will not be the first and last cookie she will ever encounter, and I'm fine with that even if it means a monster cookie is going to waste. What happens when Sophie has unsupervised access to M&Ms? Gluttony followed by tummyache followed by lots of anti-chocolate propaganda. My kid doesn't have to go ape sh*t on the monster cookie because she knows there'll be another cookie, another day--and she'll probably take one bite of that one, too.

That is all...other than that E. had a fever yesterday while visiting Fun Sink, and Fun Sink wanted to take her to the doctor. Herself. I admit that maybe I'm being over-sensitive here and maybe Fun Sink really did just want to help, but I feel like doctor visits fall strictly within the realm of parental responsibility. What's next, educational guardianship?

Julep: Bright and early

I got to the office at 6:20 am. Why? Because my dear darling husband, light of my life, decided to wake me up at 3:45 am as he was coming to bed. He did not merely accidentally bump the mattress when sneaking upstairs after having fallen asleep on the couch. Oh no. He spoke to me. And not only did he speak to me, he kept on talking until I answered him.

Has this man forgotten everything that we learned in Freshman Marriage? I must not be awoken after 3 am on a work night. I am a very good sleeper in my first deep sleep. He can come to bed anytime before 2 or 2:30 am and have no fear that I will wake up. But I'm also a good waker. And once I've moved into a lighter sleep stage, if something (someone) wakes me up the rest of my night is shot to shit. We spent a long time on this lesson back in the first year course! We should not need to repeat this remedial material now that we have moved into Graduate Marriage Studies!

Apparently Mr. J fell asleep on the couch, and when he got up to stagger upstairs, he realized that Brown Dog had had some tummy trouble of the poo variety. (I suspect he stepped in it.) And he cleaned it up. Good on him. I would have been happy to praise him to the skies for this good husbandry if he had waited until 7 am to tell me about it, but I just don't see back-patting over basic house hygiene as something I need to wake up for.

Apparently unsatisfied by my continued silence, he wanted to warn me to wear shoes when I went downstairs in the morning, in case she had had more issues. "Honey! Honey, did you hear me? Honey! Be sure to wear your shoes when you go downstairs, okay? Honey? Honey, are you listening?"

Honey. The Post-It note is a wonderful invention that can be used for a hundred helpful purposes. One of them is the hand-off of information between the Night Shift and the Early Riser. God gave us a bathroom mirror. Use it. Do not wake my @$$ up at 3:45 in the morning unless there is a looming act of God that requires the family to relocate to the bomb shelter in the basement or someone is actively suffering from a dire illness that I can treat. Are we clear on that? 'K Thx Bye.

I warned him that if I were still lying awake at 5 am, I was going to get up and come to the office. He is on his own with Babycakes this morning. And I don't feel bad about it.

P.S. ... Twinks, congrats on the new addition! She's darling! Hoping to stop by the hospital with Dibbs later today.

Twinkle: Fun Sink Sucks Joy From Joyful Occasions

So, today was the birth of Baby B, a healthy and happy and ever-so-tiny baby girl, and I'm not going to mar a joyous occasion by dwelling too much on Fun Sink. But my gosh that woman is dour. I just gave birth to her grandchild, yet she barely said boo to me the whole day. Instead she just tried to boss everyone around, especially big sisters A and E, whom I was missing desperately and with whom I would have liked to have had a meaningful conversation about the new addition and how they were feeling (or in E's case, the 18-month-old equivalent pf a meaningful conversation: a little extra snuggle time).

Fun Sink had to boss them around like a drill sergeant. She thought everyone was taking up too much space in the hallway while B was getting her first bath in the window of the nursery. Everyone in both families was having fun watching her, and all Fun Sink coukd do was tell everyone to spread out and get out of the way. She wanted my hospital bed out of the way, too (I was lucky enough to be wheeled by as the bath was happening), and E wanted to cuddle with her mama, and all Fun Sink could do was yell at everyone about blocking the hallway.

She also happened to come into the room after B and I had been engaging in a little feeding and skin-to-skin...so B was haphazardly wrapped in blankets so that the grandparents could get their first chances to hold her that much sooner. Fun Sink had to be all, "That is NOT a very good swaddle." It wasn't a swaddle at all. It wasn't supposed to be a swaddle--we knew the grandparents were anxious to hold her so I guess Mr. Twinks didn't bother with the swaddle. But she just has to comment negatively on everything.

In other news, I think I might be giving my children candy just to piss off Fun Sink. A asked if she could have a little packet of the new baby's personalized M&Ms, even though it was right before dinner. I said she could because it was a special occasion...but really I just wanted to see what Fun Sink would say. True to dour form, Fun Sink told her she needed to wait until after dinner, and when A started to protest that I said it was ok, I was all, "No, Fun Sink--I told her she could have those because it's a special day." It shut her up, but she hated it.

I'm just over all of it. Maybe it's the hormones or the drugs or the fact that I'm now responsible for three little girls and I'd like rule over them benevolently, but I have just had it with Fun Sink's incessant nagging and negativity, and I cannot stay quiet anymore.

Twinkle: Is This A Cultural Issue?

So I asked Mr. Twinkle about this tonight, because I noticed that the prevailing atmosphere in his family is one where children run around acting like children, and each one has at least three adult family members just straight-up b*tching them at any (or every) given moment. We haven't had time to discuss this yet in-depth, as he's wrapping up a few things from work, but I asked him if, when he was a child, everyone in the family b*tched at him all the time. He said he didn't remember acting like that. Well, they were just acting like children, so if what he said was true, I guess it confirms my theory that he was born an old man. But I suspect he did act like a child at some point in his childhood, and when he did his mother and other adult family members beat it right out of him.

It is a constant chorus of "Twinklette, don't do this," and "Sophie, don't do that," coming from at least three different sources at a time. It's just not something I want to be part of--and the hard thing is that I out of everyone should be the one disciplining my children.

If I were them, I'd tune all of it out, and that's exactly what they seem to do. So all the b*tching at them just seems like a big waste of everyone's energy.

It also makes it harder when they really are doing something for which they need to be corrected. Because if they're getting b*tched at for the things that they're really not doing wrong, they're not going to hear the reprimand when they really need to.

I think I'm going to sit down with Twinklette and tell her that, in a setting like that, she needs to listen to me and only me. I do want Twinklette to respect other authority figures, but I'm past caring if Fun Sink's authority is undermined--she undermines it herself with her constant unnecessary corrections, and she's also undermining mine. My opinions about behavior are the only ones that should count--and I honestly believe that when five people correct Twinklette at once, she's more inclined to ignore them and do whatever she wants. All I have to do is come up to her and nicely say, "Could you please use a quiet voice?" (or whatever), and that works much better.

At least I get to be the sweet one--and I do try to discipline her as kindly as I can, as long as asking nicely is working. The one time tonight when I actually did need to reprimand her, I did so firmly--and she listened (and I also had to say to Fun Sink--"I've got it. I've got it.") I'm just not in the mood to suffer fools right now, and it's absolutely exhausting to have to fight through a chorus of nagging voices to get my children to hear me.

Twinkle: My In-Laws Are On My Nerves

So, I'm having a baby in about 36 hours, and that makes me a little sentimental about our family as it is right now: a dad, a mom, and two little girls. I was excited to learn that my girls would be off school Monday and Tuesday of this week, and I've been looking forward to spending time with them and having a special day of just being together and enjoying things as they are right now. I think that's probably normal and not too much to ask for. We're not doing anything too strenuous--running last-minute errands, going to lunch with Mr. Twinkle, maybe hitting a park or getting ice cream or something, just to make the day special before we drop them off at my in-laws' to spend the night, as our hospital arrival Tuesday is scheduled for 5:30 a.m. and that kind of wake-up time would turn my two little angels into complete monsters.

Well, my in-laws will not leave us alone about the girls coming over to play tomorrow. Sophie's in town, and you know that means we have to drop everything so the cousins can play together. I usually don't mind. I love Sophie and, as an only child, I am a big fan of cousin bonding. When she's here I always try to make time with her a priority. As I said before, they're spending the night tomorrow night, but apparently that's not enough. Also, I'm going to be in the hospital all week and Mr. Twinkle has a job he should probably report to at some point. We will need help with school pickups and after-school childcare, so there will be lots of opportunities--other than tomorrow--for fun cousin playtime. Why can't they understand that tomorrow is my time with my girls? Why is this something anyone even has to explain to them?

