We went to a wedding reception on Sunday for the last of our supper club friends to get married. They eloped in September - this was just the celebration for family and friends. It was very nice, although I did note that the groom seemed a little over it. When they cut the cake, the bride gave a little speech welcoming and thanking everyone; he was silent. Now maybe he is just not one for public speaking. But it reminded me of the circumstances of the nupitals. Pardon me if you've heard this before....
They had been dating for some time when her apartment was robbed, about two years ago. Citing security fears, she moved into his place. OK, sure -- probably that would have happened eventually anyway, right? After a year or so of cohabitation, Mr. J and I were wondering if they would get married; a friend who knows her better reported that they had agreed to a deadline by which he was supposed to propose. That deadline came and went, without a proposal. (Always problematic.) Then she got pregnant. (The weirdest thing about it was her email to the supper club friends: she said, "Ladies, I have an announcement. I am joining your ranks. [Groom] and I are expecting....") Then they got engaged. Then they lost the baby (genetic defect, very sad). Then they eloped to Key West. Then, this reception.
While all of this has been unfolding between Bride and Groom, my college roommate down in Atlanta has been struggling with parallel relationship issues. Her boyfriend moved into her place two years ago, after three years of dating. They too had a deadline for getting engaged, and he let it pass. She's not very good at confrontation, and she stewed on it for ten more months. They finally broke up two weeks ago. I hate it for her, but I can't say it would be better had she followed Bride's path.
I hope Bride and Groom will be happy for many years together, but the whole thing seems so forced. Not that I feel sorry for Groom. When you live with a woman over 35 and you know Marriage and Family are part of her life plan, you need to make that happen or break up with her. If you don't step up and she skips her pills? well, I don't condone her dishonesty but I also don't condone stringing someone along, burning through the last years of her fertility because you like company and don't want to drop the hammer.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Merry Christmas From The Family: Dibbs
I made the oranges. The ones from the new cookbook that were so delish when Lally made them? They required: bringing mint and Grand Marnier from my house, getting up on Christmas morning to peel, section, and de-gross 8 oranges, and pretending to the Baptists that no alcohol was in those oranges. You know who ate them? Me. And #1 sneakily last night. I guess that's more oranges for me. I highly recommend them.
As for the Baptists....cooking an entire meal for the family is hard. You'd think they could endeavor to be on time. Nope. You'd think if they were late, they'd understand it's their own fault the pasta got sticky. Nope. You'd think they might understand that a girl could need just a scosch of Mimosa. Hell, nope.
My uncle has a new girlfriend. She chews with her mouth open. My sweet, tiny baby has a new girlfriend. She sits on his lap. Ho. (Ho. Ho.)
The unbreakable headache sent me to bed at 6:00, which, honestly, was a blessing. It's back today, but I'm not playing around. Straight Lortab, homies.
I'll see you ASAP. Anyone want to play on Saturday :)?
As for the Baptists....cooking an entire meal for the family is hard. You'd think they could endeavor to be on time. Nope. You'd think if they were late, they'd understand it's their own fault the pasta got sticky. Nope. You'd think they might understand that a girl could need just a scosch of Mimosa. Hell, nope.
My uncle has a new girlfriend. She chews with her mouth open. My sweet, tiny baby has a new girlfriend. She sits on his lap. Ho. (Ho. Ho.)
The unbreakable headache sent me to bed at 6:00, which, honestly, was a blessing. It's back today, but I'm not playing around. Straight Lortab, homies.
I'll see you ASAP. Anyone want to play on Saturday :)?
Julep: O Come, All Ye Faithful Grandparents
My mother's family has a bit of a holiday tradition, going back decades. On Christmas morning, everyone goes where the kids are. When I was a child, my sisters and I were the only grandchildren. My mom's brothers came down from Cincinnati. My great-aunt flew in from Philadelphia, as she had been doing for four decades ever since her brother and his kids moved away from Philly; before that she used to drive across town in the pre-dawn hours to get to the house before the kids woke up so she could watch them find their presents from Santa. When I was in high school, it came back to bite me, as my mom got her three teenagers out of the house and bundled in the car on Christmas morning to trek up to Cincinnati because my uncle now had kids of his own, and they were the little ones so we all had to go there for Christmas morning.
Christmas morning is a thing in my family. It's one reason my mom was so hurt when my b!tchy sister announced four years ago that she was staying home on Christmas morning and none of us were invited. But I didn't mind, because it meant that when Mr. J and I started our family, we had dibs on the grandparents (and sure enough, once she realized that her kids were getting left out, Sis decided that my mom could come over to her house after our house). For the past couple of years, we've hosted the grands -- my mom makes her special cinnamon rolls. we have coffee, eggs, sausage or bacon, maybe some fruit if we are really ambitious, and everyone chills together for a little bit to watch the kids unwrap their presents. It's low-key but it's really nice.
So I was pretty darn surprised on Christmas Eve night when Mr. Mama told me as we were all leaving Mass that she and Mr. Papa would not be coming over in the morning. "It's just too much for you now that you have two kids," she said. I said, "But my parents will be coming." She breezed right past that and headed out the door.
In the car, I asked Mr. J what he knew about this. "She told me five minutes ago," he said. "She thinks it will be nice for us to have some time with just our family in the morning." Say what now? Honey, take that load on up the road to dump it, nobody is buying it here. This isn't about us needing family time - and thanks, Mr. Mama, for making that unsolicited decision on our behalf. No, this is about Mr. Mama not being a morning person. She hates to get up and go anywhere before 11 a.m.
I said, "Well, my parents are coming," and Mr. J said, "Next year it can be just us." I said, "No, my parents will always come. It's a thing in my family." He said, "Well, but that's not equal time for the grandparents if your parents get Christmas morning too. How will that look to the kids?" Um. No. I'm not telling my mom she can't see her grandchildren on Christmas morning because his mom doesn't like to get out of bed that early. Since when did we set grandparenting by the lowest common denominator? By that measure, none of the grandparents would see our kids but once every two years, since that is as often as J-Dad can be arsed to come and visit.
I explained to Mr. J that disinviting my mom from Christmas morning would destroy generations of her family tradition. If Mr. Mama doesn't want to come, that's fine, but my mom is coming, every year. What I didn't say was, we have smart kids, I don't think they will have to wait for Christmas to figure out that Grandma puts a much higher priority on spending time with them than Mr. Mama does.
Mr. J is pretty smart too. He called his dad and lo and behold, the Mr. Grands were on hand when the Bear found his Santa presents under the tree.
Christmas morning is a thing in my family. It's one reason my mom was so hurt when my b!tchy sister announced four years ago that she was staying home on Christmas morning and none of us were invited. But I didn't mind, because it meant that when Mr. J and I started our family, we had dibs on the grandparents (and sure enough, once she realized that her kids were getting left out, Sis decided that my mom could come over to her house after our house). For the past couple of years, we've hosted the grands -- my mom makes her special cinnamon rolls. we have coffee, eggs, sausage or bacon, maybe some fruit if we are really ambitious, and everyone chills together for a little bit to watch the kids unwrap their presents. It's low-key but it's really nice.
So I was pretty darn surprised on Christmas Eve night when Mr. Mama told me as we were all leaving Mass that she and Mr. Papa would not be coming over in the morning. "It's just too much for you now that you have two kids," she said. I said, "But my parents will be coming." She breezed right past that and headed out the door.
In the car, I asked Mr. J what he knew about this. "She told me five minutes ago," he said. "She thinks it will be nice for us to have some time with just our family in the morning." Say what now? Honey, take that load on up the road to dump it, nobody is buying it here. This isn't about us needing family time - and thanks, Mr. Mama, for making that unsolicited decision on our behalf. No, this is about Mr. Mama not being a morning person. She hates to get up and go anywhere before 11 a.m.
I said, "Well, my parents are coming," and Mr. J said, "Next year it can be just us." I said, "No, my parents will always come. It's a thing in my family." He said, "Well, but that's not equal time for the grandparents if your parents get Christmas morning too. How will that look to the kids?" Um. No. I'm not telling my mom she can't see her grandchildren on Christmas morning because his mom doesn't like to get out of bed that early. Since when did we set grandparenting by the lowest common denominator? By that measure, none of the grandparents would see our kids but once every two years, since that is as often as J-Dad can be arsed to come and visit.
I explained to Mr. J that disinviting my mom from Christmas morning would destroy generations of her family tradition. If Mr. Mama doesn't want to come, that's fine, but my mom is coming, every year. What I didn't say was, we have smart kids, I don't think they will have to wait for Christmas to figure out that Grandma puts a much higher priority on spending time with them than Mr. Mama does.
