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.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
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.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, July 20, 2012
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.
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.
Twinkle: Fun Sink's Got Us Covered
So the pickup went well, according to Fun Sink. Of course.
Anyway, I'm glad they're having fun. Bella's mom texted me to let me know that she forgot to send along Bella's floaties. Because Bella's mom, if a bit socially awkward, is a normal mom and forgets things sometimes, like we all do. Anyway, the message said that Bella's not that experienced at swimming, so sticking to the baby pool might be best. I passed the message along to Fun Sink, as it seems like a bad idea to let Fun Sink have access to Bella's mom's contact info.
Not to worry--Fun Sink brought along 2 life jackets.
Of course she f*cking did. She's got all of us--the unfit mothers out here in the world--totally covered.
Anyway, I'm glad they're having fun. Bella's mom texted me to let me know that she forgot to send along Bella's floaties. Because Bella's mom, if a bit socially awkward, is a normal mom and forgets things sometimes, like we all do. Anyway, the message said that Bella's not that experienced at swimming, so sticking to the baby pool might be best. I passed the message along to Fun Sink, as it seems like a bad idea to let Fun Sink have access to Bella's mom's contact info.
Not to worry--Fun Sink brought along 2 life jackets.
Of course she f*cking did. She's got all of us--the unfit mothers out here in the world--totally covered.
Twinkle: Fun Sink Declines Aid
The swimming play date is all set up, with only one potential hitch: will Bella actually get in the car and leave school camp with someone she doesn't know? (Bella's mom said that this was a problem another time, and Bella didn't end up going at all because she wouldn't leave with the other person). I prepared Fun Sink for this. I offered to meet Fun Sink at pickup time to make Bella more comfortable--after all, I see Bella a lot at school and even Bella's mom, who thinks I'm weird because of Fun Sink, admitted that Bella thinks I'm "really nice." So Bella probably trusts me a little more than she would Fun Sink, whom she has met only once, at the lunch before Mary Poppins, when both girls were too busy giggling into their Bristol mac-and-cheese to notice any of the adults present.
Of course, Fun Sink declined my offer to meet her at the school to facilitate the pickup. Even Mr. Twinkle was incredulous about that. So now I'm torn--I almost don't want Bella to go with her because I'm tired of Fun Sink's obsession with Bella, and it would be nice if Bella put her in her place. (Of course, I do want Bella to go because I want Twinklette to have a wonderful time swimming with her friend). I'm sure it'll be just my luck that Bella will go with her, and Fun Sink can once again reassure herself that I'm not a necessary part of any situation.
This is what it has come to. Competing over the whims of a four-year-old. And may I say that the competition is because of Fun Sink. I only offered to show up because I wanted to help, and I live a half a mile away from the school, and the time is convenient for me, and I don't mind because I'm a nice person and I want my child to have a fun day with her friend. But the denial of the offer just tells me that Fun Sink thinks I'm not important, and she can coax Bella into a strange car without me. Well have at it, ya crazy b*tch, and good luck. I can't wait to hear how it goes. And, rest assured, Twinklette will tell me all about it.
Of course, Fun Sink declined my offer to meet her at the school to facilitate the pickup. Even Mr. Twinkle was incredulous about that. So now I'm torn--I almost don't want Bella to go with her because I'm tired of Fun Sink's obsession with Bella, and it would be nice if Bella put her in her place. (Of course, I do want Bella to go because I want Twinklette to have a wonderful time swimming with her friend). I'm sure it'll be just my luck that Bella will go with her, and Fun Sink can once again reassure herself that I'm not a necessary part of any situation.
This is what it has come to. Competing over the whims of a four-year-old. And may I say that the competition is because of Fun Sink. I only offered to show up because I wanted to help, and I live a half a mile away from the school, and the time is convenient for me, and I don't mind because I'm a nice person and I want my child to have a fun day with her friend. But the denial of the offer just tells me that Fun Sink thinks I'm not important, and she can coax Bella into a strange car without me. Well have at it, ya crazy b*tch, and good luck. I can't wait to hear how it goes. And, rest assured, Twinklette will tell me all about it.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Twinkle: Someone Please Tell Fun Sink That Bella Is Half Muslim
Fun Sink has had the grand idea to invite Bella to the pool on Friday, which is all well and good, except that it means that I have to talk to Bella's mom about it, and Bella's mom thinks I'm weird. Because of Fun Sink. So it falls to me to coordinate the whole thing--"Hey, Bella's Mom--my mother-in-law and father-in-law would like to cordially invite Bella to the pool on Friday afternoon..." Who knows how Bella's mom feels about Bella going to the pool with a couple of strangers? I'm not sure I'd be cool with it. But I'm in the middle. It's Fun Sink's big idea and I have to arrange it--it's either that or unleash Fun Sink and her weirdness on Bella's mom, which will just make me look even worse than I already do to the mother of someone who's very important to Twinklette.