We all went to the Boo at the Zoo tonight, and those freaks are just absolutely crazy about controlling candy intake. Here's the funny thing--I refuse to be a jerk about Halloween candy at a Halloween party, and my girls didn't eat any more or any less candy than Sophie. They all ate exactly the same amount: one candy item and one bag of pretzels each--which I think is completely reasonable--and my girls did it without my having to police them about it and bitch at them and fight with them the whole time.

We went to Bearno's after, where my SIL and her husband proceeded to order a pizza without any cheese. I'm sorry, if you're going to order a fucking pizza without cheese (aka crust with a bunch of vegetables on top), why are we at a pizza place at all? Why not go somewhere where everyone can just order off the normal menu, maybe someplace known for its salads? Just when I think they can't get any more annoying, they order a pizza without any cheese.

Fun Sink was in rare form at the zoo. She kept trying to lead the children away from anywhere they could run around freely and have fun. There was one place where you could climb on these big Legos. Fun Sink tried to slip by without the children noticing. She even tried to get them past the pumpkin/hay maze, which I think is really fun for kids, and it's not at all hard to keep up with them because the hay bales are set up to be really low. It's one of the best parts of the Boo at the Zoo, because the kids can just run freely and have fun. She cannot handle kids running around having fun. For her the zoo is a series of destinations to be conquered. It actually explains a lot about Mr. Twinkle's disposition, but I was having none of it. We went there in the first place so the girls could have fun and be children, and I would rather not get through the whole zoo than enjoy it in a half-assed manner where we rush through the whole thing and everyone's behavior is regimented. If my girls want to climb on the Legos and run around the hay maze, climb and run they will.

She also really made me mad when she corrected Twinklette. Twinklette really hasn't ever had many words that she mispronounces, like most kids do when they're learning to talk. She has always just been really good at pronunciation--I always wanted to have those cute stories that parents have about adorable mispronunciations, but they've been few and far between. One exception to this rule is that, instead of pretzel, Twinklette says "PRINC-el." I think it's adorable, and I love it, and I want to call them PRINC-els from now on. Fun Sink corrected her tonight. Where does she get off? Twinklette is four years old--she gets to have one little remnant of baby talk cuteness without Fun Sink's interference. She actually knows it's pretzel, because PRINC-el went away for awhile. But PRINC-el just comes naturally to her, and I think it's adorable, and I don't appreciate Fun Sink correcting her on it. As far as I'm concerned, she can say PRINC-el as long as she wants--and I will say it forever.

She also freaked out when I let Twinklette go running off after Sophie and her parents. As if I'd let her run anywhere where I couldn't see her--as if I wouldn't discipline her myself if she went running off into a crowd or something. Fun Sink started angrily yelling at Twinklette to "come back here" and I was all, "She's just running over to Sophie" and Fun Sink said, "They're LEAVING." Well, OK, that may have been the case, but I could see her at the time--she was probably 10 yards away with no one in between us--and she was already with them by the time Fun Sink had a chance to react, so why don't we all just chill out and not yell at Twinklette when she is not doing anything out of the ordinary for a normal, excited four-year-old and I, her mother, have ascertained that she's safe. Clearly Fun Sink has a major problem with freedom within boundaries.

Fun Sink also taught Tiny T to blow on her food, which I think is the epitome of tacky. It may be all the rage if you're living in a hut in Poland, but here in America it's considered bad form. I don't want to teach my children any behavior they can't carry with them to a state dinner if they're ever invited, and now I'll have to break Tiny T of this tacky habit. Apparently Twinklette told Fun Sink it was tacky--haha. I wish I could have been there for that conversation.

Julep: Details, details

Here is the link the Details article I mentioned last night, about the "stigma of the never married man." (And apropos of another conversation, here's a fun one on "strays," i.e. straight guys whom everyone thinks are gay.)

Re the never married man ... I was thinking about this earlier, and I know plenty of fabulous women at x age and beyond, and I don't think of any of them in the same way that we view the Never Married Man. I've decided that it isn't the simple fact that the guy isn't married at x age that pushes him into the pathetic-creepster zone. It's the attitidue and accessories.

If a man is single and in his late thirties or early forties, it's probably because he spent far too much time dating hot young things instead of his fabulous and age-appropriate peers. Maybe he had a long-term serious relationship that never worked out, or he just never met the right person. But mostly he didn't meet the right person because he was busy with the hot Starbucks barista or trainer from his gym.

Once that hot girl starts to be 15 or 20 years younger than he is ... it's pathetic and creepy. And his fabulous, age-appropriate peers turn a jaundiced eye towards a man who spent his late-twenties and thirties hunting bimbos and honing his muscle definition. Having spent their own time honing their character and conversation skills via volunteer endeavors and witty banter over cocktails with girlfriends, the women of his age cohort are now out of his league. Who wants to marry a guy who hasn't had an adult conversation with a female in over a decade?

Twinkle: In Your Face, Fun Sink!

Whether out of selfishness or malice, Fun Sink tried to ruin the half birthday fun, but we wouldn't let her! Here's a final pic of the pink, fluffy deliciousness.

You know what needs a good strawberry cake recipe? The YWC cookbook. Hope it's printed in time for Hanukkah!

Twinkle: Third Cake's a Charm: Cake Mystery Solved

So, after a short blogging break last night, I decided Tiny T deserved a second attempt at a half birthday cake. I followed the same recipe, but left out the strawberries that seemed to make the cake way too watery. Similar result, although there was less boiling...it was more like a low simmer when the cake came out of the oven well past the recommended cooking time. It was flat, sad, and gooey, but not gooey in a good way. It was gooey in an inedible way.

Undeterred, I decided on a third attempt, so this morning Mr. Twinks and the girls were sent for more cake ingredients while I slept in. This cake is not fancy--it involves a white mix and some add-ons--it's less Martha Stewart and more Semi-Homemade With Sandra Lee, but it's damn good and Tiny T requested it. Anyway, Mr. Twinks came back with a box of Duncan Hines white cake mix (he still insists that the problem with the original cakes was that I used an organic white cake mix from Whole Foods).

I noticed something on the Duncan Hines box: it called for 1/4 cup of oil, and 1 cup of water. On Fun Sink's recipe, it called for 1/4 cup of water and 3/4 cup of oil, which I thought seemed like an awful lot. Curious, isn't it?

I'm no conspiracy theorist. I want to think the best, but maybe I'd have an easier time dismissing it if Fun Sink actually treated me nicely sometimes. I wonder if the motivation is more nefarious in that she doesn't want me to be the sweet kind of mom who makes her kids half birthday cakes, or if it's more selfish in that she just wants to be the only one who can make the strawberry cake. Either way, I feel cockblocked (or cakeblocked), yet I have triumphed through adversity.

Above is the third cake--light, fluffy, and delicious. Thanks for nothing, Fun Sink.

More importantly, Happy Half Birthday, Tiny T!

Twinkle: You've Screwed Me Again, Fun Sink!

I like to make my kids half birthday cakes. It's a tradition in our house. We literally make half a cake, with half the writing on each line, and everybody loves it and it's super-cute.

Anybody ever had Fun Sink's strawberry cake? It's pink, light, fluffy, and delicious. So when Tiny T said she wanted a pink cake for her half birthday tomorrow, I asked Fun Sink for the recipe. And I spent the whole evening chopping and draining damn strawberries, because Fun Sink told me frozen strawberries would be fine and Fun Sink actually gave me the strawberries. (I probably would have used fresh had it not been for her insistence that frozen would be fine, and her insistence on actually giving me the frozen strawberries). It turns out frozen strawberries were not fine--or something else about the recipe was not fine--because I ended up with this monstrosity. The cake batter was actually boiling when I took it out of the oven, 15 minutes after the longest cooking time.

Mr Twinkle: "I bet it'll taste good. After it...congeals."

Anyway, I guess we'll all head on over to the Pie Kitchen tomorrow, but that won't be as fun as eating half a homemade cake. Thanks for screwing up the half birthday tradition with your jacked-up recipe, Fun Sink--not sure of you did it on purpose or not, but this cake was nothing like the light, fluffy, pink deliciousness that you make. You girls know I've been cooking and baking long enough to competently follow a recipe. I should have expected it.