Mr. J is pretty smart too. He called his dad and lo and behold, the Mr. Grands were on hand when the Bear found his Santa presents under the tree.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Twinkle: The War on Women--Christmas Edition
I am drowning in a sparkling shitstorm of Christmas magic that I created myself.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Twinkle: Breaking Cheese Torte News
It's been a few years, and I know none of us has gotten over the tragic loss of the Doll's cheese torte. But I realized something tonight: I think our city's collective love for it has clouded our creativity, because cheese tortes are by no means out of reach. I think we've all been spending too much time trying to recreate (or purchase) the cheese torte of the past, instead of looking to what lies ahead. The tortes they are a-changin'.
I made a cheese torte tonight--it was nothing like the Doll's variety, which, if you've ever looked at the recipe in Splendor, is high maintenance and time-intensive. Here's what I did: a layer of creamy bleu cheese went in first, then some chopped Medjool dates, then goat cheese, then more of the creamy bleu. I chilled it for a few hours before inverting the container (Doll's style) and topped it with fig compote before serving. It was easy; it was delicious, and it was a cheese torte.
It wasn't the Doll's cheese torte. Nothing ever will be. And I will hold the memory of that torte--especially the good times I spent with my friends while devouring it--in my heart forever. But now that I've made my own easy and delicious cheese torte, I feel like I don't have to be as sad about the Doll's torte anymore. It was empowering.
I've taken back the torte.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Julep: the introvert's lament
On Saturday, the Bear spent the day with my folks while Mr. J and I took the Pumpkin (f/k/a the Seagull - I'm trying hard to frame our relationship more positively) to the Turf Club with his family. This is part of their family's Thanksgiving tradition, and it is always a good time. Really, I had fun.
But it's a long day. After six hours at the track, I came home to try and stuff some solid food into the Pumpkin -- she prefers to drink her calories -- and had about twenty minutes of time with the Bear before heading off to a Christmas concert with J-Mama, J-Sis, and the fabulous Nanny. It was Nanny's birthday, and J-Mama had bought these tickets some time ago. They were all super excited about a girl's night out, and hey, I love Christmas music and I love Nanny. But by the time we got out of the parking garage (where we sat for over half an hour), it had been over four hours since J-Sis picked me up to start this little adventure.
Here's the thing. I really don't want to spend ten or twelve hours with anybody I am not super close to. It's draining for me. I think of myself as a sociable person, but I am not an extrovert. People like Mr. J -- and, I believe, our own Dibbsie -- are recharged by being around a crowd. I am not. A day in which I have no quiet time with my own thoughts is a long tiring day for me even when I spend it doing fun stuff.
So it got under my skin the next day when Mr. J made some crack about how he socializes by hanging out in the garage/ man cave with his buddies in the late hours of the night while I am always leaving him to watch the kids. Dude. Your friends like to drink in the garage because you can choose the channel on the TV and it's hella cheaper than drinking at bars. And spending the evening with YOUR female relations, in an outing that I could not possibly have turned down without offending your mother, should be counted in my Good Deeds column, not my Time Off column.
But it's a long day. After six hours at the track, I came home to try and stuff some solid food into the Pumpkin -- she prefers to drink her calories -- and had about twenty minutes of time with the Bear before heading off to a Christmas concert with J-Mama, J-Sis, and the fabulous Nanny. It was Nanny's birthday, and J-Mama had bought these tickets some time ago. They were all super excited about a girl's night out, and hey, I love Christmas music and I love Nanny. But by the time we got out of the parking garage (where we sat for over half an hour), it had been over four hours since J-Sis picked me up to start this little adventure.
Here's the thing. I really don't want to spend ten or twelve hours with anybody I am not super close to. It's draining for me. I think of myself as a sociable person, but I am not an extrovert. People like Mr. J -- and, I believe, our own Dibbsie -- are recharged by being around a crowd. I am not. A day in which I have no quiet time with my own thoughts is a long tiring day for me even when I spend it doing fun stuff.
So it got under my skin the next day when Mr. J made some crack about how he socializes by hanging out in the garage/ man cave with his buddies in the late hours of the night while I am always leaving him to watch the kids. Dude. Your friends like to drink in the garage because you can choose the channel on the TV and it's hella cheaper than drinking at bars. And spending the evening with YOUR female relations, in an outing that I could not possibly have turned down without offending your mother, should be counted in my Good Deeds column, not my Time Off column.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Twinkle: School Decisions
So, y'all know that Mr. Twinkle and I are in the market for a good elementary school.
And it's shocking because she's a public school teacher, but Fun Sink seems almost offended that C*** (premier private prep school in the Highlands) is not a front runner. She was dismayed when we weren't that excited after the cocktail hour/tour we attended there. Tonight at the Hanukkah party, an aunt whose grandchildren went there was singing its virtues, and dismissing montessori as hippie nonsense. And we know that C*** a great school--we don't dispute that.
It was nice when we toured it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. We went to a cocktail hour there, and we knew pretty much everyone there, from the parent working the checkin table to the director of admissions to the first grade teaching assistant to the guy tending bar to the tour guide to most of the parents. It's not that we don't like C***--it's just that we really like montessori, and we feel like it's a good fit for A.
Fun Sink was hovering around during the conversation with Mr. Twinkle's aunt, trying to listen to what we were saying. She heard me say that the head of school's goal is to get some farm animals for the kids to care for (great moment for her to walk up and eavesdrop--just when I was bringing the goats and chickens into the conversation). I feel like Mr. Twinks and I have to defend it all the time, to everyone in Mr. Twinks' family. And if we decide to send her there, it's just going to get worse.
Part of me wonders if Fun Sink has been so nice recently so I'll trust her when she voices her opinion about schools. Because I can see her stopping at nothing to get our kids into the school she thinks they need to be in, or to prevent us from making what she perceives to be an educational mistake.
I don't know what's going to happen, but it's going to be interesting to see what Fun Sink pulls out of her bag of tricks to manipulate us.
And it's shocking because she's a public school teacher, but Fun Sink seems almost offended that C*** (premier private prep school in the Highlands) is not a front runner. She was dismayed when we weren't that excited after the cocktail hour/tour we attended there. Tonight at the Hanukkah party, an aunt whose grandchildren went there was singing its virtues, and dismissing montessori as hippie nonsense. And we know that C*** a great school--we don't dispute that.
It was nice when we toured it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. We went to a cocktail hour there, and we knew pretty much everyone there, from the parent working the checkin table to the director of admissions to the first grade teaching assistant to the guy tending bar to the tour guide to most of the parents. It's not that we don't like C***--it's just that we really like montessori, and we feel like it's a good fit for A.
Fun Sink was hovering around during the conversation with Mr. Twinkle's aunt, trying to listen to what we were saying. She heard me say that the head of school's goal is to get some farm animals for the kids to care for (great moment for her to walk up and eavesdrop--just when I was bringing the goats and chickens into the conversation). I feel like Mr. Twinks and I have to defend it all the time, to everyone in Mr. Twinks' family. And if we decide to send her there, it's just going to get worse.
Part of me wonders if Fun Sink has been so nice recently so I'll trust her when she voices her opinion about schools. Because I can see her stopping at nothing to get our kids into the school she thinks they need to be in, or to prevent us from making what she perceives to be an educational mistake.
I don't know what's going to happen, but it's going to be interesting to see what Fun Sink pulls out of her bag of tricks to manipulate us.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Twinkle: In the Market For An Undocumented Maid
Can anybody point me in the direction of a cleaning woman who doesn't speak English? Because mine is getting a little bossy.
I usually try to be out of the house when she's there cleaning, but I was cooking Thanksgiving dinner today and had to be there basting my turkey and such, so I had to endure hours of her advice and admonitions. Among other things, I learned that:
1). My vacuum cleaner is "a piece of crap."
2). I need to get rid of all my rugs, because they're hard for her to clean. I mentioned that I really like the look of seagrass rugs. She advised that those are worse. (That's why I'm paying her to clean them!)
3). I need to get rid of all my baby stuff, except that means that I'll immediately get pregnant again, which in her opinion I should not do. (And I agree with her there). She reminded me that accidents happen even when you're being careful; to her credit, she did stop short of demonstrating proper condom technique on a banana--but only barely.
And, here's the kicker:
4). She won't be cleaning under my children's beds anymore, because "they're old enough to do it themselves."
I'm sorry? I'm paying her to come here and make it look nice, not to give me parenting advice or to determine what my children are or aren't old enough to do. Here's what I expect: if I'm paying someone to clean my house, and there's sh*t on the floor or under the bed, it's that person's job to pick it up, no questions asked. One of the best parts of having a cleaning woman in the first place is knowing that whatever's on the floor is one less thing I have to worry about. It's not her job to keep my children from becoming too entitled; it is her job to shut her mouth and pick up what's on the floor (which is usually just a few books...not that big of a deal), and take her tax-free all-cash payment, and say, "Thank you. What else can I do for you, Mrs. Twinkle?"