What bothers me about the whole thing is that Fun Sink is trying to force a friendship that doesn't need to be forced. Twinklette and Bella just click on some fundamental four-year-old level, and they don't need anyone pushing their friendship. I feel like Fun Sink has it in her mind that Bella is this wholesome example of Jewish girlhood, and it's just not the case. I'm a big fan of Bella's; I have absolutely nothing against her, even though I don't love dealing with her mom. Still, if she's a friend of Twinklette's, she's a friend of mine. I also like Twinklette's other school friends: the adorably named Alice, Mary Jane, Sadie, Evie...to mention a few. Why can't Fun Sink meddle with any of them? It's because she thinks Bella is the Jewish friend, and I guess Bella is. Halfway, at least.
If anyone wants to mention the other half of Bella's ethnic origin to Fun Sink, you would be doing me a huge favor.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Julep: follow-up
... to yesterday's post. Mr. J called at 4 pm to say that Mr-Mama wanted us to come for dinner - she had decided that she could still host everyone but would order takeout. I've had an incredibly long weekend, am facing an even longer week, and the last thing I want to do on Monday night is go straight from work to my in-laws' house. But whatever. Mr. J said that Sis's friends really wanted to meet the Bear, and far be it from me to deny his public.
So we got over there a little after 6. Mr-Sis and friends arrived just before we did, and everyone is chatting and drinking cocktails. I figured Mr-Mama had already ordered dinner. Nope. At 7:15, she decides to pull out the menu to pass around. Lady, my child is 8 months old. Do you understand the concept of bedtime? If you don't order dinner until 7:30, you've got to expect full meltdown mode for the Bear by the time the food arrives. We cannot waste away the evening entertaining you and just assume that he can hold out.
She is congenitally self-indulgent, incapable of thinking about anyone's needs that might conflict with her own wants.
So we got over there a little after 6. Mr-Sis and friends arrived just before we did, and everyone is chatting and drinking cocktails. I figured Mr-Mama had already ordered dinner. Nope. At 7:15, she decides to pull out the menu to pass around. Lady, my child is 8 months old. Do you understand the concept of bedtime? If you don't order dinner until 7:30, you've got to expect full meltdown mode for the Bear by the time the food arrives. We cannot waste away the evening entertaining you and just assume that he can hold out.
She is congenitally self-indulgent, incapable of thinking about anyone's needs that might conflict with her own wants.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Julep: kids and friends
Here's a quick hit from Mr-Mama Land. She called late last week with an invitation for a cookout on Sunday. I said, "Gee, thanks for the offer but Mr. J will be working at the Music Festival all weekend." She said, "You and Bear could come without him," at which point I was hard-pressed to say "well, we could but I really would rather stay home and eat leftovers in the quiet of my study." I said, "Sure, we can do that."
Mr-Mama explained that the reason for the cookout was because Mr-Sis's friends were in town from Chicago for the Music Festival. I assumed that Mr-Sis and friends planning to spend most of the weekend at the Festival, weren't all that interested in Sunday night's headliners, and thought it might be nice to have a casual dinner somewhere so they could sober up before turning in early and heading home to Chicago first thing Monday.
Mr-Mama called back on Saturday morning to say the cookout was off (to my secret relief). Evidently Mr-Mama had planned to have dinner at 4 pm but that wasn't early enough as Mr-Sis and friends were planning to go to the Festival on Sunday and the music started at 3:30. The friends are sticking around today and they are going with Mr-Sis on the Bourbon Trail. Mr-Mama said she really couldn't manage dinner on Monday night because she has a big golf day on Monday. But here's the weird part: she was all grumpy about it.
Leaving aside the idea that one cannot cook dinner (mostly grilling) on Monday evening because one is playing golf that day - here's what I realized from all of this. The cookout idea was generated entirely by Mr-Mama, not by Mr-Sis or her friends. Mr-Sis was trying to be polite and come up with some way to squeeze it into the weekend schedule, but it really didn't fit; Mr-Mama got cut from the agenda and she got pissy. To which I can only say: Lady, get your own friends.
