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!
Friday, August 31, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, August 24, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, August 17, 2012
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.
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/
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/
Thursday, August 16, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
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?
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?
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
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."
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."
Monday, August 13, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, August 10, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
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.
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.
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