It's never pretty when Fun Sink starts casting judgements, but she can't help it. It's part of her very nature. She just can't stop herself.
We had a family wedding for an unconventional couple tonight. The bride and groom were both over 55; the wedding was at 10 o'clock at the house they've renovated together over the past 5 years. It was a different kind of wedding--it started with a party, the wedding was in the middle, and there was more party after. Anyone who wanted to be a bride's attendant could show up wearing purple. I liked it. As long as people's weddings make them happy, I don't judge. It doesn't matter to me if a couple doesn't do everything by the book--I actually prefer it that way, because it tells me people are interesting and not afraid to break the rules.
As you can imagine, it matters a great deal to Fun Sink if a couple doesn't do everything by the book. For someone who puts so much importance on obligation, any slightly-out-of-the-ordinary event is an abomination.
She was making snide comments the whole night. She didn't like the pre-party concept; the evening was too long. She was "going to turn into a pumpkin." (I hate anyone who goes around saying that). It was too hot in there. It was too hot outside. When 25 bridesmaids in purple came down and lined the outside staircase for the ceremony, she made a rude comment about the how much weight the staircase could hold. She wondered aloud if the bride didn't know that entering down a staircase is every bride's nightmare? (It was actually sweet--she greeted each attendant on the staircase with a hug and kiss. It was meaningful, and it was fine because they could help her with her dress as she walked). When the bride's 90-year-old mother was siezed by the moment and decided to walk up 5 steps to greet her daughter--because it really was a seize-the-moment kind of wedding--Fun Sink was all "Why on earth is Aunt Sylvia going up those steps?" when the reality was that it was a beautiful thing to do, a beautiful moment, and, like the bride herself, Aunt Sylvia was surrounded by family and friends who could help her navigate a few steps. The moment was worth the trouble, something Fun Sink could never understand. She was incredulous when the couple's dog was the ring bearer. Everyone thought it was cute, and the dog did fine. Dogs are not unheard of in wedding ceremonies. It's not THAT shocking. That sort of thing gives a wedding a personal touch. The dog put Fun Sink over the edge.
Don't get me wrong, girls--I'm all in favor of catty comments if the situation applies. But this situation didn't warrant it--it was the joyful union of two former high school sweethearts who found love later in life, and, yes, they were former hippies so it may not have been the wedding you or I would have chosen. But Fun Sink needs to shut her cake hole about it. Fun Sink would find it morally wrong to dish with friends over a bottle of wine and some cheese--when a catty remark would be perfectly appropriate; idle gossip and trash talk are beneath her. It's more her style to mar a joyous occasion with b*tchiness. It must be hard work to do so much judging and b*tching about everything. It's certainly exhausting to listen to.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
Julep: a study in contrasts
I am mighty tired this morning, but I'm hanging in there. Mr. J went sailing on the big water again this weekend, leaving me and Babycakes home alone. After the last sailing trip, I expressed to Mr. J that I was pretty darn exhausted after working all week and then spending the weekend on full-time baby duty (not to mention the dogs). He suggested that the appropriate solution was that he could line up a couple of hours for child care the next time he left town, so I could have a little break. I felt that this failed to fully encompass the problem, but you know, I'll take what I can get.
So on Thursday night I asked Mr. J about that child care situation. He said, "I talked to Mom and she's around all weekend, you just need to call her when you want help." OK, that isn't exactly what I had in mind either. I was hoping to have a couple of hours blocked off in advance that I could use to (a) take a bike ride, (b) get a pedicure for the first time in two months, (c) run a couple of errands, or (d) all of the above. But I figured I could call Mr-Mama on Saturday morning and try to set something up. Guess who never called me back.
My OWN mama came over on Sunday afternoon so I could take a little less than 2 hours to accomplish (b) and (c). She also spent Saturday morning at my sister's house playing with my nephews while Sis ran some errands - and Babycakes and I went over to visit. How is it that J-Mama, who has a full-time job, manages to babysit for both her daughters on the weekend, while Mr-Mama who does nothing all week can't squeeze it in?
And while we are on the subject - I reminded Mr. J last night that our friend has rescheduled her psychic party for Tuesday, Tuesday being Mr-Mama's designated Babycakes Day. Knowing that Mr. J has a lesson scheduled at 5:30, I said, "can you please make sure that Mr Mama is OK to keep him into the evening hours?" He actually huffed at me and said, "That means I won't get any work done on Tuesday, because she won't let me bring him over before 5 if I want her to keep him through the evening." Well, excuse me. I thought I might be entitled to a couple of hours of free time this fortnight.
