Twinkle: Dammit. Just Dammit.

So Mr. Twinkle's bar exam is next week, and I thought I'd have a surprise for him when he came back home. I wanted to have a tv hung in our bedroom so we could snuggle up and watch movies now that he's actually going to have a little bit of free time again. (I also had a few updating projects for our upstairs bathrooms, although, granted, Mr. Twinkle would probably have been slightly less excited about those aspects of the surprise).

So I texted MIL to find out the number of her handyman, Terry. I should have known better. Right off she texted me back to make sure everything was OK. Like I'm going to send her a text message that included the phrase "when you get a chance" if all hell is breaking loose around the house and the only person who can remedy the situation is Terry the Handyman.

I called Terry and set something up, and then I went about my day. Later it occurred to me that my MIL is a meddling busybody who has to know everybody's business, so I texted her and asked her not to mention anything to Mr. Twinkle.

Too late.

She called him to find out if we're hosting our supper club soon. I don't know about you girls, but every time I throw an elegant gourmet dinner, I consult with Terry the Handyman first. Mr. Twinkle had no idea why she was asking about our supper club, but then it came out that I had requested Terry's number for some around-the-house projects that I was intentionally vague about with her (I don't feel that I have to elaborate to my MIL about my home improvement project ideas via text message in 130 characters or less). Anyway, that nosy bitch totally ruined the surprise.

By the way, she hasn't answered my second text yet (the one asking to keep it secret). And I would respect her so, so, so much more if she'd just say something to the effect of, "I'm so sorry--I already mentioned it to him. I didn't know it was a surprise. My bad." The silence is deafening.

The worst part is I know that I have only myself to blame for expecting her to keep her mouth shut about something for more than a couple of hours. I should have known better. It serves me right for using her handyman/trusting her to keep her big mouth shut in the first place. But ugh. Just ugh. It would have been so exciting to see Mr. Twinkle's face when he saw that tv on the wall.

On the upside, she is going to hate the frivolous wallpaper that is going up in the bathrooms. It is so not the standard-issue beige that she and my SIL prefer. So at least there's that.

He Lied About His Status: Dibbs

Okay, that's not exactly true. He was actually very honest about his status, which was married with three kids. He being my booster at the NCAA Tournament in Austin. I kept wondering how my meals and drinks were paid for until Brandon the Bartender told me. I thanked the booster, who told me of his family and invited me to his hotel room. Decline.

Why does this matter now, you may wonder? Well, my headaches have been driving me crazy. The PT told me my neck muscles were shortened and referred me to a new doctor who could fix that right up. And guess who the doctor is??

I'm totally going back, though. He gave me a shot in each shoulder. I'm feeling no pain. Do you think he remembered me, too?

Julep: Perspective

Saturday was Mr-Papa's birthday. Since he doesn't really want or need a lot of stuff, let alone stuff we can afford to buy him, for the past few years we have gotten in the habit of spending the day with him to celebrate. We've usually gone to a museum for a few hours, then taken him and Mr-Mama out to dinner at some local restaurant we think they'll enjoy. They like to eat out, but tend to stick to the same three or four spots so we try to broaden their horizons. I think Mr-Papa really enjoys it and is touched that his kids want to spend time with him for which he doesn't foot the bill.

[Aside: whose idea was this lovely new family tradition? Mine, of course.]

It really is a nice day, and I am happy to report that BabyCakes was perfectly behaved for his first birthday with Granddad. But I am here to blog about one moment in particular that came up when someone wondered aloud if the local Occupy people had gotten evicted from their park yet. (I must note the irony that we were crossing downtown from the history museum to the restaurant in Mr-Papa's shiny 2011 Escalade at the time.)

When I said the Occupiers are still occupying, Mr-Sis launched a rant about how stupid the Occupy movement is, and what do they think they are proving. I am not a real supporter of the movement, as I think that before moving into a tent city, one who wants to launch a protest should have some idea of what purpose one is seeking to accomplish. But I think that their points about the concentration of wealth and the corporatization of politics are valid contributions to the political discourse. I said something to that effect, and added that being unemployed is not a picnic and with the current employment market being what it is there's a lot of anger out there. Mr-Sister then said that anyone who is "occupying" is a lazy ass who doesn't want a job or they would go find one instead of loitering around the public square unshowered.