--

We also had a conversation with Fun Sink about the school board ruling (big congrats to Julep on her win...although, I have to say, as a parent, I feel like a loser). Anyway, not to get into all that, but Fun Sink actually agrees with Mr. Twinks and me about a lot of issues and it's fun to get her take. She starts the finger-pointing and the "here's what they should do..." and it's entertaining.

So Fun Sink is all, "Well, I may just have to homeschool them myself," which I'm sure we can all agree is more than a little presumptuous. And Mr. Twinkle jokingly said, "You'll have to fight their mother for it."

Let me just say that I do not want to homeschool anyone, but I am fully confident that I could if it were necessary. If I ever did, it would be a last resort. It would be beyond a last resort. I can't imagine anything less fun than teaching my girls math instead of, say, having lunch at Ghyslain with a pal during one of my few moments of free time. But, if I had to take control of their education and homeschool them, believe me: I would. And I know I would do a better job than some of the illiterate half-wits employed by the JCPS.

Of course, Fun Sink had to tell me all about how I couldn't do it and how hard it would be (like I don't know it would be hard) and how it would be impossible with children so many different ages. I wonder what she'd say to the news that we're looking at montessori schools, which have mixed-age classrooms by definition. (One of the things I like about montessori is that there might actually be a time in which all my girls could be in the same classroom, working and learning together. Call me a hippie, but I think that would be great). Of course she had to tell me I could never do it. And I could turn around and tell her the same thing: she'll never do it, because this mama would never, ever, EVER allow it to happen.

She also had to tell us how indispensable she is...she was replaced because of that new rule about putting assistant principals in all the schools this year. They basically cut her job and gave it to an assistant principal instead (she was semi-retired). But now the person doing her job is incompetent, and the assistant principal is incompetent, and blah blah blah, the universe can't function without her.

I told her she should run for school board--and I meant it. She's got good ideas, plus she's boring and dour, so she'd fit right in with the group. She'd probably love the long, boring meetings where they discuss budgets and busing plans, and I know she'd love lording it over the public by being in charge of their children.

Julep: I TOLD YOU SO...

I told you so, I told you so!

Ahhhh. It feels good to get that off my chest.

We are leaving on vacation in a couple of hours. Last night, after the Bear went to sleep, I was running all over the house frantically trying to accomplish a whole host of things that need to be taken care of before we leave town for a week. Mr. J was parked on the couch. I asked him to take on several tasks, and he said "OK" but didn't get up.

I finally said, "you know, it feels like I am working my @$$ off around here while you are sitting on your @$$ watching TV, and that doesn't make me feel good." He said, "You should relax. I told everyone that I am out of town as of noon tomorrow, so the sitter will be here and I'll have several hours to get everything wrapped up. Just make a list of things you want me to do. Just leave a pile of things you want packed. I'll take care of it."

Personally, I cannot relax when I have a list of things to accomplish. If you are going to have three hours of free time somewhere in the next 24 hours, wouldn't you rather have those hours at the end of your list of things to do, comfortable in the knowledge that you got your shit done already? Also, I am a firm believer that you should get things done when you have an open window of opportunity because you just never know what will crop up. (I find this rule to be even more true now that I am a parent.)

But you know, mileage may vary. I have so many other reasons to nag, I try not to make a big deal out of philosophical differences. Last night I did not stop doing the things that I planned to accomplish myself, but I did stop griping at him to get up.

Well, guess who called me at 12:15 pm. The sitter has not arrived. (Possible miscommunication with the Sitter Guru about whether we needed help at all as we are heading out of town today.) Guess who has a giant list of things to do that he now has to plow through while entertaining the Bear. Guess who wanted sympathy.

I did my best. I commiserated that yes, it will be hard to get those things done. When he started to sound a little grouchy, like I wasn't sympathetic enough ... what does he want? I'm at the office, finishing a project ... I said, "Look, I'm biting my tongue over here. I see that this will be very tough to accomplish, and I'm sorry for you about that. Let's leave it there, I have to get back to work."

I. TOLD. YOU. SO.

Twinkle: Hypocrisy Happens

Actual conversation from today between Mr. Twinkle and Fun Sink:

Mr. Twinkle: You know, Twinkle would have helped you with the meal and setup, if you'd asked her.

Fun Sink: That's OK; I know she's tired and has a lot going on this year.

(That sounds nice on the surface, but she makes an excuse like this every single time, and the real issue is that she doesn't want to share in the credit)

Mr. Twinkle: Well, be sure to ask her next time, because she'd really like to help.

(I actually would--he's not throwing me under the bus, here. It would actually mean a lot to me to be included and treated like a member of the family, after almost 6 years of marriage).

Fun Sink: Is she going to be in the same situation next year?

(Fun Sink, we've been over this. This is not your business).

Mr. Twinkle: Probably not.

Fun Sink: Mistakes happen.

(REALLY NOT YOUR BUSINESS, FUN SINK).

Mr. Twinkle: You mean like Lindsey?

(Boo ya).

Fun Sink: Lindsey was NOT a mistake!

Then she had to lean down the aisle and tell me and everyone else that Lindsey was most definitely not a mistake, even though she openly admitted it in an infamous conversation years ago. Even Lindsey laughs about being a mistake. So I just want to remind Fun Sink that she who is without mistakes should go on ahead and cast the first stone.

Twinkle: Fun Sink's Martyrdom

So tonight Fun Sink served dinner to 47 people, and yes, that is an impressive feat. According to a conversation Mr. Twinkle had with his dad, she's sort of over her role as banquet chef, and I don't blame her.

My FIL encouraged her to cut back--he reminded her that she doesn't have to be the longsuffering martyr who runs a matzo ball soup kitchen for everyone she knows every holiday. He encouraged her to cut some people if she has to, just to make her life easier. He was trying to be nice and help his wife.

But what does a martyr like Fun Sink do when someone tries to take away the source of her martyrdom? Why, get mad, of course. If she invited fewer people, she wouldn't be able to complain about there being too many people. Instead of saying "thanks for trying to make my life easier," Fun Sink accused my FIL of "not appreciating her." (That's the most I could get out of Mr. Twinkle. He's not the best communicator, and the fact that he could convey the basics of this conversation to me third-hand is a Rosh Hashanah miracle in itself).

Anyway, here's my problem: I have offered to help her many times. I've offered to bring food; I've offered to help set up. And I meant it, too. I like cooking; I like throwing parties; I could certainly inject some much-needed pizzazz into an otherwise bland and boring event. In my opinion, if you reject other people's offers to help, you have no right to complain about doing it all yourself. I can only conclude that, even though the work is overwhelming, it's worth it to her because it gives her something to complain about, and complaining is Fun Sink's raison d'etre. So she can go on hosting huge meals and taking in strays, and that's her business--but I don't have sympathy for someone whose own choices make things harder than they have to be.

Twinkle: Random Musings on M&Ms and the Great Chair Controversy

So I'm putting together these little goodie bags with pink and white M&Ms, featuring the name of Twinkle Baby #3. I set the M&M precedent when Twinklette was born; continuing the tradition seems an important thing to do in the name of sibling fairness.

So here I sit, decanting M&Ms into small plastic bags, and I started to wonder if these M&Ms will cause a controversy with my SIL and niece. The Twinkle family M&M tradition has never been an issue for them before, because they weren't here when Twinklette or Tiny T were born; they'll be in town this time for a conveniently-timed wedding. These bags contain probably 1.5 ounces of M&Ms...they are merely a friendly gesture from us to visitors at the hospital, and a way to announce the name. We really don't mean to contribute to the American obesity epidemic; for us it's just a fun way to celebrate the birth of our child. But I wonder if Sophie will be allowed to have a bag. I wonder if she can even have one or two M&Ms. Sadly, I may never know. I'll probably be on a table having my abdomen sewn back together when the sh*t goes down.

I also forgot to discuss my sister- and brother-in-law's Great Chair Controversy. I'll make it concise as it's not that interesting: they needed some chairs for their living room, so my brother-in-law basically had to sit in every chair on the eastern seaboard to see which ones were best. The chair search has been going on for more than a year and has spanned several states. I think they finally found some; I don't really know or care. I just know it's over, and even though I haven't seen the chairs, my guess is they're butt ugly.