I am beyond nice to her and my expectations are pretty low. I realize she's middle aged so if she's too tired to go back upstairs and vacuum my bedroom (with my piece-of-crap vacuum cleaner) at the end of the day, I'm cool with that. All I want is for her to make my house better than it was before, which isn't hard. And I can listen to and disregard her stupid advice about rugs and vacuum cleaners and family planning, but I don't appreciate the parenting advice, especially when it comes in the form of what she is or is not going to do while I am paying her. What should I do, y'all? Should I gracefully find a way to end our arrangement?
Monday, November 25, 2013
Twinkle: I Hate Thanksgivukkah
Here's where I'm going to kvetch.
Hanukkah is a thorn in my side year after year, not because I object to celebrating Mr. Twinks' beloved (if a bit lacking) winter holiday, but because it is a whole sh!tload of work. It's bad enough that I have to use an Excel spreadsheet to coordinate the eight presents for my three kids, and figure out which night everything's going to be opened so that the size and cost of the presents match up for everyone, but even worse is when I have to buy for all these other people. The random family name drawing (this year I got "Richard," and I had to ask who it was; it's some middle-aged friend of the family's boyfriend) is particularly annoying, because once I'm done with the confusing task of buying for my own kids, I don't want to buy for "Richard," some random aunt, and every kid in the family. And I don't want everyone in the family buying for my kids because Lord knows we have enough toys.
And then there's the shame spiral of contributing to December's materialism, because not only do they get eight nights of presents from us, but they also get Santa Claus, not to mention the showering of Christmukkah gifts from two sets of grandparents who are constantly trying to out-do each other, and who both see the stakes of their competition as being about the kids liking their holiday best. So I have guilt over buying too much and contributing to their already overflowing playroom when there's not a thing in the world they need, but I still feel the intense pressure to make the season magical for them. And how do I do that? Well, I try to do it in lots of ways, but one of the big ones is buying them sh!t.
And now Hanukkah, the bane of my December existence, is interfering with my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. Sure, I thought it was all cute when my kids came home with the "menurkeys" they made at school, but now I'm seeing just what a b!tch this is going to be. For one thing, we can't have our annual just-us Thanksgiving dinner on Friday night, because it's a Friday night during Hanukkah and we have to celebrate with Fun Sink and Mr. Fun Sink. The dinner is supposed to be a tradition just for us that we get to do without hoards of extended family telling us where to be and how to do things; having a Thanksgiving dinner just for us is actually the point of the whole dinner on Friday, because we do Thanksgiving with Fun Sink and crew at lunch on Thursday.
But it's Hanukkah, so we have to invite them (I think this is debatable, but Mr. Twinkle thinks it's not, so we're inviting them). And I guess that would be OK, if Mr. Fun Sink weren't a damn vegan. Part of the whole reason I like to make Thanksgiving dinner on Friday night (which, by the way, is supposed to be just for us--did I mention that?) is that I get to make all my favorite Thanksgiving foods. Those don't include 5 kinds of kale and Brussels sprout salads. Oh, and also, Mr. Twinks thinks that we should incorporate Hanukkah into our Thanksgiving feast. So on top of multiple salads I guess I'm expected to make the recipe for sweet potato latkes with curry that he found on Kveller. Screw the cornbread dressing recipe that has been passed down orally in my family for generations, because it's Thanksgivukkah and we can't deviate from the theme even a little bit, not for even one night out of the endless eight.
Also, Fun Sink gave me a helpful list of all the foods and presents I'm supposed to bring to various Hanukkah events. It actually is helpful, but I just realized that everything on the list is happening this weekend, which means that instead of enjoying the next few days shopping for Thanksgiving foods and cooking at home, I'm going to be making a bunch of extra food that's not Thanksgiving food, and also trying to figure out what the hell to get "Richard."
The good part is that it won't interfere with Christmas this year, but honestly I wish I could just skip over the whole month of December. We always talk about going on a cruise (it would probably be cheaper) and I wish we could but we have too many family obligations to go through with it. And the more we participate in this miserable cycle of gifts and more gifts, the more our kids are going to expect them. I wish I could enjoy the magic of Christmas and Hanukkah (really!) with my kids, but it's impossible because of all that's expected of us by everyone, and the more that we participate, the more we feed into those expectations. That's why our Friday Thanksgiving dinner is so nice and so important to me, but even that will ruined by holiday expectations this year.
OK, rant over. I need to get back to my spreadsheet.
Hanukkah is a thorn in my side year after year, not because I object to celebrating Mr. Twinks' beloved (if a bit lacking) winter holiday, but because it is a whole sh!tload of work. It's bad enough that I have to use an Excel spreadsheet to coordinate the eight presents for my three kids, and figure out which night everything's going to be opened so that the size and cost of the presents match up for everyone, but even worse is when I have to buy for all these other people. The random family name drawing (this year I got "Richard," and I had to ask who it was; it's some middle-aged friend of the family's boyfriend) is particularly annoying, because once I'm done with the confusing task of buying for my own kids, I don't want to buy for "Richard," some random aunt, and every kid in the family. And I don't want everyone in the family buying for my kids because Lord knows we have enough toys.
And then there's the shame spiral of contributing to December's materialism, because not only do they get eight nights of presents from us, but they also get Santa Claus, not to mention the showering of Christmukkah gifts from two sets of grandparents who are constantly trying to out-do each other, and who both see the stakes of their competition as being about the kids liking their holiday best. So I have guilt over buying too much and contributing to their already overflowing playroom when there's not a thing in the world they need, but I still feel the intense pressure to make the season magical for them. And how do I do that? Well, I try to do it in lots of ways, but one of the big ones is buying them sh!t.
And now Hanukkah, the bane of my December existence, is interfering with my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. Sure, I thought it was all cute when my kids came home with the "menurkeys" they made at school, but now I'm seeing just what a b!tch this is going to be. For one thing, we can't have our annual just-us Thanksgiving dinner on Friday night, because it's a Friday night during Hanukkah and we have to celebrate with Fun Sink and Mr. Fun Sink. The dinner is supposed to be a tradition just for us that we get to do without hoards of extended family telling us where to be and how to do things; having a Thanksgiving dinner just for us is actually the point of the whole dinner on Friday, because we do Thanksgiving with Fun Sink and crew at lunch on Thursday.
But it's Hanukkah, so we have to invite them (I think this is debatable, but Mr. Twinkle thinks it's not, so we're inviting them). And I guess that would be OK, if Mr. Fun Sink weren't a damn vegan. Part of the whole reason I like to make Thanksgiving dinner on Friday night (which, by the way, is supposed to be just for us--did I mention that?) is that I get to make all my favorite Thanksgiving foods. Those don't include 5 kinds of kale and Brussels sprout salads. Oh, and also, Mr. Twinks thinks that we should incorporate Hanukkah into our Thanksgiving feast. So on top of multiple salads I guess I'm expected to make the recipe for sweet potato latkes with curry that he found on Kveller. Screw the cornbread dressing recipe that has been passed down orally in my family for generations, because it's Thanksgivukkah and we can't deviate from the theme even a little bit, not for even one night out of the endless eight.
Also, Fun Sink gave me a helpful list of all the foods and presents I'm supposed to bring to various Hanukkah events. It actually is helpful, but I just realized that everything on the list is happening this weekend, which means that instead of enjoying the next few days shopping for Thanksgiving foods and cooking at home, I'm going to be making a bunch of extra food that's not Thanksgiving food, and also trying to figure out what the hell to get "Richard."
The good part is that it won't interfere with Christmas this year, but honestly I wish I could just skip over the whole month of December. We always talk about going on a cruise (it would probably be cheaper) and I wish we could but we have too many family obligations to go through with it. And the more we participate in this miserable cycle of gifts and more gifts, the more our kids are going to expect them. I wish I could enjoy the magic of Christmas and Hanukkah (really!) with my kids, but it's impossible because of all that's expected of us by everyone, and the more that we participate, the more we feed into those expectations. That's why our Friday Thanksgiving dinner is so nice and so important to me, but even that will ruined by holiday expectations this year.
OK, rant over. I need to get back to my spreadsheet.
Julep: credit where due
First I want to mention that I'm glad Twinks is posting again ... and I even find a little black spot in my heart hoping that this Montessori campaign will reduce Fun Sink to her usual levels of impotent cattiness just so we have fun things to read. But mostly I am glad to hear that she has turned a corner. I noticed at the Twinkle Family birthday party in October that she was being unusually pleasant.