Now I am not one to champion the lack of proper hygiene. But really? Really? She works for her father. Can we have the teeniest bit of recognition that perhaps it is a little more difficult to get a job when your daddy doesn't create a position for you at his company the moment you announce that you would like to move back to town? That life is a bit tougher when you graduate college with a communications degree (as she did) and you have thousands of dollars in student loans (as she did not) as opposed to being given a brand-new BMW?

How dare those Occupy people exercise their right to free speech. Why, they could all have jobs tomorrow if they left the park, took a shower, and got re-born into her highly privileged family.

Twinkle: MIL Bull and Dora Drama

What good is it to run around picking up toys and straightening clutter just before my MIL arrives at my house for a pick-up or drop-off? It does nothing but feed the pettiness of our relationship and make me somehow subordinate to her in my own home, and so I refuse to do it. I realized that a lot of her power and influence comes from me actually caring what she thinks, and since she's never going to approve anyway, I'm going to stop caring and just be my normal (some would say fabulous) self.

It is hard, because I'm a natural straightener and I like for our house to be neat for us (not solely for the sake of my MIL). Mr. Twinkle was home alone all day today and the place looked about like you'd expect when I walked in the door, five minutes before my in-laws returned our children. I resisted the urge to pick up--and not just that, but I resisted the urge to apologize for the mess. The last thing I owe her in my own home is an explanation. I just want to be real with that woman--even if she can't or won't be real with me. And our reality happens to be that, between two small children and Mr. T, neatness in our house is a constant battle. And today's mess was all his, so screw you, MIL--you raised him, not I.

She came in, probably thinking unkind thoughts about the disheveled pillows and blankets on the sofa, guns blazing about some Dora balloon from the Shriners' circus. Here's the text of the passive-aggressive attack (a thinly-veiled jab at my no-tv, limited character policy).

MIL: She picked this out.

Me (fine with Dora): Oh, Twinklette--that is so cute! I love it!

MIL: It wasn't me. She wanted it.

Me (really and truly not caring about the Dora thing): Well, thank you--that was sweet of you to buy her a treat.

MIL: She said she's watched Dora before. She said she has the movie.

Me: No, we don't have any Dora movies.

MIL: Well, she said she has the movie.

(MIL then walked away from the conversation so I couldn't get the last word in).

Twinklette: Yes we do, Mommy. (See what I mean about her throwing me under the bus?)

Me: No, sweetie. I don't know what you're thinking of, but we don't have any Dora movies. (We really don't. I am not some hypocrite who secretly parks my children in front of Dora the Explorer and then preaches loudly about the evils of screen time for children).

Twinklette: Yes, Mommy. I watched it last night.

(MIL was still trying to ignore it all so she could continue thinking that I am a closet Dora-pusher, but I was NOT letting this one go).

Me: Oh--did the sitter let you watch Dora? (to MIL:) It was the sitter.

MIL:: Well, she definitely knows who Dora is.

(Yes, she's four, goes to school, and lives in the world. I suppose she does know who Dora is).

Me: Yes, she knows who she is. It's not a big deal. Twinklette, I love what you chose--let me see Dora do a twirl.

I mean, do you see the passive-aggressive bullsh*t I have to put up with? It's so small and petty that even describing it makes me seem small-minded, but everything out of her mouth is a judgment or indictment of me or someone else (no one is immune, actually--I shouldn't take it personally). But I do, and I wish I didn't have to defend myself and my beliefs, or deal with subtle accusations that I do not practice what I preach. I just want to be my real self, and I want her to respect that. She never will, which is why I just can't let it bother me.

* P.S. I love all the blog activity recently! Keep it up, Daddy Rabbit Girls!