These Chicago friends have spent time with the Mr-Parents in the past, but they aren't that close. I'm sure we all have a friend or two who would be sorry to miss out on seeing our parents if they came through town -- Mr-Sis has a college roommate who was teasingly referred to as their other daughter; I am very fond of my own BF's parents, they're on my Christmas card list but you know, when I go to Charlotte to visit her, I rarely see her parents. I doubt they have their feelings hurt over it. More importantly, I'm sure they would never dream of demanding that I come by for a meal while I'm in town. It's hard enough to plan a trip to see my friend, let alone wedge her parents into it.
I hope that my kids make friends whom I enjoy. But I hope that when I am pushing 60 I am still looking to you girls for fun evenings, not expecting my kids' friends to provide my social life.
Mr-Mama explained that the reason for the cookout was because Mr-Sis's friends were in town from Chicago for the Music Festival. I assumed that Mr-Sis and friends planning to spend most of the weekend at the Festival, weren't all that interested in Sunday night's headliners, and thought it might be nice to have a casual dinner somewhere so they could sober up before turning in early and heading home to Chicago first thing Monday.
Mr-Mama called back on Saturday morning to say the cookout was off (to my secret relief). Evidently Mr-Mama had planned to have dinner at 4 pm but that wasn't early enough as Mr-Sis and friends were planning to go to the Festival on Sunday and the music started at 3:30. The friends are sticking around today and they are going with Mr-Sis on the Bourbon Trail. Mr-Mama said she really couldn't manage dinner on Monday night because she has a big golf day on Monday. But here's the weird part: she was all grumpy about it.
Leaving aside the idea that one cannot cook dinner (mostly grilling) on Monday evening because one is playing golf that day - here's what I realized from all of this. The cookout idea was generated entirely by Mr-Mama, not by Mr-Sis or her friends. Mr-Sis was trying to be polite and come up with some way to squeeze it into the weekend schedule, but it really didn't fit; Mr-Mama got cut from the agenda and she got pissy. To which I can only say: Lady, get your own friends.
These Chicago friends have spent time with the Mr-Parents in the past, but they aren't that close. I'm sure we all have a friend or two who would be sorry to miss out on seeing our parents if they came through town -- Mr-Sis has a college roommate who was teasingly referred to as their other daughter; I am very fond of my own BF's parents, they're on my Christmas card list but you know, when I go to Charlotte to visit her, I rarely see her parents. I doubt they have their feelings hurt over it. More importantly, I'm sure they would never dream of demanding that I come by for a meal while I'm in town. It's hard enough to plan a trip to see my friend, let alone wedge her parents into it.
I hope that my kids make friends whom I enjoy. But I hope that when I am pushing 60 I am still looking to you girls for fun evenings, not expecting my kids' friends to provide my social life.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Twinkle: Hey, Fun Sink--Do I Look Like Someone Who Does Not Appreciate Hardwood Floors?
Just one minor complaint about Fun Sink. It's not even a big one, but I think it illustrates her complete lack of faith in my general competence.
My girls went swimming with Fun Sink and my FIL today, and when I picked them up Fun Sink handed me a huge plastic bag of wadded up wet towels and bathing suits that obviously needed attention in the near future. There was no denying that the towels were wet, but she still felt the need to state the obvious and remind me that the situation probably couldn't wait until morning--the suits and towels might get moldy if I waited too long to attend to them.
Now I will be the first to admit that I hate doing laundry, but do I look like the type of person who would leave a large plastic bag full of wet towels on my hardwood floor to rot overnight? Is there evidence of mold, mildew, or general neglect on any of the suits or towels I've sent with my girls in the past? Do I give the impression that I was raised by wolves?
Sorry, Fun Sink--the only person I know who would leave a bag of wet towels on the floor was raised by you.
My girls went swimming with Fun Sink and my FIL today, and when I picked them up Fun Sink handed me a huge plastic bag of wadded up wet towels and bathing suits that obviously needed attention in the near future. There was no denying that the towels were wet, but she still felt the need to state the obvious and remind me that the situation probably couldn't wait until morning--the suits and towels might get moldy if I waited too long to attend to them.
Now I will be the first to admit that I hate doing laundry, but do I look like the type of person who would leave a large plastic bag full of wet towels on my hardwood floor to rot overnight? Is there evidence of mold, mildew, or general neglect on any of the suits or towels I've sent with my girls in the past? Do I give the impression that I was raised by wolves?