What's interesting to me is what it says about their relationship. Because, if I were in the market for chairs, I would go pick out some damn chairs and that would be the end of it. I would choose chairs I thought were pretty; I probably wouldn't even sit in them. It depends on what kind of chair, actually...if it were a chair for reclining and watching TV, that would be different. I would probably involve Mr. Twinks in that choice. But I don't see comfort as the over-riding factor in choosing living room chairs. Mr Twinkle wouldn't be involved in the process and wouldn't want to be. He'd be happy when the chairs arrived--happy he didn't have to help me choose them, and happy to have a place to sit. He would say "good job on the chairs--they look great" and we'd move on with our lives.

I know my sister-in-law's taste isn't developed enough for her to know what she really likes or why she likes it, which has to make chair selection harder than it should be (that's why I want my children to know what they like and why they like it from an early age). But the Great Chair Controversy is more than that: it makes me think that my brother-in-law hasn't been trained well, and that my sister-in-law hasn't been well-schooled in how to handle her husband--and that's got to be Fun Sink's fault. I've even said in front of my MIL and FIL that I think the ongoing chair controversy is dumb (they complained about it all the time it was going on), and I don't know why my SIL even gives him a say. Of course my MIL doesn't like this kind of talk--as dumb as she knows the chair controversy is and as much as she has complained about it, she still can't stand to think that her precious son would be left out of decorating decisions in his own home (even though he wants to be left out). She thinks she raised a daughter to be magnanimous and egalitarian about household decisions, but it took them more than a year to choose chairs, so it's really more of a pyrrhic victory. Meanwhile, Mr. Twinks and I seem to realize that home decor is not the place to take a stand for feminism. Maybe I don't have the moral high ground here, but at least I have the autonomy to choose my own chair without any male interference--and Mr. Twinkle wouldn't have it any other way.

Rant: Dibbs

No one complains about the government paying for prescriptions of Viagra. That is all.

Julep: child-parent expectations

My dad still has not met my son, now 10+ months old, and it's become an awkward subject - with other people. Maybe we'll be talking about Mr. J's parenting skills, or Mr-Papa's unexpected and completely adorable fascination with the Bear, and someone - to use the most recent examples, my college roommate and my doctor - will say something innocuous like "How about your dad, what's he like as a grandfather?" And I have to say, "Well, he hasn't met the Bear yet."

There are two reactions to this. From people I don't know as well (like the doctor), I get the RCA-dog expression: head tilted, brow furrowed, trying to process what I just said. For the first ... oh, I don't know, six to eight months, I tried to make excuses for him. I would jump in with something about how he lives in North Carolina, and he has a teenager, and they are very busy, blah blah blah. Now I just say gently, "My dad kind of sucks." They nod, and we move on.

From people I do know well, many of whom also know my dad, like the college roommate, I get a tirade. All I can do is nod along while they say things like, "What do you mean he hasn't met him yet? The kid is 10 months old! What is he waiting for, a driver's license? I don't care how busy he is! This is his grandson!" ... then they pause and say, "Wait, this isn't even his first grandson. How old are your sister's kids?" And I say, "Well, the older one is two years older than the Bear, and no, he hasn't met them either," and the rant resumes.

I can sort of excuse my dad for not having met Young-Sis's kids, because they have a pretty fraught relationship. I don't know that Young-Sis has ever invited him to come up and meet his grandkids, and given that she didn't invite him to her wedding (or even tell him about it personally) I can see that he might not feel welcome to come without an invitation. That said, I think he would have gone a million miles towards repairing their relationship if, upon news of her child-bearing, he had not only sent the lovely and expensive gift he did send but also told her that he would really like to come up and meet his grandson whenever she found it convenient. He wouldn't even have had to make the trip, the offer alone would have done him a world of good.

But he gets no free pass from me. While our relationship has not been ideal for the past fifteen years or so (it's never fully sprung back from the year he spent not speaking to me because I decided to move back to Louisville), we do still have a relationship that he would probably call good and that I would characterize as "decent under the circumstances" (the circumstances being that he kind of sucks).

I have been inviting him to come up since the Bear was born. I have started to get a little pushy about it. Maybe if Bear's baptism had been less of a last-minute scheduling emergency to squeeze in before his godfather's deployment, they would have made the trip for that. But it was very short notice and right at the holidays, so I didn't take it amiss that they couldn't get here. What about the subsequent eight months? Sure, Kid-Sis is a busy teenager, but they managed to spend Labor Day weekend on Kiawah. I didn't get a phone call asking if they could come here.

I am starting to wonder if maybe he just doesn't realize this is a thing. Maybe dynamics were different back in the 70s when he had kids the first time - and the only time he had a new baby while living more than an easy drive from his parents and in-laws. Maybe back in the day, people didn't make the trek like they do now. I wonder if I just need to sit him down and say, "Listen, Dad. There are certain things that you, as a [nominally] Good Parent, are supposed to do when your child adds a child of her own to your family tree. You sent a nice present, and that was lovely, but it's not sufficient. You have to come up and meet the baby: you travel to the baby, not the other way around, and you do it in fairly short order. This is a rule and everyone knows it but you. It's getting embarrassing, and I am tired of making excuses for you."

Not sure if that would hurt or help.

Julep: mental health break

Just saw this and loved it. I know we all love to read, so wanted to share it with you darling girls.

Caribbean Fun Sink

Well, Fun Sink and family are about to take the party to the Dutch Caribbean, and with the impending arrival of Twinkle Baby #3 a little more than five weeks away, we are skipping the Aruba festivities this year.

We're all a little (or a lot) sad about it. I encouraged Mr. Twinkle to take one or both girls without me if he wanted to, but he chose not to. Fun Sink and my FIL even tried to convince us to let Twinklette go with them without us. Yeah, she's four and still calls out for her mommy in the night, so I'm probably not going to let her go to the land of Joran Van Der Sloot without at least one of her parents, but thanks so much for the offer.

Twinklette is naturally bummed about the whole thing, as it's hard for a four-year-old to comprehend the intricacies of safe pregnancy travel practices. She came and whispered, "Can I go with [Fun Sink, etc] to Aruba?" and I had to say no, and I told her why with reason and honesty. There's no point in not telling her the truth about it. She loves the baby sister she already has and is super-excited about meeting her new one, so I don't for a second think that she'll resent Baby #3 over a little lost Aruba time. We'll make up for it...and when we do, this mama will be able to make use of the swim-up bar. (Fun Sink had to remind me that it's going to be hard with 3 kids, and we may have to wait awhile to return to Aruba. Is having 3 kids that weird and socially suicidal? You'd think I was Michelle Duggar).

Twinklette was still sad after I gave her my honest answer, and we were all doing our best to lighten the mood and give the Great Aruba Disappointment some perspective that a four-year-old can grasp. Fun Sink goes, "Hey--you know what? In five weeks something very special is going to happen!" What's that, you might ask? The birth of a new member of the family? The long-awaited arrival of Twinklette's new baby sister and lifelong friend? You might think so, but no. "Aunt L. and Sophie are coming back into town, and they're staying for a whole week!"

I could not make this stuff up if I tried.

And now, off to read Julep's post about a most interesting legal case...can't wait to read about her perspective!

Julep: same-sex schools, underage drinking, and parenting fail

Girls, I imagine you've all seen the media coverage about Savannah Dietrich ... today's C-J article really got me thinking. Have you seen it?

My first response to the headline - these guys took photos while they sexually assaulted a young woman because they thought it would be funny - was, what little @$$holes. And I still think that.

But then I thought: when you were in college, would you have been the least bit surprised to hear that a bunch of guys you knew were sitting around drinking one night, one of them passed out, and the other guys took his pants off and took "funny" photos of themselves messing with his genitalia? I wouldn't swear that didn't actually happen at least once while I was in college. And if it had (or did), I am sure those guys showed a bunch of people the photos, and the other guys laughed, and the girls rolled their eyes and said, "I didn't need to see that, y'all are such @$$holes."

See, if they had done that to a guy, society would have said it was funny. It's just not funny to do that to a girl.