On to my reason for posting. I had a terrible time waking the Bear for school this morning. I thought it was just because it was a dark and cold Monday, perfectly good reasons to have a hard time getting out of bed. Come to find out that evidently the Gull had a terrible wakeful night (we hope she's teething, because if this is just for kicks, nobody is going to survive) and at some point she woke the Bear for several hours.
Note that I said "come to find out" ... apparently I slept through it. I heard her start fussing around 11:30, and I called Mr. J (who was out in the garage) to come and dose her with some more baby Tylenol since he was not already snugly tucked in bed. Evidently he took the baby monitor with him so that I could get a good night's sleep -- and dealt with the subsequent three hours of child-based chaos all by himself.
What's the male equivalent of bringing home flowers?
On to my reason for posting. I had a terrible time waking the Bear for school this morning. I thought it was just because it was a dark and cold Monday, perfectly good reasons to have a hard time getting out of bed. Come to find out that evidently the Gull had a terrible wakeful night (we hope she's teething, because if this is just for kicks, nobody is going to survive) and at some point she woke the Bear for several hours.
Note that I said "come to find out" ... apparently I slept through it. I heard her start fussing around 11:30, and I called Mr. J (who was out in the garage) to come and dose her with some more baby Tylenol since he was not already snugly tucked in bed. Evidently he took the baby monitor with him so that I could get a good night's sleep -- and dealt with the subsequent three hours of child-based chaos all by himself.
What's the male equivalent of bringing home flowers?
Friday, November 22, 2013
Twinkle: The Smear Campaign Begins
So, Fun Sink's smear campaign against the montessori method has begun.
As y'all know, we have been touring schools. We have toured public, private, and magnet schools, and we like some better than others. But the one that really stands out is montessori. I fell in love when I toured last spring; Mr. Twinkle toured it this week and was immediately sold, too. Now the rest of our school tours feel like going through the motions, because we feel like we've found our place. And since I sent in our deposit last summer (thank goodness), our place is guaranteed even though the school is now full for next year. Next up is when A goes in for a visit and shadow day. Let's hope they think she's a good fit.
Tonight it came up that Mr. Twinks likes it. Fun Sink said, "I'm surprised. There's not a lot of structure there, and you're a structured guy." At the time he was chasing E to the potty, so he didn't have to respond, and when he came back to the table, the subject had changed. (And, for the record, there is more structure than she thinks there is. She is just threatened by it because she doesn't know about it or understand it).
She hasn't said anything bad about montessori before, and we realize now that she was just biding her time, waiting for Mr. Twinkle to hate it. Except he doesn't. He actually loves it. He's actually willing to sign on the dotted line right now. And I don't think there's a whole lot she can say to convince him that it's a bad idea, although it's becoming clear that she's going to try. What's funny is that he's onto her.
I hope this doesn't affect our new relationship as BFFs. Her dreams of achieving educational guardianship are going down in flames, right before her very eyes.
As y'all know, we have been touring schools. We have toured public, private, and magnet schools, and we like some better than others. But the one that really stands out is montessori. I fell in love when I toured last spring; Mr. Twinkle toured it this week and was immediately sold, too. Now the rest of our school tours feel like going through the motions, because we feel like we've found our place. And since I sent in our deposit last summer (thank goodness), our place is guaranteed even though the school is now full for next year. Next up is when A goes in for a visit and shadow day. Let's hope they think she's a good fit.
Tonight it came up that Mr. Twinks likes it. Fun Sink said, "I'm surprised. There's not a lot of structure there, and you're a structured guy." At the time he was chasing E to the potty, so he didn't have to respond, and when he came back to the table, the subject had changed. (And, for the record, there is more structure than she thinks there is. She is just threatened by it because she doesn't know about it or understand it).
She hasn't said anything bad about montessori before, and we realize now that she was just biding her time, waiting for Mr. Twinkle to hate it. Except he doesn't. He actually loves it. He's actually willing to sign on the dotted line right now. And I don't think there's a whole lot she can say to convince him that it's a bad idea, although it's becoming clear that she's going to try. What's funny is that he's onto her.
I hope this doesn't affect our new relationship as BFFs. Her dreams of achieving educational guardianship are going down in flames, right before her very eyes.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Twinkle: Meat Is Not the Devil, and Cake is Heaven-Sent
I'll admit it. I like some vegan and vegetarian meals. I cook that way a lot, because I prefer it and I know it's healthy. Where I've started to draw the line is with the meat substitutes. It all started with the vegan chicken salad at Whole Foods, with which my inlaws are obsessed, and Mr. Twinkle loves it. Yes, it tastes good. Yes, it seems a lot like chicken salad. But that vegan chicken salad has to be made of something, right? (In this case, soy). It's the vegan equivalent of a Snack-Well: tastes ok, but it's got to be a chemical shitstorm. Why not do the most natural thing? This brings us back to where we started in the first place. Chicken.
And chicken, which was made by God and given to man for nourishment and enjoyment (especially when fried), has got to be better than a man-made, soy-based, chicken substitute. So on the rare occasions when I'm going to eat chicken, I just try to eat chicken that was raised the way God intended, roaming freely in the sunlight on farms, laying eggs, pecking around, and doing whatever chickens do. Same with beef. And lamb. And fish. (And pork, but don't tell my inlaws I said that).
So tonight, we had the monthly birthday and anniversary dinner, from which I benefitted as my birthday and anniversary are both this month, but about which I am still complaining. But there were actually hors d'oeuvres! And wine! (Perhaps Fun Sink has had a recent core shift or something; I don't know why she's being so cool). And, when it was time to choose between regular old meat chili or veggie meat-substitute chili, I opted for the meat version. Maybe it was principle, but I think it was because the meat version seemed more natural. If it had been a true veggie chili like I make at home (with various beans, spices, peppers, veggies, and noodles, but no actual meat), I would have gone for that. But this "veggie" chili looked exactly like the meat chili. The only difference was that the veggie version was filled with an unholy soy-based meat substitute. That chili was an abomination against God and man, so I just took the good, old-fashioned ground chuck version, thankyouverymuch.
And don't get me started on the cake.
The good news was that it was not a cake of the soy milk and tempeh variety. It was a delicious ice cream cake from Dairy Queen or somewhere, and I can't complain about that. My crew loved it! (Baby B, who's getting a new tooth, found it especially soothing). Now, I'd rather drink my dessert, so usually I just have a bite of Mr. Twink's dessert and then I'm done. Tonight I shared with B because of seating arrangements, and I had a couple of bites of hers and was perfectly satisfied.
When the cake was being passed around, my SIL and her husband made a big show of turning the cake down. They are such smug damn vegans (the worst kind of vegans; at least my father-in-law doesn't draw attention to it). Would a bite kill them? Couldn't they share a piece just to be polite? They could share a piece, each take a tiny bite, and then leave the rest and no one would notice. (Half the time when I say I'm going to share Mr. Twink's dessert, I'm just being polite. But I really will take a bite of it, and that is enough for me). But no, they have to make a big deal out of turning down the ice cream cake. And yet, somehow, my brother-in-law still weighs 500 lbs. I stand by Lola's theory that he hoards Twinkies at work.
And chicken, which was made by God and given to man for nourishment and enjoyment (especially when fried), has got to be better than a man-made, soy-based, chicken substitute. So on the rare occasions when I'm going to eat chicken, I just try to eat chicken that was raised the way God intended, roaming freely in the sunlight on farms, laying eggs, pecking around, and doing whatever chickens do. Same with beef. And lamb. And fish. (And pork, but don't tell my inlaws I said that).
So tonight, we had the monthly birthday and anniversary dinner, from which I benefitted as my birthday and anniversary are both this month, but about which I am still complaining. But there were actually hors d'oeuvres! And wine! (Perhaps Fun Sink has had a recent core shift or something; I don't know why she's being so cool). And, when it was time to choose between regular old meat chili or veggie meat-substitute chili, I opted for the meat version. Maybe it was principle, but I think it was because the meat version seemed more natural. If it had been a true veggie chili like I make at home (with various beans, spices, peppers, veggies, and noodles, but no actual meat), I would have gone for that. But this "veggie" chili looked exactly like the meat chili. The only difference was that the veggie version was filled with an unholy soy-based meat substitute. That chili was an abomination against God and man, so I just took the good, old-fashioned ground chuck version, thankyouverymuch.
And don't get me started on the cake.