If his mother sucks as a babysitter, why is it my problem? I would be all in favor of cutting her out entirely. Mr-Mama was the one who wanted to have "her own day" scheduled with Babycakes because she was jealous that J-Mama would see him every Wednesday. But let me point out that MY mother manages to watch the baby every single Wednesday at 4 pm after she's been up since 4 am and has worked 10 or 12 hours, while Mr-Mama schedules her non-emergent doctor appointments for 3:30 pm on Tuesday afternoons.
Mr-Mama is just lazy as sin. She doesn't like having to manage her schedule around anyone else and she doesn't like being responsible. Frankly, the less time she has to influence my kid, the better.
So on Thursday night I asked Mr. J about that child care situation. He said, "I talked to Mom and she's around all weekend, you just need to call her when you want help." OK, that isn't exactly what I had in mind either. I was hoping to have a couple of hours blocked off in advance that I could use to (a) take a bike ride, (b) get a pedicure for the first time in two months, (c) run a couple of errands, or (d) all of the above. But I figured I could call Mr-Mama on Saturday morning and try to set something up. Guess who never called me back.
My OWN mama came over on Sunday afternoon so I could take a little less than 2 hours to accomplish (b) and (c). She also spent Saturday morning at my sister's house playing with my nephews while Sis ran some errands - and Babycakes and I went over to visit. How is it that J-Mama, who has a full-time job, manages to babysit for both her daughters on the weekend, while Mr-Mama who does nothing all week can't squeeze it in?
And while we are on the subject - I reminded Mr. J last night that our friend has rescheduled her psychic party for Tuesday, Tuesday being Mr-Mama's designated Babycakes Day. Knowing that Mr. J has a lesson scheduled at 5:30, I said, "can you please make sure that Mr Mama is OK to keep him into the evening hours?" He actually huffed at me and said, "That means I won't get any work done on Tuesday, because she won't let me bring him over before 5 if I want her to keep him through the evening." Well, excuse me. I thought I might be entitled to a couple of hours of free time this fortnight.
If his mother sucks as a babysitter, why is it my problem? I would be all in favor of cutting her out entirely. Mr-Mama was the one who wanted to have "her own day" scheduled with Babycakes because she was jealous that J-Mama would see him every Wednesday. But let me point out that MY mother manages to watch the baby every single Wednesday at 4 pm after she's been up since 4 am and has worked 10 or 12 hours, while Mr-Mama schedules her non-emergent doctor appointments for 3:30 pm on Tuesday afternoons.
Mr-Mama is just lazy as sin. She doesn't like having to manage her schedule around anyone else and she doesn't like being responsible. Frankly, the less time she has to influence my kid, the better.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Twinkle: Well, Now I Have To Have A Fourth Kid
And I'm not sure my uterus can take it.
But I have to do it to spite Fun Sink.
Picture it: a joyful rehearsal dinner at a family wedding weekend (my brother-in-law's lovely and joyful family). Everyone's smiling and toasting the happy couple. No one's wine glass ever goes empty. The appetizers and laughter are flowing. And the matriarch of the groom's family comes over to pat my belly and tell me about how great it is to have daughters. (She's a mother of four girls).
She tells us about the birth of the fourth, how she was sedated in a 1950s maternity ward haze, a la Betty Draper, and she saw the umbilical cord and thought it was a boy. Mr. Twinkle and I were relating the tale to Fun Sink, who asked what we were laughing about, and then I said, "Don't worry, Mr. Twinkle--I'm sure our fourth will be a boy."
I was joking, clearly, but if the day ever comes when Mr. Twinkle and I want a fourth child, we won't be taking a public opinion poll first. Well, Fun Sink starts in on how SHE doesn't personally care what we do but WE'RE going to have to be the ones to EDUCATE them all and PAY for their weddings. She says if we have a fourth, she'll take three out of four at once but she's not taking all four. Well guess who does take all four? Sitters Service. Same price as one, so if she doesn't want my children she doesn't have to see them. I'll gladly pay the $40 fee to avoid putting any undue burden on her, and to keep her dour personality from poisoning my sweet girls.