Personally, I don't think it's funny either way. But to me, this whole situation offers a troubling insight into the lack of sensitivity that can develop when boys spend all of their time around other boys. Nobody has ever called them @$$holes for doing this kind of stuff. And they have lost the boundary line between behavior that may be considered funny in the locker room and behavior that is appropriate in a mixed-gender context.

I also see this as a serious failure of parenting. Those boys have mamas and daddies who should have been teaching them for the past sixteen years that you don't touch other people's private parts (or let them touch yours) without explicit permission, and you don't give or ask for that permission when people have been drinking, and you don't humiliate your friends and acquaintances for the humor value you can get out of it. Did they think their sons would magically absorb the concepts of dignity and respect for others because they sent them to Catholic school? Think again, people. You've sent your boys to spend 35 hours a week (more, since these boys are athletes) surrounded by two thousand other teenage boys. You have an obligation to counteract the hothouse of hormones they are stewing in.

And while we are on the subject of poor parenting ... what the hell were Savannah Dietrich's parents doing while their teenage daughter was entertaining a bunch of teenage friends at their home and drinking herself into oblivion? Were they some of those morons who say, "well, they're going to be drinking anyway, I'd rather have them doing it here?" I respect Savannah for sticking to her guns and speaking out about the prosecution, but I hope she has learned a lesson about her own boundaries. And her parents get no gold stars from me that their daughter didn't know better than to get blotto drunk with a couple of @$$holes.

Twinkle: Tales of the Bar Mitzvah Weekend, Part II

Theory Confirmed
Remember in Part I, when I said that if you never give your kid chocolate, your kid will go ape shit when confronted with chocolate? Mr. Twinkle and I also had a conversation last night in which I asked him if Sophie really doesn't like chocolate, or if my SIL just wants to convince Sophie that she doesn't like chocolate. (Because--who knows?--maybe she really doesn't like it. I wasn't crazy about it as a little kid, but I was just interested in where the chocolate hate was coming from).

Well, as I suspected, it turns out Sophie likes chocolate, and all the trash-talking of chocolate is purely part of my SIL's anti-chooclate propaganda machine. It seems that Sophie was alone with three little girls who fed her lots and lots and lots of chocolate, to the point of sickness. I can see how that would be enough to turn a girl off to chocolate (and maybe it did) but my point is this: when chocolate was around, and my SIL wasn't, Sophie went ape shit.

The Food Police at Lunch
Poor Sophie wanted part of Twinklette's waffle at lunch. Sophie had to eat her fruit first (that would be the kind of thing I would require of my children at home, but at a party, I still say the rules can be relaxed). Sophie wanted some lemonade, so my SIL said she could have mostly water with a little lemonade poured in, and Twinklette (Lord bless her) chimed in and said, "Is lemonade good with water?"

When I sat down with my plate and was trying to wrestle with Tiny T to eat something, Twinklette kept saying, "Am I finished, am I finished, am I finished, Mommy?" I didn't really know or care at that point; I was focused on other things and I really don't expect her to eat all that great at a party where there are lots of distractions and the main dish is a sweet souffle made with croissants. All she wanted was one M&M, which someone in that crazy family told her she could have if she ate her lunch. I was like, "Yeah, you can have an M&M." One M&M was probably better for her than a whole serving of sweet croissant souffle. Those people are crazy.

Oh yeah, they gave Sophie an M&M after she ate her lunch, too. (Her father did, not my SIL). So I guess there's more evidence supporting the fact that she does like chocolate, after all.

Our Growing Family
Mr. Twinkle has a college friend who has three little girls and his wife just found out they're having their fourth--a boy. So my brother-in-law jokingly asked if we were in some kind of a contest with them, and we went along with the joke. I was all, "We'll match them kid for kid and won't stop until they do!" and everyone laughed, except my MIL, who clearly thinks we are really in a reproduction competition with these people.

So I think my MIL has taken a new tactic in her efforts to curb our baby-makin'. Everyone was laughing and she, bless her heart, just cannot come off like she's cracking a joke because there's serious venom underneath. Everyone was laughing about us trying to keep up with this other family, and Fun Sink went slightly off topic with, "I think you all should just knock down the wall between the girls' rooms and just have a huge bunker in there, like [SIL] did in college. Of course, she had someone paying her way, as everyone there did." And I'm confused by that statement, because the last time I checked, our children do have someone paying their way, and it's not extended family, and it's not the government welfare program, and it's not a federal student loan. It's us. So I told her idea was a great one--there's always room for one more bunker in this growing girls' dormitory.

Twinkle: Tales of the Bar Mitzvah Weekend, Part I

It's the long-anticipated Bar Mitzvah weekend, which means two things. 1). We get to watch a kid at the peak of his awkwardness stand up in front of a room and chant in a foreign tongue, and 2). I will have lots of tales from the Fun Sink front. Here they are:

Landscaping
So, this week Fun Sink decided that our yard needed sprucing up, so she took the liberty of scheduling a landscaping crew under the auspices of giving Mr. Twinkle a much-needed "surprise." (And, hey--if he doesn't have to mow the lawn one weekend, we'll take it). She actually called me one day this week and said, "I've scheduled a landscaping crew and I'm coming over in 5 minutes to tell them what I want them to do." Alright, Fun Sink, it's only my yard. I guess I should say "thank you" for this glorious "surprise." (How ironic that the "surprise" coincided with a time when lots of family and friends will be in from out of town and could possibly drive by our house--and how embarrassing if the lawn hadn't been cut since last Saturday). Anyway, as I was telling Lola, it gave me a good opportunity to b*tch about Fun Sink with the head landscaping guy, who surmised in about 30 seconds that Fun Sink is never, ever going to be happy.

Anyway, Mr. Twinkle hadn't been home yet today to witness the surprise, so some random relative comes up and says, "I drove past your house today and saw all those landscapers out there working so hard--it looks great!" right in front of Mr. Twinkle and Fun Sink. Fun Sink looked weary, without a touch of humor, and said, "It was supposed to be a surprise!" If it had been me, I don't think I would have let the random relative know she'd ruined a glorious surprise. I think I would have just kept my damn mouth shut while the owner of the house said "thank you," because all Fun Sink's reaction did was make the random relative feel guilty about it. And also, note to Fun Sink: maybe actually make your surprises fun and people will know they're special surprises and not ruin them.

Chickpea BBQ Burgers
I didn't even notice this one, until Mr. Twinkle pointed out how rude it was. To his credit, Mr. Twinkle is always talking about how good my cooking is to Fun Sink (who never seems to hear it, somehow). Tonight he was extolling the virtues of the veggie burger recipe I made last night, and Fun Sink interrupted with a story of some Thai green bean/tofu dish in a peanut sauce that my SIL made (of course, because everything SIL makes is vastly superior to anything I could make, no matter how long I spent soaking, cooking, and mashing chickpeas). It's not even that big of a deal to me, but what IS a big deal is that Mr. Twinkle noticed the slight and labeled it "so typical." It is, indeed, so typical that I didn't even notice it until he brought it up.

Brutally Rebuffed
So Twinklette and Tiny T were up way past their bedtime at a very grown-up dinner and were great for the entire night--good manners, no screaming or crying, sweet to the adults. There was one time when Twinklette and her cousin Sophie got a little excited, and it happened to be when everyone was being seated for dinner. They basically tore into the room doing a bit of a rebel yell. Naturally, I sprang to action--but, so did Fun Sink, of course. I grabbed Twinklette by the arm and started to escort her out into the quiet hallway where I could calm her down and remind her that she was at a grown-up dinner. Fun Sink was fast on my heels, and y'all would have been proud of me. Before she could do anything, I firmly and almost smart-assedly (not that it could ever be proven) said, "It's alright, Fun Sink--IIIIIII've got this one." She made some excuse and sank back. It was truly a victory.

---

And now I have a little complaining to do about my SIL. I think she has taken her damn healthy eating philosophy to annoying degrees with her kid.