Inside the Potluck Bubble: Dibbs

Picture it: Friday morning staff meeting potluck. We had: fruit, donuts, yogurt, some granola bars (yummy!) blueberry muffins, and a sausage-and-cheese-grits breakfast casserole (guess who?) Peeps went through the line. As they passed, they asked, "What's in this? Ritz? Oh."
I'm admittedly a picky eater. Really picky. Here's my solution. Put things on my plate. Try some. Eat it or don't. Compliment all of it. Ask for the recipe later if I mean it. If something looks homemade, definitely get it--it'll be better.
What is wrong with these freaks?

Twinkle: Same Old Song and Dance--MIL's a B*TCH and I Try to Rise Above It

Twinklette is a picky eater and it gets worse at my inlaws' house. She will sit in front of a plate of chicken pot pie (which she likes at home) for an hour and a half, with everyone begging her to eat it and talking loudly about how good it is, and I know she enjoys the drama of it because at our house none of it is never remotely as bad. Whatever. I'm sure my MIL loves watching us try to walk the fine line between disciplining her and not causing a scene at the dinner table. It is awful for me.

Tonight it came up that Twinklette likes mac and cheese (what four-year-old doesn't?) and MIL pointed out that cousin Sophie, my SIL's daughter, likes it but doesn't get to eat it often. Of course Twinklette stated that she does get to eat it a lot. She loves throwing me under the bus, that one. Even though I haven't fixed it for her since I can remember.

And this made me think. Yes, I am pretty much a complete failure with Twinklette's eating habits, although it's not for lack of trying and they always somehow see the worst of it. I am also certain that she is not the only picky child out there. But what advantages does Twinklette have over Sophie? Does Sophie know what toile is? Does her mother ever bake cupcakes with her? Does Sophie go to art museums, antique shops? Is there even a tiny bit of color in Sophie's beige house and beige world? Is anybody bothering to teach Sophie about good taste? Is anybody cultivating in Sophie a sense of what is tacky and what is not?

The answer to all of the above is no, and I really don't want to make it a motherhood competition between my SIL and me--and I certainly don't want it to be a competition between my girls and Sophie. I'm not saying I'm a better mother; I really don't want to compete with anyone or to be compared to any standard but my own. I'm saying I do things my way and my way is valid, and I'm not perfect but I do what I can to enrich my children's lives. Also, Tiny T will eat anything you put in front of her and will lose her mind if you don't feed her broccoli fast enough, so maybe it depends on the child (and not the incompetent mother) after all.

In closing, I would like to say that if Mr. Twinkle and I are ever blessed with a son, I will treat his wife like a human being (and, I hope, like a daughter), and I hope that my girls will embrace her as a sister and not make her feel like an outsider and a failure. She will certainly do things differently--every family is different--but if I do one thing for my girls I hope it's to teach them that other ways are OK too. If Sophie's lineage is any indication, that's one more lesson she'll probably miss.

Julep: Follow up on the bubble

I stumbled on a very long and impassioned critique of the book in which that bubble quiz appeared. Interesting reading. This bit came towards the end, and it really struck me.

Murray laments the collapse of the "sturdy elite code" that (in his telling) prevailed in the America of the first half of the 20th century. Yet when it comes time to describe that code, Murray emphasizes gender relations to the exclusion of almost everything else:

'To be a man means that you are brave, loyal, and true. When you are in the wrong, you own up and take your punishment. You don't take advantage of women. As a husband, you support and protect your wife and children. You are gracious in victory and a good sport in defeat. Your word is your bond. Your handshake is as good as your word. It's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game. When the ship goes down, you put the women and children into the lifeboats and wave good-bye with a smile.'

....

What has declined is our spirit of civic responsibility, our acceptance that privilege carries obligations, our willingness to shoulder the economic costs of social leadership.

Let me propose an alternative list of cliches that truly would command less assent today from upper-class Americans than they would have done in 1962:

To be an employer means that you pay a fair day's wage for a fair day's work. If your firm goes broke, you go broke too. You don't take advantage of clients or customers. As a voter and citizen, you try to think about what is best for everyone, not just you. You eschew ostentation when times are good, and you pay your fair share of the cost when times are bad. Your good name matters more than money. Your contributions to your community define your good name. Whenever you are inclined to criticize anyone, just remember that not everybody was born with the advantages you had.