I see what she said as a threat, and I am ready to meet that threat with a fourth pregnancy. In yo' face, b!tch. Want to keep playing? Or do you think you want to shut yo' mouth before we decide to make it a fifth?
Also, we were discussing our new purchase: a Honda Pilot, which is basically a school bus that seats 8. (Need a DD? Climb into my third row). She was talking about maybe getting a new car, and what she should get. I told her to get a fun little convertible, and she's all, "How am I going to drive your kids around?" First of all, no one asked you to, bitch. I said, "Well, my idea is that when you take my children, you can just take my car, too, and I'll take your convertible." The table erupts in laughter at my cleverness, all but Fun Sink, who says, "Well, that's manipulative." How is it manipulative, I ask you? It seems to me that everyone wins--she doesn't have to drive a school bus most of the time (don't get me wrong--I love my new school bus), and she gets a fun car out of the deal, so how exactly is that manipulative? I said as much, but she is a joyless Fun Sink so all she could see out of the deal, somehow, was manipulation.
End of the night, one of the four daughters of the matriarch comes up to say how cute my children are and how I should send them to spend a weekend with her, because she's an empty nester. Then she starts talking about how her kids are in college now and she can have fun, and she's all about having fun. Fun, fun, fun. I like this girl. Fun sink comes up and says, "Yeah, you can have fun for about 10 years until you have grandkids and then you can start taking care of them." Really, Fun Sink, because it seems like you're always asking me when you can take my kids, and you never seem to feel like you're getting enough time with them. But, if it's all such a burden to you, like I said before, there's always Sitters Service.
Also, Fun Sink has a tacky looking French manicure right now. I'm just reporting the facts; I swear I don't mean it b!tchy.
But I have to do it to spite Fun Sink.
Picture it: a joyful rehearsal dinner at a family wedding weekend (my brother-in-law's lovely and joyful family). Everyone's smiling and toasting the happy couple. No one's wine glass ever goes empty. The appetizers and laughter are flowing. And the matriarch of the groom's family comes over to pat my belly and tell me about how great it is to have daughters. (She's a mother of four girls).
She tells us about the birth of the fourth, how she was sedated in a 1950s maternity ward haze, a la Betty Draper, and she saw the umbilical cord and thought it was a boy. Mr. Twinkle and I were relating the tale to Fun Sink, who asked what we were laughing about, and then I said, "Don't worry, Mr. Twinkle--I'm sure our fourth will be a boy."
I was joking, clearly, but if the day ever comes when Mr. Twinkle and I want a fourth child, we won't be taking a public opinion poll first. Well, Fun Sink starts in on how SHE doesn't personally care what we do but WE'RE going to have to be the ones to EDUCATE them all and PAY for their weddings. She says if we have a fourth, she'll take three out of four at once but she's not taking all four. Well guess who does take all four? Sitters Service. Same price as one, so if she doesn't want my children she doesn't have to see them. I'll gladly pay the $40 fee to avoid putting any undue burden on her, and to keep her dour personality from poisoning my sweet girls.
I see what she said as a threat, and I am ready to meet that threat with a fourth pregnancy. In yo' face, b!tch. Want to keep playing? Or do you think you want to shut yo' mouth before we decide to make it a fifth?
Also, we were discussing our new purchase: a Honda Pilot, which is basically a school bus that seats 8. (Need a DD? Climb into my third row). She was talking about maybe getting a new car, and what she should get. I told her to get a fun little convertible, and she's all, "How am I going to drive your kids around?" First of all, no one asked you to, bitch. I said, "Well, my idea is that when you take my children, you can just take my car, too, and I'll take your convertible." The table erupts in laughter at my cleverness, all but Fun Sink, who says, "Well, that's manipulative." How is it manipulative, I ask you? It seems to me that everyone wins--she doesn't have to drive a school bus most of the time (don't get me wrong--I love my new school bus), and she gets a fun car out of the deal, so how exactly is that manipulative? I said as much, but she is a joyless Fun Sink so all she could see out of the deal, somehow, was manipulation.
End of the night, one of the four daughters of the matriarch comes up to say how cute my children are and how I should send them to spend a weekend with her, because she's an empty nester. Then she starts talking about how her kids are in college now and she can have fun, and she's all about having fun. Fun, fun, fun. I like this girl. Fun sink comes up and says, "Yeah, you can have fun for about 10 years until you have grandkids and then you can start taking care of them." Really, Fun Sink, because it seems like you're always asking me when you can take my kids, and you never seem to feel like you're getting enough time with them. But, if it's all such a burden to you, like I said before, there's always Sitters Service.