Sorry, Fun Sink--the only person I know who would leave a bag of wet towels on the floor was raised by you.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Twinkle: Leave FIL and His New TV Alone!
There was little mention of the bastard baby tonight at dinner, probably because a sweet aunt and cousin were in attendance. There was some light joking about the announcement (which Mr. Twinkle instigated, trying to stir the pot), but little in the way of judgment. The judgment was there on Fun Sink's face, but even she knew it just wouldn't have been appropriate for her to articulate it.
What was discussed was my father-in-law's new basement flat-screen tv, which he and the cousin in attendance had hung on the wall that very afternoon. Fun Sink was complaining about it all: the tv was too big, the tv was on one of those mounts that makes it pivot (not sure why that's a bad thing), my father-in-law couldn't wait to hang it until the furniture was there, he had the decorator measure it perfectly in the center of the wall last time she was there.
So, let's review. My father-in-law:
1). Purchased a large flat-screen television for the enjoyment of his family and friends.
2). Agreed to a decorator, to make the basement into a very nice hangout space.
3). Cared enough to work with the decorator to make sure the tv was placed appropriately.
4). Is also buying new furniture, which I'm sure Fun Sink selected in a fashionable shade of brown.
5). Was able to hang the tv himself.
Let's examine this through the lens of one Mr. Twinkle, because Mr. Twinkle is a man who knows his limitations, and I try to be nice about those limitations. One of those limitations is general around-the-house handiness. He will admit this. My FIL's handiness has skipped a generation, and because of this my domesticity is not limited to cooking and cleaning. For instance, I built the shelves in the playroom. I've hung every picture in the house. I have a mitre saw and I know how to use it. If I need a toy chest in a child's room, I'd better be prepared to put it together myself--which I am. If I find that I am physically unable to hold the toy chest's top while attaching the special, gently-closing hinges, the toy chest will sit there indefinitely, unused and half-finished and probably hazardous to small children, with toys scattered across the floor. Honey Badger don't care--I know my limitations, too. He'll get around to it one of these days. Maybe in time for grandchildren. Or maybe I should just call a handyman like we do for everything else that I can't do. (In fact, that's the best idea I've had all week. Thanks for the brainstorm, Fun Sink!)
When it was time to mount a flat-screen tv on our wall (which I generously allowed to be hung in the living room), he knew it would be best to hire someone to do it. And it was a good thing he did, because the delivery man dropped the tv, cracked it, and then hit Mr. Twinkle's car on the way to get a new one. It's really hard to mount a tv on a wall--even professionals find it difficult. Even the small tv in our room upstairs was installed by a handyman, and it was three years after we moved into the house that we finally got it accomplished. And if I hadn't taken the initiative, it would still be sitting unused in the basement. Have you all ever heard me complaining about any of this? No, you haven't. And you won't, because we all have our limitations, myself included. (Case in point: unfinished toy chest).
So, y'all understand why I say that it's really, really cool that my father-in-law can hang a tv and wants to hang a tv and made it happen within hours of the tv's delivery. But all Fun Sink can do is complain about it. Just say, "Great job," and let the man enjoy his tv!
Julep: Living Right Next Door to Crazy
How crazy is my neighbor B? Let me count the ways. Some of her greatest hits to date include:
* Calling Animal Control. First it was on our dogs. (They're dogs. They will bark from time to time.) Then it was on the dogs of the new neighbors across the street - they were renters, but perfectly delightful and a huge improvement over the prior tenant, a single mom whose teenage daughter was an after-school special waiting to happen, out on the porch with her boyfriend at all hours. Crazy B ran off those nice folks and the new renter has to leave her dog at her mom's house because the landlord got tired of the complaints.
* Calling the cops. The very high point was the time she called the cops on my Junior League committee meeting because people were parked against the flow of traffic - more importantly, in front of her house. It's the Highlands, woman. Everyone parks against the flow of traffic. I'm not even sure it's illegal here. But there was also the night she called the cops on Mr. J because he was outside in the garage with his friend N drinking beer and working on N's bike. Apparently they were being too loud. You know those rowdy drunk bike mechanics.
* Sending certified letters. We live next door, you would think she could hand-deliver. But no, when she wanted to complain about the dead tree in the back of the lot (that we didn't even realize was on our property, as it's in the utility easement), she sent us certified mail.
Now, in the latest bout of crazy, we have ...
* Getting a lawyer. Yes, that's right, Crazy B has harassed some poor friend of hers who practices employee benefits law to send us a vaguely threatening letter about the construction project we have planned. See, we made the mistake of telling her and the other neighbors that we would be starting this project - because we are good neighbors, wanted to apologize in advance for the inconvenience. And how did Crazy B react? By lawyering up.