The good news was that it was not a cake of the soy milk and tempeh variety. It was a delicious ice cream cake from Dairy Queen or somewhere, and I can't complain about that. My crew loved it! (Baby B, who's getting a new tooth, found it especially soothing). Now, I'd rather drink my dessert, so usually I just have a bite of Mr. Twink's dessert and then I'm done. Tonight I shared with B because of seating arrangements, and I had a couple of bites of hers and was perfectly satisfied.
When the cake was being passed around, my SIL and her husband made a big show of turning the cake down. They are such smug damn vegans (the worst kind of vegans; at least my father-in-law doesn't draw attention to it). Would a bite kill them? Couldn't they share a piece just to be polite? They could share a piece, each take a tiny bite, and then leave the rest and no one would notice. (Half the time when I say I'm going to share Mr. Twink's dessert, I'm just being polite. But I really will take a bite of it, and that is enough for me). But no, they have to make a big deal out of turning down the ice cream cake. And yet, somehow, my brother-in-law still weighs 500 lbs. I stand by Lola's theory that he hoards Twinkies at work.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Twinkle: The Yankee Cousins Need To Be Schooled on the Art of Living
I realize that recently my silence on Daddy Rabbit has been deafening. There's been little to report, because Fun Sink and I seem to have reached an amicable détente. She's been respectful--even nice. And, since I've clearly never been the problem (as all I ever really wanted was for her to treat me like a human being) I've been nice back. And it has been beautiful.
I think something might have changed, though, because my SIL is in town, and y'all know how perfect she is. I'm pretty sure SIL's presence is just going to serve as a reminder to Fun Sink about all my shortcomings. Also, Fun Sink and I bought the same Sofia the First walkie-talkie set for the girls for Hanukkah, and I think she's mad that I didn't offer to take mine back. Whatever--I have to come up with eight nights of this bullsh*t, plus Santa Claus. She, on the other hand, can give my kids one less thing and they will never even notice.
This afternoon was lazy and blissful--I spent it catching up on my magazines. The November and December issues of Southern Living are absolutely sumptuous. (What's up with Martha Stewart Living, by the way? It's been so boring and bland lately I can barely even get through it. The articles are uninteresting and the art direction would make the Baby Jesus cry).
I spent my afternoon looking at pictures of this:
And this:
And this:
And this:
And reading about decadent party recipes like this and this.
Then we got the call.
The long-awaited arrival of SIL and her family was upon us. We'd planned a homemade pizza and movie night, but that was before we found out that Little Lord Fun Sink was making his inaugural royal visit to the Ville. We piled into the family car and sped to the east end, post haste.
Now, if it had been my house where my children and grandchildren and even a few friends from near and far were gathering, y'all know I would have cracked open a bottle of champagne. And then another one. And what did that one article (the drink cart article) say about cheese straws? Well, the number-one rule was to bring out the cheese straws. I would have brought out some snacks and some cocktails--it just sets a festive tone.
But these are not festive people, and they're just not southern. I think that's what bothers me the most about them, because they're nice and everything (I'm talking about my SIL and her husband). They are nice. So very nice. And so very northern, and they think they are so great and all, with their black clothes and their vegan ways. And, dears, we all know that southerners just do things like decorate and entertain and live in such a superior way, and when people don't understand that (or hold up the opposite as the ideal) it's just very hard to swallow.
We brought in Shiraz for dinner, and I like Shiraz. I do. I love the fatoush salad. And I know that what someone else eats or doesn't eat is not my business, but damn if the vegan thing is not depressing and annoying. I just want to take that skewer of roasted vegetables and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. And then I have to hear Sophie and Eloise have a discussion about whether milk is or is not healthy. Sophie is three years old and is a health food expert, and I don't need her filling my children's heads with her vegan, lactose-free nonsense. Thanks, Sophie, I know water is good for me (and yes, Fun Sink, I heard her say it and it was just soooooooooooo adorable); I think I'll have some bourbon and a Xanax with mine.
It's going to be a long week. The good news is I'll get a fun, healthy vegan birthday Shabbat dinner with them this Friday--just how I want to spend my special day--and maybe even a cake made with soy milk and tempeh.
I think something might have changed, though, because my SIL is in town, and y'all know how perfect she is. I'm pretty sure SIL's presence is just going to serve as a reminder to Fun Sink about all my shortcomings. Also, Fun Sink and I bought the same Sofia the First walkie-talkie set for the girls for Hanukkah, and I think she's mad that I didn't offer to take mine back. Whatever--I have to come up with eight nights of this bullsh*t, plus Santa Claus. She, on the other hand, can give my kids one less thing and they will never even notice.
This afternoon was lazy and blissful--I spent it catching up on my magazines. The November and December issues of Southern Living are absolutely sumptuous. (What's up with Martha Stewart Living, by the way? It's been so boring and bland lately I can barely even get through it. The articles are uninteresting and the art direction would make the Baby Jesus cry).
I spent my afternoon looking at pictures of this:
And this:
And this:
And this:
And reading about decadent party recipes like this and this.
Then we got the call.
The long-awaited arrival of SIL and her family was upon us. We'd planned a homemade pizza and movie night, but that was before we found out that Little Lord Fun Sink was making his inaugural royal visit to the Ville. We piled into the family car and sped to the east end, post haste.
Now, if it had been my house where my children and grandchildren and even a few friends from near and far were gathering, y'all know I would have cracked open a bottle of champagne. And then another one. And what did that one article (the drink cart article) say about cheese straws? Well, the number-one rule was to bring out the cheese straws. I would have brought out some snacks and some cocktails--it just sets a festive tone.
But these are not festive people, and they're just not southern. I think that's what bothers me the most about them, because they're nice and everything (I'm talking about my SIL and her husband). They are nice. So very nice. And so very northern, and they think they are so great and all, with their black clothes and their vegan ways. And, dears, we all know that southerners just do things like decorate and entertain and live in such a superior way, and when people don't understand that (or hold up the opposite as the ideal) it's just very hard to swallow.
We brought in Shiraz for dinner, and I like Shiraz. I do. I love the fatoush salad. And I know that what someone else eats or doesn't eat is not my business, but damn if the vegan thing is not depressing and annoying. I just want to take that skewer of roasted vegetables and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. And then I have to hear Sophie and Eloise have a discussion about whether milk is or is not healthy. Sophie is three years old and is a health food expert, and I don't need her filling my children's heads with her vegan, lactose-free nonsense. Thanks, Sophie, I know water is good for me (and yes, Fun Sink, I heard her say it and it was just soooooooooooo adorable); I think I'll have some bourbon and a Xanax with mine.
It's going to be a long week. The good news is I'll get a fun, healthy vegan birthday Shabbat dinner with them this Friday--just how I want to spend my special day--and maybe even a cake made with soy milk and tempeh.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Woe Unto the Keys the Status Updater Types: Dibbs
She gets on our nerves. She's really sweet, but she gets on our nerves. We talk about it all the time. We don't want to know about poop, or rooting, or, well, most anything.
Today she more than got on my nerves. Today it occurred to me that's she's complaining about her baby clinging to her. What so many of her readers, myself included, would give to have their babies clinging to them. Could she just shut up?
Today she more than got on my nerves. Today it occurred to me that's she's complaining about her baby clinging to her. What so many of her readers, myself included, would give to have their babies clinging to them. Could she just shut up?
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Julep: deep thoughts
Maybe it's the onset of cold weather that has made me pensive.
I've been remembering a blog post Chi-Chi wrote quite some time ago (which I started to look for and then gave up on), about being addicted to her child and how she would literally run through the hall at school to pick him up. I totally feel that way with the Bear. He is so sweet right now, and he is actually becoming a person - our "talks" are very slowly evolving from my monologues to include his comments. He answered a fairly complex question yesterday, and I was so tickled. He is thinking in there, and he is starting to be able to tell me about it, and it is so enchanting.
I find myself sensing the passage of time in a way that I never really have before. In part it's kid-related, as I know that this sweet epoch with the Bear will not last forever ... not to say that the next phase won't be wonderful too, but being aware that this particular phase is going to pass makes it so bittersweet.
I'm also realizing my mom's mortality in a new way, at the same time that I am treasuring her so much. I see my mom Wednesday, as I have for the past decade - but lately I find myself calling her several other times a week, to share a cute moment or ask her advice on how to handle something. I really can't imagine what life will be like without my mother, yet I am becoming aware that she will not be here forever. She's in fine health -- the Parkinsonian thing isn't slowing her down -- but it's coming, someday.
I want to wrap my arms around them and hold on. Nothing gold can stay....
I've been remembering a blog post Chi-Chi wrote quite some time ago (which I started to look for and then gave up on), about being addicted to her child and how she would literally run through the hall at school to pick him up. I totally feel that way with the Bear. He is so sweet right now, and he is actually becoming a person - our "talks" are very slowly evolving from my monologues to include his comments. He answered a fairly complex question yesterday, and I was so tickled. He is thinking in there, and he is starting to be able to tell me about it, and it is so enchanting.