Also, Fun Sink has a tacky looking French manicure right now. I'm just reporting the facts; I swear I don't mean it b!tchy.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Holiday World and Splashin Safari
It's Fathers Day, and Mr. Twinkle and his dad wanted to go to Holiday World with the girls, so I was a good sport and went along with it. At 5 months pregnant, this involves a lot of walking around in the sweltering heat and waiting while others ride the rides. Good thing MIL was there to keep me company--there was no good reason why she couldn't have ridden a few of the more conservative rides, but she didn't want to risk tarnishing her spotless reputation as a fun sink. It was fine. Whatever. Fathers Day.
I just have a few grievances to air, actually, and they're small. MIL spent much of the day with her granny panties all in a wad about the fact that Mr. Twinkle and my FIL were wearing socks and shoes on rides where they might happen to get splashed (this wasn't even in the water park, this was just on the regular rides where a little water might be involved). The dryness of someone else's socks is the sort of thing that I put into the "not my problem" category, and I don't waste time worrying about things that are not my problem. FIL is 66 and Mr. Twinkle is 36, so I sort of expect them to know the preventive measures to take to keep their socks dry, and I guess they'll be OK even if they choose not to take those measures. It's not a topic I care to discuss repeatedly throughout the day, or at all.
Another thing was the damn suntan lotion. I put suntan lotion on my girls, like any halfway decent mom. I don't want anyone to be miserable with a sunburn (least of all myself, when people start to whine about their sunburns). But I don't feel the need to reapply every hour on the hour. I like my girls to be a little bit brown in the summer. If they were pale and prone to burns, I might slather them up more, but they get all golden and tropical and look adorable. A little brown looks healthy. It looks like they've been swimming and playing in the sunshine, which they have--and that's what kids should be doing in the summer. If I applied sunscreen to my girls as much as MIL wanted me to, they'd be as white and pasty as, well, my MIL. And my sister-in-law. And, I'm sure, her kid. And, for the record, neither of my children has ever had a sunburn, so that tells me that my sunscreen application process is working just fine for everyone involved, and others need not worry about it. Put it in the "not my problem" category, and move on.
One last thing: a difference between my MIL and me. Mr. Twinkle was always asking for and misplacing a map of the park. She b*tched at him about it ("I keep giving it to you--what do you want from me?"); I just handed it to him nicely, at exactly the same time. Two totally different reactions to a simple request.
Thank goodness for me or his life would be joyless, his children would be pasty, and the only thing he'd have to be happy about would be dry socks. Happy Fathers Day to him, indeed.
I just have a few grievances to air, actually, and they're small. MIL spent much of the day with her granny panties all in a wad about the fact that Mr. Twinkle and my FIL were wearing socks and shoes on rides where they might happen to get splashed (this wasn't even in the water park, this was just on the regular rides where a little water might be involved). The dryness of someone else's socks is the sort of thing that I put into the "not my problem" category, and I don't waste time worrying about things that are not my problem. FIL is 66 and Mr. Twinkle is 36, so I sort of expect them to know the preventive measures to take to keep their socks dry, and I guess they'll be OK even if they choose not to take those measures. It's not a topic I care to discuss repeatedly throughout the day, or at all.
Another thing was the damn suntan lotion. I put suntan lotion on my girls, like any halfway decent mom. I don't want anyone to be miserable with a sunburn (least of all myself, when people start to whine about their sunburns). But I don't feel the need to reapply every hour on the hour. I like my girls to be a little bit brown in the summer. If they were pale and prone to burns, I might slather them up more, but they get all golden and tropical and look adorable. A little brown looks healthy. It looks like they've been swimming and playing in the sunshine, which they have--and that's what kids should be doing in the summer. If I applied sunscreen to my girls as much as MIL wanted me to, they'd be as white and pasty as, well, my MIL. And my sister-in-law. And, I'm sure, her kid. And, for the record, neither of my children has ever had a sunburn, so that tells me that my sunscreen application process is working just fine for everyone involved, and others need not worry about it. Put it in the "not my problem" category, and move on.