I am of the belief that a little bit of sugar at a party now and then is part of childhood and never hurt anyone. I try to let my children's access to sweets be moderate and reasonable--otherwise, I feel like they will go completely ape shit the first time they are around a bowl of M&Ms when I'm not around to tell them no. Also, if sweets are forbidden, then they become something to feel guilty about and hide from your mother, and the next thing you know you're Sammi Brady, binging on Twinkies in your closet and drugging your sister's boyfriend so he'll impregnate you and you can screw up everyone's life. Now I love you, Sammi Brady, and you're my friend from way back--but I can't have that. My girls are welcome to eat sweets in moderation as long as they ask me first, and one day I hope to gossip with them over a big bowl of M&Ms and a huge bottle of red wine. May we all know how to moderate accordingly.

Well, sweets are forbidden to poor little Sophie, whose parents take little snack bags of carrots to Fourth of July parades while other children are treated to a special treat of cotton candy or kettle corn. My SIL spent the entire evening badmouthing chocolate to poor Sophie, who didn't even get to experience the joy of dipping a strawberry into the chocolate fountain, like both my girls did with great enthusiasm. "Oh no, Sophie--that's chocolate. I don't think you'll like that." (Meanwhile, Twinklette's mouth is ringed with with a layer of chocolate reminiscent of Johnny Depp's goatee). Since when is chocolate bad? I'm not saying treat it as a food group, but where is the joy in life if your mother doesn't let you dip your strawberry in the chocolate fountain sometimes? I think each of my girls had one chocolate-dipped strawberry. They lived; they are not part of the childhood obesity epidemic.

Later Sophie and Twinklette came up to the table, each with some little cookie that looked like a biscotti or something. Everyone at the table looked at my SIL with panicked looks and some even said, "Don't look at me--I didn't give it to her!!!!!" And my SIL was actually upset about who gave it to her, and demanded that Sophie tell her where she got it. Turns out her father was the voice of reason that time--he gave the girls the cookies, because it was supposed to be a party and they are little girls, not anorexics in training. At least one of them isn't.

Anyway...there are lots more weekend festivities, so I'm sure there'll be more stories to come.

Twinkle: Epiphany on Education and Fun Sink

So I had a bit of a revelation today, and I think I have a way to get Fun Sink's panties all in a wad about how she can't control our lives without going to the time, energy, and expense of having a fourth pregnancy/fourth child. Because, say what you will about the benefits of private education or the problems with the local public school system, the biggest and most beautiful reason I have for making an unconventional choice is upsetting good old Fun Sink, my children's aspiring educational guardian.

Y'all know that I have been obsessing about schools for awhile now, and now that Ms. Twinklette is in the fours class (one year before kindergarten, when elementary school careers are made or broken), it is time for me to do some serious freaking out. But actually I'm not freaking out at all. I don't want to send her into a huge system where she is just a number and an (undoubtedly) high test score to some bureaucrat. I'm actually really drawn to the smaller hippie-type schools, like Waldorf, St. Francis, and the absolutely adorable Hayfield Montessori. Do you know how much Hayfield Montessori would upset Fun Sink? She would have a conniption fit.

And I know the key is to to start the process and make the decision without ever involving Fun Sink. I'm not saying I love Hayfield, because I have some reservations about mixed-age classes, but I am saying we need to get our sh*t together and know exactly what we like and don't like about the schools before Fun Sink even knows the wheels are in motion. I would like to have the decision made and the papers signed and the first tuition check mailed (if we go private) before Fun Sink ever has a chance to know that we're looking at all. Because you know that she will try to influence Mr. Twinkle on this, and you know he will listen to her because of her distinguished career as a cranky schoolmarm. I happen to think it's best of we make the decision without her input, like most parents have to do. (The ones she has any influence over inevitably end up sending their children to Wilder, and probably signing over custody rights as well).

I was already starting the vetting process, but today I realized that this is just one more way I can upset that judgmental old b*tch. I don't have to have another kid! Now there's a whole new way to get a rise out of Fun Sink. Before I'd have a child without consulting her. Now I can choose a school without consulting her. It's so simple and so beautiful, and it's going to be such a big drama when it goes down. But, as I said, I hope to have a document signed in blood before we make the announcement to her.

Big ups to the crappy JCPS school system, for stressing everyone out so much that it's perfectly acceptable to decide about elementary school while your kid's still in preschool, without your MIL knowing. Seriously, school board, with your myopic diversity agenda, low performing schools, and outdated ideas: you rock.

Julep: touchy, touchy

I had my annual gyn appointment this morning. I've been seeing the same doctor since I was 18, and I like her a lot. But could we get some sensitivity training up in this joint?

The minute I walk in that place, I feel defensive and inadequate. Being in the waiting room this morning reminded me how incredibly difficult it was to go there over the past three years. As you might expect, there are a lot of pregnant women waiting around at the gyn's office ... and as someone who desperately wanted a baby and was having no success making one, it was hard to sit there in their midst. (I actually think they have a second waiting room for the emotionally fragile, but maybe they save it for miscarriages, because no one ever offered it to me. Was I supposed to ask?)

Now that I have the Bear, the waiting room isn't as painful. I do feel a little bit raw whenever someone tells me that she is expecting, but I'm pretty much used to that at this point, and I can hardly avoid it. I'll have a whole long lifetime of living with this twinge, so I might as well ignore it.

But it was a quick shake of salt in the wound when the nurse asked me, amid the long line of health questions, what form of contraception I was using. I said "none," and she said, "Are you trying to get pregnant?" I didn't know how to answer that. I would love to get pregnant, but after four years of not conceiving I don't much think it's likely. And while we aren't taking any efforts to prevent a pregnancy - why bother? - compared to what we were doing two years ago I would hardly say we're "trying" to get pregnant.

And you know, she's standing there looking at my chart. Does she not see the stuff about the hysterosalpingogram and the records request from the fertility doctor and whatever notes my gyn has made about this over the years? Read ahead, woman, that's all I'm saying. Instead I had to try to sum it all up in a sentence or two, which ended in, "... so we gave up and adopted." And I got a big smile, with "That's when it always happens!"

Really? Really, Nurse Betty? Can I get that in writing? Because you are about the 500th person to tell me that, and although I appreciate the sentiment, (1) you are full of shit, and even though you are standing there with my entire gynecological history at your fingertips, you obviously don't know any more about my fertility circumstances than the last person to say it, and (2) this knee-jerk response is a big part of why your waiting room gets my hackles up - because you think my motherhood doesn't count since I didn't go through labor and nausea and swollen ankles.

I'd say it's already happened, thank you. No, I didn't have the weight gain or the morning sickness. But I waited a lot longer than nine months for my child, and I can guaran-damn-tee you that I suffered for him just as much if not more than any of the women in your waiting room.

/OFF Julia Sugarbaker Rant/

Twinkle: Haters Gonna Hate

You know, as much as I really don't want to go through a fourth pregnancy right now, or even think about paying for private school or college for four children, I really think we are going to have to have one, out of spite.

Fun Sink is just totally awful about it. Some random asked me about whether or not we were "done" or will "go for a boy," and, you know, I was just making conversation. First off, I hate the "going for a boy" question--why can't three (or four, or however many) girls be enough for people? I assure you, if we "go for a fourth" it will be because we want a fourth. Not because we necessarily want a boy. I like to clarify that to people.

So this random asked me if we wanted a fourth, and if we were going for a boy. Not knowing (or really caring, or paying attention at all) that Fun Sink was within earshot, I said, "Oh, we might go for a fourth, but it won't necessarily be for a boy--I'm not sure we'd get one. If we do it, it'll just be because we want a fourth." I turned around at that exact moment and saw Fun Sink do a full-body shudder--the same visceral reaction of disgust that someone might have from, say, gulping rancid fish through a straw. Not what you'd expect from an enthusiastic grandmother. She muttered something bitchy under her breath, and my FIL laughed, and then I'm sure she went into a finger-pointing diatribe, right in my FIL's face. What else could he do but laugh, really? I don't blame him--I'm sure it was self-preservation, and I doubt he really considers it his business. But how hurtful is her reaction to someone who is eight months pregnant?

I don't even know for sure if I have it in me to go for a fourth child, even though I have always wanted four. I know I'd love having such a big family, but the thought of another pregnancy and then another infant stage after this one is just exhausting to me. But every eye roll or full-body wretch makes me all the more determined to do it. If she would just control herself a tiny bit, I probably wouldn't even seriously consider it. But I need her to know that Mr. Twinkle and I make the reproductive decisions around here, and it really is none of her damn business.