I find myself sensing the passage of time in a way that I never really have before. In part it's kid-related, as I know that this sweet epoch with the Bear will not last forever ... not to say that the next phase won't be wonderful too, but being aware that this particular phase is going to pass makes it so bittersweet.
I'm also realizing my mom's mortality in a new way, at the same time that I am treasuring her so much. I see my mom Wednesday, as I have for the past decade - but lately I find myself calling her several other times a week, to share a cute moment or ask her advice on how to handle something. I really can't imagine what life will be like without my mother, yet I am becoming aware that she will not be here forever. She's in fine health -- the Parkinsonian thing isn't slowing her down -- but it's coming, someday.
I want to wrap my arms around them and hold on. Nothing gold can stay....
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Well, I'm In Trouble: Dibbs
Today I decided to join the Church I've been attending. Another girl from our Club was joining, and I decided it would be a great time, so I joined quickly--like I met with the minister last week quickly. Because of the speed of the transaction, I forgot to tell my parents I was joining the new Church. It truly wasn't a huge deal. I've been attending that Church forever; I've even taught Bible School. It's just a huge, beautiful, well-dressed Church, and to be honest, I didn't want to stand up there by myself. When someone else was joining--Bingo. (It really is beautiful. All I need is a wedding.)
As fate would have it, a girl from my hometown was having her baby baptized today. Look, a baby's baptism is a way bigger deal than a 40-year-old becoming an associate member of a new Church. So the whole family was there for the baby. Of course.
Anyway, I related all this to my mother. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have come!" I just forgot. I'm sorry. "Well, weren't you scared up there all by yourself?" I wasn't by myself. My friend was there and then the baby's family was even there. And now...the real question. "Well, did the (baby's family) say anything about why we weren't there?" It looks pretty bad that they were there, and we weren't"
Ah ha!! You're just worried about looking Christian to the baby's family. You aren't even the same denomination as this Church (thus the associate member.) Mom, Mom, Mom...
As fate would have it, a girl from my hometown was having her baby baptized today. Look, a baby's baptism is a way bigger deal than a 40-year-old becoming an associate member of a new Church. So the whole family was there for the baby. Of course.
Anyway, I related all this to my mother. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have come!" I just forgot. I'm sorry. "Well, weren't you scared up there all by yourself?" I wasn't by myself. My friend was there and then the baby's family was even there. And now...the real question. "Well, did the (baby's family) say anything about why we weren't there?" It looks pretty bad that they were there, and we weren't"
Ah ha!! You're just worried about looking Christian to the baby's family. You aren't even the same denomination as this Church (thus the associate member.) Mom, Mom, Mom...
Monday, October 21, 2013
Julep: (cont.)
Act Three. Mr. J and I discussed Bear's birthday amongst ourselves on Thursday (or thereabouts). We didn't specify which of us would have to break the news to Mr. Mama - apparently we were both hoping that the other would get the follow-up phone call about weekend planning and have to wrestle that gator.
Well, as it turned out, the next word spoken came at 3 pm on Sunday, when Mr-Mama left me a voicemail in which she said, "Just checking to make sure we are on track for this afternoon, for you all to come over around 4, open Bear's presents, and grill some burgers." Wha-wha-what?
My first (unfair) assumption was that she had made these plans with Mr. J after talking with me on Tuesday, and he had shirked on telling her NO to the early birthday celebration. Nope. Mr-Mama made these plans all on her own and even invited Nanny to come, but she didn't bother to call either Mr. J or me. Why? I'm putting my money on "passive aggressive manipulation" and not wanting to talk to me after I told her to stop buying my kid ugly clothes. Regardless, she hadn't checked with us.
In response to her voicemail, Mr. J called her to tell her that we didn't want to celebrate Bear's birthday early. She screamed at him that I had already told her we could do it and hung up on him. After the inevitable marital bickering, I called her back, planning to offer to come for dinner but holding firm on the birthday. Instead, as soon as I said hello she insisted to me that I had told her we would come for dinner. When I told her that was untrue, she said Mr. J had told her. And, she said, if we didn't want to celebrate Bear's birthday early we should have told her before 3:30 that we weren't coming at 4. I said, "Mr. Mama, we didn't either of us realize you were expecting us at 4 until I heard your voicemail." And ... she hung up on me. How's that for mature?
Now, I can see we aren't blameless. Mr. J or I should have called Mr. Mama once we discussed the birthday and told her right away that we didn't want to do it this weekend. But we were expecting her to call one of us to make a specific weekend plan. Neither of us wanted to initiate a call because we both knew that telling her we wouldn't do what she wanted would inevitably result in her pitching a fit. She puts everyone in fear of making her mad, and as a result, she gets her way.
(On a broader scale, this has caused us problems: Mr. J is conditioned to expect discord and often won't speak up when he disagrees with me, because he thinks it will provoke a fight. Meanwhile, I get upset that he won't talk through things and come to a resolution.)
I told Mr. J, I tell the Bear that I don't respond to tantrums. When he screams in my face, he has taken his request off the list of things I will do for him. Mr-Mama is a lot older but the same rule applies. If she thinks she can throw a tantrum and get her own way, she can think twice.
Saddle up, kids. Looks like a bumpy ride ahead.
Well, as it turned out, the next word spoken came at 3 pm on Sunday, when Mr-Mama left me a voicemail in which she said, "Just checking to make sure we are on track for this afternoon, for you all to come over around 4, open Bear's presents, and grill some burgers." Wha-wha-what?
My first (unfair) assumption was that she had made these plans with Mr. J after talking with me on Tuesday, and he had shirked on telling her NO to the early birthday celebration. Nope. Mr-Mama made these plans all on her own and even invited Nanny to come, but she didn't bother to call either Mr. J or me. Why? I'm putting my money on "passive aggressive manipulation" and not wanting to talk to me after I told her to stop buying my kid ugly clothes. Regardless, she hadn't checked with us.
In response to her voicemail, Mr. J called her to tell her that we didn't want to celebrate Bear's birthday early. She screamed at him that I had already told her we could do it and hung up on him. After the inevitable marital bickering, I called her back, planning to offer to come for dinner but holding firm on the birthday. Instead, as soon as I said hello she insisted to me that I had told her we would come for dinner. When I told her that was untrue, she said Mr. J had told her. And, she said, if we didn't want to celebrate Bear's birthday early we should have told her before 3:30 that we weren't coming at 4. I said, "Mr. Mama, we didn't either of us realize you were expecting us at 4 until I heard your voicemail." And ... she hung up on me. How's that for mature?
Now, I can see we aren't blameless. Mr. J or I should have called Mr. Mama once we discussed the birthday and told her right away that we didn't want to do it this weekend. But we were expecting her to call one of us to make a specific weekend plan. Neither of us wanted to initiate a call because we both knew that telling her we wouldn't do what she wanted would inevitably result in her pitching a fit. She puts everyone in fear of making her mad, and as a result, she gets her way.
(On a broader scale, this has caused us problems: Mr. J is conditioned to expect discord and often won't speak up when he disagrees with me, because he thinks it will provoke a fight. Meanwhile, I get upset that he won't talk through things and come to a resolution.)
I told Mr. J, I tell the Bear that I don't respond to tantrums. When he screams in my face, he has taken his request off the list of things I will do for him. Mr-Mama is a lot older but the same rule applies. If she thinks she can throw a tantrum and get her own way, she can think twice.
Saddle up, kids. Looks like a bumpy ride ahead.
Julep: A drama in three parts (In which Mr-Mama acts like a toddler)
Act One. On Tuesday, armed with a pile of photographs of the kids I had printed off Snapfish, I dropped by Mr-Mama's house after dinnertime. After plying her with her choice of photos, I told her that I wanted to talk with her about something. Her first response? "What did I do wrong?"
I assured her that she did nothing wrong, it was just something that had been on my mind and I wanted to share it ... and I launched into all the soft soap that J-Mama had directed me to lather her up with, including a reference to how lucky I am to have her for a MIL compared to some of the relationships I know other people have - including her! She would not be distracted and just kept asking, "What did I do?"
I told her, with as much diplomacy as possible, that we have very different taste in clothes for baby girls and I don't want the Seagull to wear sparkles or tulle or animal print. She said, "But there is so much cute stuff like that out there!" I said, "I know there is a lot of it out there, but it isn't my taste. And I know there is other stuff out there too because I have girlfriends who share my taste and have managed to dress little girls for several years now." [Thank you, Twinkle family.] She got huffy and said, "Fine, I just won't buy her anything that doesn't look like it's 85 years old and comes from the grandma shop." I responded, "That would be fine." I repeated that if she would rather not buy the Gull clothes that meet my taste, I certainly understand but I am not trying to stop her from shopping. I just don't want her to waste her time and money buying things that the Seagull is not going to wear.