One last thing: a difference between my MIL and me. Mr. Twinkle was always asking for and misplacing a map of the park. She b*tched at him about it ("I keep giving it to you--what do you want from me?"); I just handed it to him nicely, at exactly the same time. Two totally different reactions to a simple request.
Thank goodness for me or his life would be joyless, his children would be pasty, and the only thing he'd have to be happy about would be dry socks. Happy Fathers Day to him, indeed.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Twinklette: A Delayed Dinner and Tempting the Sleep Gods
Contrary to my in-laws' belief, I actually do cook more for my children than mac and cheese. I know I'm not as good a mom as my SIL, whose kid goes to a parade and joylessly snacks on mixed veggies instead of cotton candy, but I do the best I can. Lean protein and fruit--that's the focus, because they won't touch a vegetable. They don't eat fast food, which is more than most moms can say, and I never--I mean never--fix them mac and cheese. But they do get sweets on certain special occasions, so see my above statement about being the lesser mom.
So today my in-laws took A swimming. They picked her up from ballet camp and so I called them at some point to see when they'd be bringing her home. We agreed that they could drop her off at 5:30, right before they had to be at a religious service. I talked to both of them about this. Not once did either of them mention that they wanted us at the service, nor did they say, "Do you all want to come?" or "We'd like you to be there."
So I went on with my day, making a delicious dinner of salmon burgers, sweet potato fries, salad, and mixed fruit ( a surprisingly healthy meal for someone whose kids have only ever been exposed to mac and cheese). They brought her home at the allotted time, when all this was hot off the grill and delicious. Oh, and by the way--they're going to this memorial for MIl's dad and would you all like to go, and then go to dinner? Of course Mr. Twinkle wants to go! So I had to preserve dinner for an extra hour and take the kids to the service hungry. I think that's disrespectful. I worked hard on that dinner. If you want me to come to a service, just say so. Don't mention it in passing and then let me get on with my day, springing it on me 10 minutes before the thing starts and after I've worked hard on a meal.
MIL is really on my sh*t list now, however, because, after being warned repeatedly not to ever, ever, under any circumstances, refer to the fact that my children are "going to sleep well tonight!" she said, "I don't want to say it, but I think you all are going to have a very good night tonight." She put it out there; she tempted fate, and now who is not having a good night at all, standing outside A's door at 1:25 a.m. while she falls back asleep after waking up crying at 1? Where are you now with your damn sleep wisdom, MiL? Asleep in your own bed, after you've brought down the wrath of the sleep gods on my house? I don't care if you watched my kid run a fucking triathalon that day, you do not presume to say she will sleep well. Because she will not. Just Leave. It. Alone. Think it if you want, say it to someone else so I'll never know, but do not say it to me, you stupid bitch. How many times has she been warned? So many.
I was going to sneak back into my bed now, but now the other one's awake.
So today my in-laws took A swimming. They picked her up from ballet camp and so I called them at some point to see when they'd be bringing her home. We agreed that they could drop her off at 5:30, right before they had to be at a religious service. I talked to both of them about this. Not once did either of them mention that they wanted us at the service, nor did they say, "Do you all want to come?" or "We'd like you to be there."
So I went on with my day, making a delicious dinner of salmon burgers, sweet potato fries, salad, and mixed fruit ( a surprisingly healthy meal for someone whose kids have only ever been exposed to mac and cheese). They brought her home at the allotted time, when all this was hot off the grill and delicious. Oh, and by the way--they're going to this memorial for MIl's dad and would you all like to go, and then go to dinner? Of course Mr. Twinkle wants to go! So I had to preserve dinner for an extra hour and take the kids to the service hungry. I think that's disrespectful. I worked hard on that dinner. If you want me to come to a service, just say so. Don't mention it in passing and then let me get on with my day, springing it on me 10 minutes before the thing starts and after I've worked hard on a meal.
MIL is really on my sh*t list now, however, because, after being warned repeatedly not to ever, ever, under any circumstances, refer to the fact that my children are "going to sleep well tonight!" she said, "I don't want to say it, but I think you all are going to have a very good night tonight." She put it out there; she tempted fate, and now who is not having a good night at all, standing outside A's door at 1:25 a.m. while she falls back asleep after waking up crying at 1? Where are you now with your damn sleep wisdom, MiL? Asleep in your own bed, after you've brought down the wrath of the sleep gods on my house? I don't care if you watched my kid run a fucking triathalon that day, you do not presume to say she will sleep well. Because she will not. Just Leave. It. Alone. Think it if you want, say it to someone else so I'll never know, but do not say it to me, you stupid bitch. How many times has she been warned? So many.