Here is where it seems to me that Charles Murray is most deeply wrong.

Julep: update

In light of yesterday's impassioned post, I thought I should submit an update. Mr. J and I had a productive conversation last night - and a very nice evening together with BabyCakes. We are going to get these kinks worked out.

I was under the impression that the Julep family was moving to an inverted traditional model, in which I would be the breadwinner and Mr. J would be the child-caretaker. Although I knew Mr. J would still work a bit, I saw it as keeping his hand in occasionally and doing what he could after hours, during naps, etc. In other words, a gender-reversed version of the Twinkle family. But I have come to recognize that Mr. J is not content with that model. Even though the income his business generates is a minor part of our household funds, he needs to feel like he is still a "businessman." LoLa referred to this as Mr. J's "feminine mystique moment." God bless him.

So Mr. J was trying to implement the model of a family in which both parents are working more or less full-time. That either means (1) both parents work during approximately the same hours and hire childcare for those hours, a la the LoLa family, or (2) one parent works first shift while the other is on child care duty and then they switch to cover second shift. The second model is one that many people are forced to live with, but that life sucks and I'm certainly not opting for it voluntarily.

in a nutshell, I realized that I was going to be paying for Mr. J's childcare needs one way or the other, either with my time or my money. I care a lot more about my time than I do my money. While financially it makes little sense for us to hire childcare in order that Mr. J can work, when the work he is doing is not going to net much more than the cost of said care, I'm OK with it.

Julep: blowing a gasket

I've been back at work for ten days. Mr. J has realized he cannot get much done while I'm gone, what with entertaining an infant. I know, this is not news to any thinking woman. I did try to tell him lots of times that he needed to set up childcare before I went back, but he wanted to play it by ear.

Now, it appears that his solution is for me to work 10 hour days at the office, then come home and immediately take over sole responsibility for our child - meaning I play with him for 2.5 hours (if I'm lucky this includes scarfing down a few bites of dinner), then spend an hour on bath/bottle/bed, then have about 20minutes to stagger around setting out clothes and lunch for tomorrow before I fall into bed. On weekends, my shift starts at 8 am and ends at bedtime since, you know, Mr. J "has him all week."

Mr. J also thinks I should quit all my community involvement and volunteer obligations, because if I don't come home immediately after work he "doesn't have any time to work" and I'm "basically putting volunteer work over his paid work." He assures me that nobody else with small children does volunteer work with evening meetings, or participates in evening book clubs, or what-have-you.

Not to mention that he is making me feel like the worst mom in the world because I don't want to spend Every. Waking. Minute. with my child when I am not at the office. I'm not saying that I don't want to see BabyCakes at all! But once a month I want to meet you girls for cocktails, and once a month there's the library board meeting, and for a run of five weeks Charities Committee meets once a week, and hey, every once in a while I may participate in some other after-school activity. Does that make me an unfit parent?

I said, how about we keep the 6-10 pm window as family time, in which we both take turns on childcare (one more than the other when someone has had a particularly hard day and needs to decompress), we both participate in bedtime, and when BabyCakes falls asleep, we can actually have a short bit of time together to watch a TV show or, you know, some other adult activity. Some evenings one of us may have something to do in that time block, and sometimes the other will, but by and large we will all three be together, and he and I can share the evening responsibilities. Same goes for the weekends. Is that really too much to ask?

He got very snippy about how much THAT would cost, to hire occasional help so he can do more work during the day and not in the evening. I had the gall to suggest that if we hire childcare, some portion of the cost should come from his business account - you know, rather than being exclusively funded by my paycheck. He says he "can't afford that." Sure,it's a much better option to make me provide all the childcare he needs to get his work done. Better for him, anyway. What cost my sanity?

Julep: For the love

I'm blogging via PDA from my caucus meeting. Sweet Jeebus.

This was supposed to start at 1:30 pm. After an explicit plea for everyone to arrive early so we can start on time, the last participant rolled in at 1:55. At 2:10, we had not even voted on the first position. It's 2:20 and we are still voting for the first job to be filled.

WHY must everything involved with this club be so colossally inefficient? I swear, I can't deal.