Her lawyer didn't have much to say, just fussed a little bit about the utility easement and how we need to get permits. Yes, thanks for that tip, sir. The reason you didn't see any permits on file at the Planning Commission is that we haven't gotten that far yet. We weren't planning to spend $$ on a home addition without having it permitted and inspected.
The fact is, Crazy B has no avenue to complain about a home addition that is not visible from the street and won't change the outside parameters of the building. She just doesn't want to live next door to the dust and noise for three months. And I get that, I do - it is inconvenient for everyone, and she won't even have a wonderful new master suite at the end of it all. Hell, if she weren't such a b!tch we would probably have bought her a fruit basket.
But here's the thing, B. I am a lawyer. Did you forget? I'm not an employee benefits attorney, either. I am a trial lawyer - and as it happens, I am great pals with our firm's land use and zoning expert; I litigate her appeals for her. You've heard the old line about not picking fights with people who buy ink by the barrel - well, the same principle extends here. If you try to get in my way with a bull$h!t legal action, two things will happen. (1) You will lose - because you have no grounds - and (2) you will rack up legal fees that you will not believe. Because I can do this all day, woman. For free. I knew you were crazy - are you stupid, too?
* Calling Animal Control. First it was on our dogs. (They're dogs. They will bark from time to time.) Then it was on the dogs of the new neighbors across the street - they were renters, but perfectly delightful and a huge improvement over the prior tenant, a single mom whose teenage daughter was an after-school special waiting to happen, out on the porch with her boyfriend at all hours. Crazy B ran off those nice folks and the new renter has to leave her dog at her mom's house because the landlord got tired of the complaints.
* Calling the cops. The very high point was the time she called the cops on my Junior League committee meeting because people were parked against the flow of traffic - more importantly, in front of her house. It's the Highlands, woman. Everyone parks against the flow of traffic. I'm not even sure it's illegal here. But there was also the night she called the cops on Mr. J because he was outside in the garage with his friend N drinking beer and working on N's bike. Apparently they were being too loud. You know those rowdy drunk bike mechanics.
* Sending certified letters. We live next door, you would think she could hand-deliver. But no, when she wanted to complain about the dead tree in the back of the lot (that we didn't even realize was on our property, as it's in the utility easement), she sent us certified mail.
Now, in the latest bout of crazy, we have ...
* Getting a lawyer. Yes, that's right, Crazy B has harassed some poor friend of hers who practices employee benefits law to send us a vaguely threatening letter about the construction project we have planned. See, we made the mistake of telling her and the other neighbors that we would be starting this project - because we are good neighbors, wanted to apologize in advance for the inconvenience. And how did Crazy B react? By lawyering up.
Her lawyer didn't have much to say, just fussed a little bit about the utility easement and how we need to get permits. Yes, thanks for that tip, sir. The reason you didn't see any permits on file at the Planning Commission is that we haven't gotten that far yet. We weren't planning to spend $$ on a home addition without having it permitted and inspected.
The fact is, Crazy B has no avenue to complain about a home addition that is not visible from the street and won't change the outside parameters of the building. She just doesn't want to live next door to the dust and noise for three months. And I get that, I do - it is inconvenient for everyone, and she won't even have a wonderful new master suite at the end of it all. Hell, if she weren't such a b!tch we would probably have bought her a fruit basket.
But here's the thing, B. I am a lawyer. Did you forget? I'm not an employee benefits attorney, either. I am a trial lawyer - and as it happens, I am great pals with our firm's land use and zoning expert; I litigate her appeals for her. You've heard the old line about not picking fights with people who buy ink by the barrel - well, the same principle extends here. If you try to get in my way with a bull$h!t legal action, two things will happen. (1) You will lose - because you have no grounds - and (2) you will rack up legal fees that you will not believe. Because I can do this all day, woman. For free. I knew you were crazy - are you stupid, too?
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Twinkle: Christmukkah in July
It's not every day someone stands up at a family dinner and announces there's going to be a new bastard in the family, and it sort of feels like someone tied up a pretty little package all special, just for me.
The babymama is Mr. Twinkle's cousin, an early-thirties divorcee who comes from a long line of anorexic agoraphobics. She the one who always gets judged if she eats one too many mini cocktail hot dogs during the appetizer portion of these family evenings. She's been dating this guy. I don't really know his story. He's probably from the south end or some surrounding county or something. He's the kind of person who would think that announcing he has impregnated a family member with an illegitimate child is glorious news. Clearly he doesn't know his audience. They don't even like it when married people breed.