I was going to sneak back into my bed now, but now the other one's awake.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Julep: Marriage as negotiation
So y'all know that Mr. J typically spends a good portion of his summer in other parts of the country, sailing. This is both for fun and as what we attorneys call "business development" - meaning, nobody is paying him to do this, but he makes connections and builds relationships with people who are either his customers or his suppliers. Mr. J has said for the past few years that he was trying to squeeze in as much big-water sailing as he could because he knew he'd have to cut back once children came along. Well and good.
This summer, of course, is our first as parents. Mr. J took his first sailing trip of the summer last weekend. We put all of his anticipated trips on the calendar several months back, and now I'm looking down the barrel of the next two months. Starting with last weekend, it looks like this: wk 1 - gone, wk 2 - home, wk 3 - home, wk 4- gone, wk 5 - together (but we are all three going on vacation with Mr. J's parents and sister, and based on past experience it won't be all that relaxing), wk 6 - home, wk 7 - gone (he's in town, but busy all weekend and won't be at the house much if at all), wk 8 - gone, wk 9 - home, wk 10 - gone. If you're counting, that means I am on my own for five out of ten consecutive weeks.
When we talked about his summer schedule, I didn't commit to the entire summer: I said we'd have to take it one trip at a time. I reminded Mr. J as much last night - not that he needed to start cancelling things, but I wanted him to know that I am exhausted this week after heading back to the office after four days on my own with Babycakes and the still-not-independently-walking Brown Dog. He said, "Well, on the weekends I'm gone, we'll have to line up a sitter for a few hours so you can go get a pedicure or something." I said, "A few hours of baby-sitting is really not the same as having two parents around for the weekend." He got pissy. I don't know what I was hoping for.
When issues come up in our marriage, I try to think about how to get both of us what we need, and develop a reasonable compromise. But that just ends up with me getting screwed, because Mr. J takes that compromise position as his starting point to demand concessions. I'm President Obama and he's the House GOP.
If I negotiated at home like I do at the office, I would take a hard line from the beginning: hell no, you can't take any trips at all, now that we are parents you need to be at home all the time. Then he can beg and plead for one or two trips a year, and I will make him pay every time in blood, sweat, and tears. But I don't want to be that person in my home life. Ergo, I get the short end of the stick and bags under my eyes that could pack for a transatlantic cruise.
This summer, of course, is our first as parents. Mr. J took his first sailing trip of the summer last weekend. We put all of his anticipated trips on the calendar several months back, and now I'm looking down the barrel of the next two months. Starting with last weekend, it looks like this: wk 1 - gone, wk 2 - home, wk 3 - home, wk 4- gone, wk 5 - together (but we are all three going on vacation with Mr. J's parents and sister, and based on past experience it won't be all that relaxing), wk 6 - home, wk 7 - gone (he's in town, but busy all weekend and won't be at the house much if at all), wk 8 - gone, wk 9 - home, wk 10 - gone. If you're counting, that means I am on my own for five out of ten consecutive weeks.
When we talked about his summer schedule, I didn't commit to the entire summer: I said we'd have to take it one trip at a time. I reminded Mr. J as much last night - not that he needed to start cancelling things, but I wanted him to know that I am exhausted this week after heading back to the office after four days on my own with Babycakes and the still-not-independently-walking Brown Dog. He said, "Well, on the weekends I'm gone, we'll have to line up a sitter for a few hours so you can go get a pedicure or something." I said, "A few hours of baby-sitting is really not the same as having two parents around for the weekend." He got pissy. I don't know what I was hoping for.
When issues come up in our marriage, I try to think about how to get both of us what we need, and develop a reasonable compromise. But that just ends up with me getting screwed, because Mr. J takes that compromise position as his starting point to demand concessions. I'm President Obama and he's the House GOP.
If I negotiated at home like I do at the office, I would take a hard line from the beginning: hell no, you can't take any trips at all, now that we are parents you need to be at home all the time. Then he can beg and plead for one or two trips a year, and I will make him pay every time in blood, sweat, and tears. But I don't want to be that person in my home life. Ergo, I get the short end of the stick and bags under my eyes that could pack for a transatlantic cruise.
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