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.
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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.
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