The conversation went on in the same vein for a while. Thirteen minutes, to be exact. I recorded it on my phone, so that when she inevitably blew it out of proportion and told Mr. J how mean to her I was, I could prove that in fact, I bent over backwards to deliver the message as kindly as I possibly could. (No, I didn't tell her I was taping it.) Little did I know that would not be where the next blow fell ...
She was sulky and grumpy but I could tell she knew she was thwarted. At the end of the conversation, she brought up Bear's birthday, which is next Saturday. She and Mr-Papa will be out of town, and she asked if they could "come over to [our] house, or [we] could come over here" to her house on the weekend so they could give him his presents. I said we were busy on Saturday but Sunday would probably work at some point and I would talk to Mr. J. She said she was riding in the morning so it would need to be later in the day. I said that was probably fine and we could talk about it later.
Act Two. Mr. J and I discussed the Bear's birthday. After thinking it over, I really did not want her to bring over her huge pile of presents to be opened in advance of his actual birthday. She bought so many things for him last year, and she insisted on coming over to "watch him open them" the day after his birthday. Of course, at age 1, he was not interested in 9/10 of it, and it was just completely out of hand.
We are having a very low-key celebration for the Bear on his birthday, with his aunts and cousins and my parents. There will be a few presents and cake but nothing elaborate or massive. I felt like if Mr-Mama did her thing first, the Bear would be totally confused - he is only turning 2! - and would not realize that his actual birthday was in fact his birthday.
OK, I didn't want her Giant Pile of Presents to overshadow our more modest offerings. If she wants to go out of town on his birthday, fine, she can give him his gifts when she gets back ... or she can leave his presents for him to open on his actual birthday like any normal person who is thinking about the gift recipient instead of herself. Ahem.
I didn't tell her she had a limit on how much she could buy him - though I would have liked to; I just told Mr. J that I wanted to wait until after his birthday to give her stuff. Ready for Act Three?
I assured her that she did nothing wrong, it was just something that had been on my mind and I wanted to share it ... and I launched into all the soft soap that J-Mama had directed me to lather her up with, including a reference to how lucky I am to have her for a MIL compared to some of the relationships I know other people have - including her! She would not be distracted and just kept asking, "What did I do?"
I told her, with as much diplomacy as possible, that we have very different taste in clothes for baby girls and I don't want the Seagull to wear sparkles or tulle or animal print. She said, "But there is so much cute stuff like that out there!" I said, "I know there is a lot of it out there, but it isn't my taste. And I know there is other stuff out there too because I have girlfriends who share my taste and have managed to dress little girls for several years now." [Thank you, Twinkle family.] She got huffy and said, "Fine, I just won't buy her anything that doesn't look like it's 85 years old and comes from the grandma shop." I responded, "That would be fine." I repeated that if she would rather not buy the Gull clothes that meet my taste, I certainly understand but I am not trying to stop her from shopping. I just don't want her to waste her time and money buying things that the Seagull is not going to wear.
The conversation went on in the same vein for a while. Thirteen minutes, to be exact. I recorded it on my phone, so that when she inevitably blew it out of proportion and told Mr. J how mean to her I was, I could prove that in fact, I bent over backwards to deliver the message as kindly as I possibly could. (No, I didn't tell her I was taping it.) Little did I know that would not be where the next blow fell ...
She was sulky and grumpy but I could tell she knew she was thwarted. At the end of the conversation, she brought up Bear's birthday, which is next Saturday. She and Mr-Papa will be out of town, and she asked if they could "come over to [our] house, or [we] could come over here" to her house on the weekend so they could give him his presents. I said we were busy on Saturday but Sunday would probably work at some point and I would talk to Mr. J. She said she was riding in the morning so it would need to be later in the day. I said that was probably fine and we could talk about it later.
Act Two. Mr. J and I discussed the Bear's birthday. After thinking it over, I really did not want her to bring over her huge pile of presents to be opened in advance of his actual birthday. She bought so many things for him last year, and she insisted on coming over to "watch him open them" the day after his birthday. Of course, at age 1, he was not interested in 9/10 of it, and it was just completely out of hand.
We are having a very low-key celebration for the Bear on his birthday, with his aunts and cousins and my parents. There will be a few presents and cake but nothing elaborate or massive. I felt like if Mr-Mama did her thing first, the Bear would be totally confused - he is only turning 2! - and would not realize that his actual birthday was in fact his birthday.
OK, I didn't want her Giant Pile of Presents to overshadow our more modest offerings. If she wants to go out of town on his birthday, fine, she can give him his gifts when she gets back ... or she can leave his presents for him to open on his actual birthday like any normal person who is thinking about the gift recipient instead of herself. Ahem.
I didn't tell her she had a limit on how much she could buy him - though I would have liked to; I just told Mr. J that I wanted to wait until after his birthday to give her stuff. Ready for Act Three?
Monday, October 14, 2013
Julep: The scariest Halloween outfit ever.
If nudity were my daughter's only alternative to wearing this ensemble, I would traipse her around the neighborhood in her birthday suit without a second thought. The worst part is the price tag. Forty-eight dollars for this bedazzled piece of shite!
My own mama sat me down even before this item appeared in all its glory, and told me that I need to have a heart-to-heart chat with Mr-Mama. She said, "Honey, you can't go through your child's entire life pretending to have wardrobe malfunctions that ruin the horrible clothes she buys. At some point, you turn into a sitcom character. You just have to bite the bullet, tell her how much you love and appreciate her and didn't want to hurt her feelings, but feel that you must tell her the truth because you so very much want to have a good strong relationship with her where the two of you tell each other your honest feelings, and where her son never has to feel like he is caught in the middle. And then tell her you have very different taste in children's clothes, and you so appreciate her generosity but she has to defer to your taste."
I know J-Mama is right, she always is, though I fear she is under-estimating Mr-Mama's love for The Dramz. It sounds great when J-Mama says it, but we shall see. I am planning to ask Mr-Mama to join me for a cocktail one night this week, and I'll lay it out. I'll let y'all know how it goes.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Twinkle: Fun Sink Withholds Much-Deserved Praise
You all can probably imagine that the Fun Sink family is not exactly effusive with their praise, which is a source of major problems for me because I like to be praised, adored, and sucked up to all the time. Fun Sink is not part of the positive reinforcement school of child-rearing; where would her children be without all her ball-busting, nagging, and sad head-shaking when they (constantly) fall short?
I've learned to expect that sort of behavior toward Mr. Twinks, but I will never get used to it when when she directs it at my children.
So tonight we were Face-Timing for Baby B's birthday, and I took the phone over to E (who at that moment happened to be confined to B's high chair, devouring a packet of Fun Dip that she got while trick-or-treating at the zoo). Her mouth and fingers were green and she was very focused on extracting every last green sugar granule from the packet with her "Lick-A-Stix."
They said their hellos, but phone conversations with two-year-olds sometimes require some prodding, so I said, "E--tell them what you learned how to do!" And when E says, "I go to the potty," I expect people--especially grandparents--to go freaking ballistic with praise. Do you know what Fun Sink said, y'all? She said, "Okay..." And no one else said anything. They were so nonplussed by Es's announcement that I actually thought they didn't hear her and I felt the need to say it again.
I don't get these people. Going to the potty is a big, huge deal. It's so huge that I consider teaching it to be beyond my scope of parenting; I've potty-trained twice now and both times I have done nothing but wait for them to decide it's what they want. (And I've praised them, ironically enough. That's the one thing I have done.). So the fact that E was motivated to learn and then did learn and has come home from school three days in a row in the same outfit she left in, with no accidents, is a marvel to me. It requires a response of, "That is awesome, E! I am so proud of you! Let's celebrate when we get back from Connecticut!"
I've actually been kind of cool with Fun Sink recently. She's not bothering me, probably because I don't expect much from her. But I was very disappointed in her reaction to E's news. It's just a good thing E's success with the potty is not dependent on Fun Sink's attitude on the matter. E's motivation is candy corn--and y'all know Fun Sink won't like that one bit.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Julep: you have to laugh
Yesterday, Mr. J brought the baby with him for our Monday lunch date. (This is a new thing we are trying: we have a weekly household business meeting - complete with minutes. The hope is that with a set time to go through all of our outstanding issues - lining up sitters for this/that/the other, getting quotes on the garage siding, planning the Bear's birthday party - we can actually enjoy our evenings together without the persistent need to nag. I digress.)