Mary Lou told me I could have twins next time around, if there is a next time. As cool as twins would have been two pregnancies ago, or one pregnancy ago, or this pregnancy, I know that five children would be beyond the limit I can do or want to do. So I guess MIL can thank Mary Lou for that warning--although y'all know she'd think consorting with clairvoyants is ridiculously frivolous and a big waste of time and money. When's our next Mary Lou party, again? I feel like stirring the pot, somehow, and unfortunately I can't get pregnant again for at least another six months.

My stick figure family is going to be off the hook.

Edited to add: I don't really have a stick figure family. Just wanted to clarify, in case any randoms happen upon this blog and mistake me for a stick figure family type. Although, if Fun Sink hates big stick figure families as much as she hates big real families, I may have to reconsider my position.

Julep: In a nutshell

When we picked the Bear up at Mr-Mama's last night, she had a present for me: a lovely white linen/ eyelet skirt from Talbots, which she handed to me saying, "it will have to be altered." Translation: it's not my size, but she bought it for me anyway.

I said, "That is so nice of you, but I already have a white linen skirt." (She knows that - she was with me when I bought it. I also have a white eyelet dress, as she knows because she shortened the straps for me.) She said, "Well, I can't return it."

I looked at Mr. J and he muttered sotto voce, "Just take it home." So I did.

Anyone want a brand-new skirt, size ten, tags on?

Julep: The Unbearable Flakiness of Being (my mil)

Mr- Mama is supposed to watch the Bear on Tuesday afternoons. It was HER idea to take a regular day, back when I was headed back to work. I believe she decided this simply because the Bear was going to the J-Mama's house on Wednesday afternoons and she didn't want to get lapped in the Grandmother 500.

Y'all know I've always had dinner with my mom on Wednesday nights - which is the night for Mr. J's sailing league. He leaves well before I could get home from work, so Mr. J drops the Bear off with his grandma around 4 or 4:30 so that he can get to the river, and they hang out for 90 minutes or so until I arrive from work. We had a few kinks to work out of this system when we started it back in February, but since that time it's gone very smoothly. J-Mama - who works well over 40 hours a week as a rule anyway - doesn't schedule meetings or classes or anything else after 4 pm on Wednesdays so nothing interferes with her time with the Bear.

Mr-Mama is supposed to take the Bear by 2 pm on Tuesdays. Again, this was HER choice. Mr-Mama answers to absolutely no one but herself when it comes to her schedule. She has no boss and no obligations. Yet in the past six months, I can't even count the times she has dropped the ball on poor Mr. J. She's made doctor's appointments for 3:30 pm on a Tuesday. She's been out of town for the weekend and decided to stay through the middle of the week. Today, she's playing golf. Mr. J has a dentist appointment scheduled at 2 pm - a drilling, not a cleaning. She thinks he ought to just take the Bear with him to the dentist and she'll come over there to pick him up whenever she gets done at the country club. Seriously? Seriously.

Ugh, this woman. At any age, a child should be able to count on his parent to do what he or she has promised to do. That should be a given. While Mr-Mama is probably a lost cause - after 55 years of unfettered self-indulgence - I hope that she is driving Mr. J sufficiently nuts that he will squelch his own flaky tendencies and become more reliable himself. Character is not a constant: it can be changed. As the J-Mama told me many many times while she was engaged in the laborious process of raising me by hand, "It may be how you are, but it's not OK to be that way."

Julep: On escaping from high school

I'm in solidarity with Twinkle on the high school friend moving home. There are very few many people from high school that I keep up with - and even fewer that I want to spend time with, even on an irregular basis.

One of the girls I do like, who lives out of town and is all over the Facebook, is apparently coming home for a couple of weeks at the end of August. She is planning a get-together event for girls from our class -- some of whom I enjoy, but many of whom I don't care if I ever see again. And I am very much on the fence about whether or not I am going to go.

I would quite like to see the out-of-towner, but I fear being stuck at the far end of the table with two or three of the ones who live here. Not only will they bore me to death for the one evening, but I am already sweaty-palmed wondering how to get out of the inevitable invitation to get together again. I am vaguely aware that about a dozen girls I went to high school with have a standing dinner engagement. Over the years, there have been a few invitations for me to participate, once by someone I do like and was trying to catch up with. I still said no. I like her, but the rest of them are scorchingly dull.

I can't say I had a horrible high school experience, but I really didn't come into my own until college. I probably wasn't the best version of me in high school either, and it's probably highly unfair to judge others today based on who they were almost twenty years ago. But you know, there's only so much time.

Twinkle: I'm Selfish and Awful

I love being an adult for a lot of reasons, and one of the biggest ones is that I get to choose my own friends, instead of being stuck with whatever people happen to be in my class at school. I prefer interesting ones, who enjoy food and wine at local restaurants, and bring their own hilarious perspectives to our conversations. I enjoy each and every one of you girls, and I'm thankful that I have such interesting, fun friends.

I feel like my time is so, so limited--I don't get to do half of the stuff I want to do with you girls. Even chatting on the phone is next to impossible. I know it's just my phase of life and I'll eventually have more time to devote to social outings and YWC events (I hope), but the point is I feel like I'm already stretched to the limit with the people I find interesting. I really, really, really don't have room in my life for the boring ones.

And I am an awful person, because I have a high school friend who's moving back to town, and I don't know what to do about her. She bored me to death even back then, but she's sweet and I do like her. She would not survive 30 seconds in a Classic Cocktail hour, bless her heart. Bringing her into the group is not an option.

I am having an existential crisis over this and Mr. Twinkle does not understand, and I guess I should expect that Mr. Obligation would not be much help in this situation. Not hanging out with anyone from high school is a luxury I have taken for granted all these years, apparently. Now I'm going to be thrust back into that boring, mind-numbing East End BS. I will probably end up drinking a strawberry daiquiri out of a footlong fluorescent glass at a TGI Friday's before all is said and done, and I'm just really, really not ready to go to that place, either literally or figuratively.

I feel guilty because this girl is twice divorced (I'm guessing here...all I have to go on is one "I'm moving back" text message received at 9:30 tonight) and she probably doesn't have a whole lot of girlfriends here as she hasn't lived here since high school. I do have a lot of girlfriends, but I know she could not hang with the group. I could sponsor her for YWC, but she's the kind of girl I'd have to take care of all the time, and the beauty of YWC to me is that it's a safe space--I can go there, mingle with my friends, talk to everyone, and not have to worry about if someone's having a good time or not because all of you are big girls who can take care of yourselves at a party. If she does have friends, they're from my high school, and I assure you they're no one I have any desire to hang out with.

I just don't have the time to deal with it, and it makes me feel awful. I should want to be her friend and be willing to invite her along, but I selfishly don't want to babysit. As it is, it's just one more thing to deal with. It's hard enough to balance my children and my social life, and this will cut into one or the other of those things as she's not going to blend seamlessly into the group. It's just one more obligation, and the guilt that obligation brings with it.

Thanks for letting me vent...P.S. I loved Julep's Bronie post. That picture I posted is awesome but I still have no idea who the guy is! Perhaps my new old high school friend will remember, but, sad to say, I'm not sure she'd get the humor of it. I am awful. Awful. But it's true--she wouldn't.

Julep: Treasure The Bronies

I'm bringing this back to the top of the blog since Twinkle had forgotten it completely when I mentioned it at the Classic.

http://adventuresofdaddyrabbit.blogspot.com/2010/04/twinkle-hes-single-ladies.html

and HERE is the article about "BronyCon." I swore I was not making this up!

By the way, I skimmed back through ages of posts to find it - and I must say, we are some funny, funny girls. I am so glad we have this back channel to vent.

Twinkle: Junyaleague Sustainer Woes

I am a sustainer in the Junyaleague, and every year I dutifully write my $100 check (which has gone up from the $85 it was a few years ago) and every year I get no real value for my money. Now, I love the Junyaleague so I will keep on writing those checks. I credit the Junyaleague with so many friends and good memories--which is why I gladly continue to support the organization, never balking at the increase in sustainer dues or, according to some Facebook pictures, the lack of personal hygiene among provisionals. Hey--if the League is going downhill, it's not because of my friends' valiant efforts to stop the decline, and it won't be because I drop my sustainership. They do good work in the community, and I feel good knowing that I'm supporting that work, so that alone makes it worthwhile.