Well, to me, the news was glorious. Not only does it make my relatively unconventional (and also, somehow, totally conventional) union sparkle all the more brightly, but it's a baby. And a baby is always good news. Especially when both parents want it and are excited. So there's that, and the fact that this kid is a bastard is just icing on the cake for me.
It truly was the greatest announcement ever. Brian, the babydaddy, stood up during dessert and Mr. Twinkle and I thought we were going to witness some kind of south end proposal, but instead Brian said there was going to be a new member of the family. The room sat there in stunned silence, and Mr. Twinkle thought it was a little sad because he could watch the wind going out of Brian's sails. (On a side note, I have had the wind knocked out of my sails many times by this crowd, so Brian is my new favorite person for that reason alone). So...awkward silence. A few people clapped, but the stone-faced silence of the older generation made the halfhearted clapping that much sadder. No one knew what to do. I mean, come on people--at least act happy. Finally it fell to me, veteran prego and someone without any allegiance to the babymama's disapproving mother or grandmother, to jump up, cross the room, hug the babymama, and congratulate her enthusiastically. A few others followed suit, including Fun Sink, as I heard Grandma-In-Law across the room saying, "What's going on? Is she pregnant?" It was the best family dinner ever.
I can't wait to watch this drama unfold and hear what Fun Sink has to say about it. I mean, it's not the way I'd do things, but at this point there's no going back. Why not just be happy for them? They said they are getting married eventually, and the pregnancy was planned, but it just happened immediately when they started "trying." Now, that is something I might say to you all at Jack's after several bourbon cocktails, but it is so not the story I'd tell over Charlotte Russe at Mr. Twinkle's grandma's house. Plus, as I said before, despite my many shortcomings as a mother and a person (in Fun Sink's eyes), at least she can never say my children are bastards, or that I discussed their conception stories over coffee and sweets in front of the entire extended family. So, you're welcome for that, Fun Sink.
The babymama is Mr. Twinkle's cousin, an early-thirties divorcee who comes from a long line of anorexic agoraphobics. She the one who always gets judged if she eats one too many mini cocktail hot dogs during the appetizer portion of these family evenings. She's been dating this guy. I don't really know his story. He's probably from the south end or some surrounding county or something. He's the kind of person who would think that announcing he has impregnated a family member with an illegitimate child is glorious news. Clearly he doesn't know his audience. They don't even like it when married people breed.
Well, to me, the news was glorious. Not only does it make my relatively unconventional (and also, somehow, totally conventional) union sparkle all the more brightly, but it's a baby. And a baby is always good news. Especially when both parents want it and are excited. So there's that, and the fact that this kid is a bastard is just icing on the cake for me.
It truly was the greatest announcement ever. Brian, the babydaddy, stood up during dessert and Mr. Twinkle and I thought we were going to witness some kind of south end proposal, but instead Brian said there was going to be a new member of the family. The room sat there in stunned silence, and Mr. Twinkle thought it was a little sad because he could watch the wind going out of Brian's sails. (On a side note, I have had the wind knocked out of my sails many times by this crowd, so Brian is my new favorite person for that reason alone). So...awkward silence. A few people clapped, but the stone-faced silence of the older generation made the halfhearted clapping that much sadder. No one knew what to do. I mean, come on people--at least act happy. Finally it fell to me, veteran prego and someone without any allegiance to the babymama's disapproving mother or grandmother, to jump up, cross the room, hug the babymama, and congratulate her enthusiastically. A few others followed suit, including Fun Sink, as I heard Grandma-In-Law across the room saying, "What's going on? Is she pregnant?" It was the best family dinner ever.
I can't wait to watch this drama unfold and hear what Fun Sink has to say about it. I mean, it's not the way I'd do things, but at this point there's no going back. Why not just be happy for them? They said they are getting married eventually, and the pregnancy was planned, but it just happened immediately when they started "trying." Now, that is something I might say to you all at Jack's after several bourbon cocktails, but it is so not the story I'd tell over Charlotte Russe at Mr. Twinkle's grandma's house. Plus, as I said before, despite my many shortcomings as a mother and a person (in Fun Sink's eyes), at least she can never say my children are bastards, or that I discussed their conception stories over coffee and sweets in front of the entire extended family. So, you're welcome for that, Fun Sink.
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