I think the dues notice went out around March. I ignored it, as I always do, fully intending to pay my sustainer dues whenever. In June, that cute little Alice Jane Facebook messaged me to make sure I was re-upping for the coming year. I told her I absolutely was, then promptly put off writing the check yet again. Last week I got a nasty letter from someone I didn't know saying that if I didn't pay my dues by August 1, I'd be resigned. OK, League, thanks so much for the gentle reminder. I hopped online to pay my dues and I see that I am strapped with a late notice on my sustainer dues. I'm now expected to pay $125.

Now, I love you, Junyaleague, but that is ridiculous and offensive. First of all, I am paying my sustainer dues out of the kindness of my heart because I want to support the League. It's free money for them--I don't cost them anything--and they are lucky to get any of it. I expect them to take my $100 check and say thank you, and preferably follow up with a hand-written thank-you note. Actually, I don't even really expect that because, as we're all painfully aware, "this isn't your mama's Junyaleague." It's not even about the extra $25. I'd be happy to pay that and more to the annual giving fund or endowment, because I want to support the League. If I didn't, I wouldn't pay my sustainer dues at all, ever. I would give money to some other good cause, or maybe I'd just buy something for myself. And because I choose to give my small amount of money to them each year, I would prefer a little bit of gratitude. An automatic $25 late fee on their Web site doesn't seem grateful; it smacks of money-grubbing impersonality and a crass attention to the bottom line.

I understand that organizations need to plan their budgets for the year, and they do that through dues and giving. And they can count on my dues every year, as I assured Alice Jane in June. So I'll be hand-delivering my $100 check to Pat tomorrow morning, one day before my impending resignation, and the Junyaleague can take it or leave it. If they take it that's great; if they leave it, it's their loss, because I would have been willing to write those (slightly late) $100 checks forever, without ever demanding anything of them.

I don't go over there and meddle in their business, as so many sustainers do. I'm under no delusions that the League can't run without me--and I'm sure we can all name the people who do believe that they're indispensable. I'm happy to sit on the sidelines and let their new geographically- and ethnically-diverse active members take over and steer the League however they want. If these new girls want to be sticklers about the ridiculous late fee, maybe I'll just go shopping instead. I'm sure Lilly Pulitzer will still take my money.

Julep: Yuck.

Y'all, the exercise maven we love to mock has just updated her FB status to announce that her three year old child had never seen butter before. She is proud of this, labeling it a "WIN." I don't know whether I am more sorry for the child because she has to eat Maven's cooking every day or because she is 3 and no one has ever baked anything woth her before.

Julep: Crazy B continues

Last night after I put Bear to bed, I took the recyling out and saw a pack of my nieghbors standing around on the sidewalk. They asked if my power was acting funny. Bear and I had come straight in and gone directly to bath, bottle, book, bed so I hadn't turned on many lights - but had noticed that something was beeping down in Mr. J's office as it does when the power goes out.

The neighbors said a six or seven house stretch was at "half power." I don't really know what that means, and it doesn't matter much because soon enough we were at no power. (And yes, it was still 90+ degrees outside even though nearly 9 pm.) LG&E was on site working on the problem. What was the problem? Crazy B's lack of tree maintenance. She has let her easement become choked with weeds and trees to the extent that one of the branches had worn through the power line. So the poor LG&E workers had to re-run the whole line ... after tearing down her poison ivy.

Mr. J came home in the middle of all this and enjoyed a fine bout of B-bashing with the neighbors. B was away on vacation, so nobody even had to pretend to be nice to her. They all have a story about what a pushy nutter she is. It warmed our hearts.

Twinkle: Just Venting About You-Know-Who

Fun Sink seems to take great joy in making feel bad about myself and my parenting, and I guess it's sort of my fault for letting her make me feel that way. Meanwhile, Twinklette loves throwing me under the bus every time we try to have a meal over there. It's the perfect storm for a headache when I leave.

1). Twinklette won't ever stay in her seat or eat her food, and Fun Sink takes it upon herself to pull Twinklette aside and lecture her, and give her the evil eye when Twinklette doesn't focus on her plate. It's the same every damn week. I am sick of it. I don't give her a lecture because I don't want to make a scene at the dinner table, not because I don't ever discipline my child. I wish Fun Sink would just step back and let me be a parent--most of the time she steps in before I even have a chance. Maybe it's my fault for letting her do that. Maybe my approach is nicer ("Twinklette--can you please put your bottom in the seat, put some food on your fork, put your fork in your mouth, and then repeat?"). It's clearly not working, but at the end of the day I would rather take her out of the room to lecture her, as I have done before, many times, than to do it right there in the dining room. I don't think it's Fun Sink's place to do it either way, as long as I'm there. And I think all the lecturing about food makes Twinklette behave worse than she would if everyone would just leave her alone.

2). Fun Sink served some purple cauliflower for dinner, which caused a lot of conversation (it actually is a naturally-occurring thing, according to Google), but it's also a genetically-modified thing, and who knows which version Fun Sink served? Best to pick around at it, in my opinion. Of course Twinklette had to ask what color cauliflower is usually, which I'm sure caused Fun Sink to think of her other granddaughter, Sophie, who probably would rather eat cauliflower than birthday cake and definitely knows its natural color. I know it was a valid question on Twinklette's part, but ugh. I do serve healthy food at home. But I don't love cauliflower, so it's not in the rotation. And even if it were, Twinklette wouldn't touch it. (She may not know that cauliflower is white, but at least Twinklette can identify toile, something Fun Sink probably can't do herself. Just sayin').

3). Fun Sink had to tell the tale of snacktime at the pool, when Bella refused a popsicle because she "has to eat something healthy before she eats something sweet." Good for Bella. Good for Bella's mom. Everyone in the world is clearly a better mother than I am. I'm sure Bella knows what color cauliflower is, too.

4). Fun Sink disapproves of Bar Mitzvah themes. She thinks the theme should be that it's a bar mitzvah. I don't love the bar mitzvah themes just because I think they're kind of stupid, but I don't get all judgy about it if someone wants to have a theme. So anyway, now I have to think of three really awesome bat mitzvah themes. I'm leaning toward thoroughbred racing, Gone With the Wind, and Tiffany's.

5). Tiny T fell in love with this pink and purple stuffed dog at Target today, so of course we got it (hey--sometimes you fall in love with something and it must be yours. I'm inclined to indulge that sort of thing, not deny it). And, so help me, I knew I should have prepped her for this evening's inevitable line of questioning. Sure enough, Tiny T made the mistake of hugging her dog at the dinner table, and Fun Sink was all "What does the dog say? What does the dog say???????" Because a sixteen-month-old can't just enjoy her new toy without learning something about what the dog says. She has plenty of time, of course--Twinklette, at four, knows all her animal sounds (obviously) and much more. But poor Tiny. I knew I should have prepared her for "what does the dog say?" before putting her in that situation.

6). Tiny T was giving kisses at the end of dinner. Fun Sink was holding her and going down the line. "Give Aunt Amanda a kiss." "Give GiGi a kiss." I was next to GiGi. Fun Sink stopped there and didn't encourage Tiny T to kiss me. No big surprise, but Tiny T takes after her big sister in that she likes her mom (shocking, I know), so she started yelling, "Mommy! Mommy!" until Fun Sink let her give me a kiss. In your face, Fun Sink! (God love ya, Tiny T).

So anyway, out here in mom world I feel like I am doing my best and that my best is ok. I feel like all the moms I know are doing their best. When I'm around Fun Sink, I feel totally unfit and inadequate compared to my sister-in-law or compared to Bella's mom or compared to herself (in her mind). I'm tired of feeling that way. I feel like she judges all moms (except SIL), so I guess I shouldn't feel bad about it, but it seems like she knows me and she should know I'm doing my best. Mary Lou said she knows deep down that I'm doing a good job but will never admit it, and I know she won't. It's just hurtful, though. How many moms say their kids eat chicken nuggets and mac and cheese for every meal? A lot. My kids don't do that, but because Twinklette doesn't know the color of cauliflower, Fun Sink can justify it in her mind that I am a pathetic excuse for a mother.