The Seagull was not only wearing the same onesie I put her to sleep in the night before, she was still wearing her swaddle sack. In the car seat. When I asked "WTF, honey?" the answer was, he didn't want her legs to be cold if he put a dress on her.
Points for considering the weather before taking the child out of the house. But evidently my recent guided tour of the baby's new dresser - complete with pants! and tights! -- was for naught.
Also, I learned that Mr. J is intimidated by tights.
The Seagull was not only wearing the same onesie I put her to sleep in the night before, she was still wearing her swaddle sack. In the car seat. When I asked "WTF, honey?" the answer was, he didn't want her legs to be cold if he put a dress on her.
Points for considering the weather before taking the child out of the house. But evidently my recent guided tour of the baby's new dresser - complete with pants! and tights! -- was for naught.
Also, I learned that Mr. J is intimidated by tights.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Twinkle: Happiness
I just thought y'all should know that our favorite pinner is up to it again. I noticed that she pinned this last night, and I really want her to cross-stitch it onto a sampler.
Julep: and a conversation starter -
Check out this article on a study of stay at home dads. Here's the kicker:
"Using other data sources, the Pew Center study also found that stay-at-home fathers help out more in housework and child care than do working fathers. They average about 18 hours per week in doing housework and 11 hours in taking care of the kids, the highest levels of all fathers. Their housework and child care hours are longer than their partners’, although the difference is not big. Stay-at-home fathers spend about four hours more per week than their working partners in housework, and about two hours more per week in child care. Yet their leisure time is nearly double that of their partners (43 hours per week vs. 23 hours).
"In contrast, when moms stay at home and dads work for pay, the wives average about 26 hours per week in housework and about 20 hours in child care, more than three times as much as what their working partners put into these activities. Stay-at-home mothers have more leisure time than their partners who work for pay, but only by less than four hours per week."
In short, whether or not the men are earning money, they feel entitled to enjoy all the leisure time they want while the women work their tails off at home and/or at the office. Infuriating. How do I break this cycle - with my husband and with my son?
"Using other data sources, the Pew Center study also found that stay-at-home fathers help out more in housework and child care than do working fathers. They average about 18 hours per week in doing housework and 11 hours in taking care of the kids, the highest levels of all fathers. Their housework and child care hours are longer than their partners’, although the difference is not big. Stay-at-home fathers spend about four hours more per week than their working partners in housework, and about two hours more per week in child care. Yet their leisure time is nearly double that of their partners (43 hours per week vs. 23 hours).
"In contrast, when moms stay at home and dads work for pay, the wives average about 26 hours per week in housework and about 20 hours in child care, more than three times as much as what their working partners put into these activities. Stay-at-home mothers have more leisure time than their partners who work for pay, but only by less than four hours per week."
In short, whether or not the men are earning money, they feel entitled to enjoy all the leisure time they want while the women work their tails off at home and/or at the office. Infuriating. How do I break this cycle - with my husband and with my son?
Julep: three simple rules for dressing my infant daughter
(1) No bedazzling. That means no glitter, sequins, or rhinestones.
(2) No tulle.
(3) No animal prints.
I don't think these are unreasonable guidelines. She's a baby, not a showgirl. And when she's a few years older, my vision is a little darling dressed like Twinkle's girls, not like a contestant on Toddlers and Tiaras. Sure, she can have some cotton onesies and leggings for at home wear, or for when she's sleeping - but when she leaves the house I prefer that she wear a dress that meets the three rules above.
Mr-Mama seems to have a different vision. The Seagull was at her house for much of the weekend while Mr. J and I celebrated our anniversary in Chicago (and Lord bless her for it). She came home on Monday wearing this:
Note the rhinestones. I wasn't crazy about the ponies with the pink hair, either. But the denim jumper soon faded into relative insignificance when I saw the special present Mr-Mama had sent home with her:
Note the leopard print ruffles at sleeve and hem, covered with a glittery tulle overlay. Words fail me.
You know if the Gull isn't wearing that ensemble come Thanksgiving, my MIL is going to be mortally offended. You know what else? About twenty minutes after my MIL arrives at the house, there's going to be a catastrophic diaper blowout. Yup. It's going to trash the leopard-print pants AND the top. What a shame!
I refuse to allow my child to spend the holiday looking like a former school teacher turned cougar who's retired to Del Boca Vista.
(2) No tulle.
(3) No animal prints.
I don't think these are unreasonable guidelines. She's a baby, not a showgirl. And when she's a few years older, my vision is a little darling dressed like Twinkle's girls, not like a contestant on Toddlers and Tiaras. Sure, she can have some cotton onesies and leggings for at home wear, or for when she's sleeping - but when she leaves the house I prefer that she wear a dress that meets the three rules above.
Mr-Mama seems to have a different vision. The Seagull was at her house for much of the weekend while Mr. J and I celebrated our anniversary in Chicago (and Lord bless her for it). She came home on Monday wearing this:
Note the leopard print ruffles at sleeve and hem, covered with a glittery tulle overlay. Words fail me.
You know if the Gull isn't wearing that ensemble come Thanksgiving, my MIL is going to be mortally offended. You know what else? About twenty minutes after my MIL arrives at the house, there's going to be a catastrophic diaper blowout. Yup. It's going to trash the leopard-print pants AND the top. What a shame!
I refuse to allow my child to spend the holiday looking like a former school teacher turned cougar who's retired to Del Boca Vista.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Juelp: an explanation to the puzzled waiter
[When the waiter asks if I'd like something to drink, and I ask for sweet tea, and he says, "we only have unsweet, but I can bring you sweetener," and I say, "No thanks, water is fine."]
Here's the thing, Evan/ Andrew/ Todd: I like my tea sweet. Really sweet, almost sweet enough to chew. But I don't really like knowing how many sugar packets it takes to get it that way. Nor do I like sitting at a table littered with little empty sugar envelopes. If I wanted to eat surrounded by a big pile of paper, I'd be lunching at my desk.
Not to mention that once I've gotten the glass all doctored up to the point where I am actually ready to enjoy it, and I take a big swig, you're going to cruise right by the table with a pitcher and fill my glass back up, so I am back to the sugar packets. Spending the entire lunch hour sweetening my own drink sounds a lot like work.
So if you can't bring me a glass of tea with sugar already in it, let's just call the whole thing off and I'll drink water, all right? Thanks, sugar.
Here's the thing, Evan/ Andrew/ Todd: I like my tea sweet. Really sweet, almost sweet enough to chew. But I don't really like knowing how many sugar packets it takes to get it that way. Nor do I like sitting at a table littered with little empty sugar envelopes. If I wanted to eat surrounded by a big pile of paper, I'd be lunching at my desk.
Not to mention that once I've gotten the glass all doctored up to the point where I am actually ready to enjoy it, and I take a big swig, you're going to cruise right by the table with a pitcher and fill my glass back up, so I am back to the sugar packets. Spending the entire lunch hour sweetening my own drink sounds a lot like work.
So if you can't bring me a glass of tea with sugar already in it, let's just call the whole thing off and I'll drink water, all right? Thanks, sugar.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Julep: rich
Today's rant will feature my younger sister, she of the massive narcissism and parsimony.
I think y'all know that J-Mama bought Little Sister's house. She's been living there for almost a decade, first at a markedly-below and more recently at a slightly-below market rate rent. I had no problem with Lil Sis living there for cheap while she and/or her husband were in school or looking for permanent employment ... but then her husband got a real job and Lil Sis decided she didn't want to go back to work when her son was born. I give all respect to stay-at-home moms, but if one salary can't support your family in the lifestyle to which you aspire, then you ought to get a job. Milking your mother to underwrite your housing is not an acceptable option for a thirty-year-old parent with a master's degree and marketable skills. (J-Mama agreed with me, and this is when the rental rate increased.)
That was four years ago. In the meantime, Lil Sis has been all the time expecting my mom to do things for them at the house like take a tree down in the back yard - the type of things you might ask your landlord if you could do, but not the type of things you would expect the landlord to pay for. J-Mama has gotten tired of Lil Sis's endless requests for upgrades. She has also very nearly gotten the mortgage paid off. She has decided that come October (when the mortgage is gone), Lil Sis will no longer pay rent. J-Mama can't give the house to her outright for tax reasons, but Lil Sis will be responsible for paying the home insurance and the property taxes, and if the place needs a new water heater or Lil Sis wants nicer landscaping, that will be something that Lil Sis has to figure out how to pay for. Someday (a very long time from now, I hope), when J-Mama passes on, Lil Sis will inherit her house.
All of this is background. J-Mama is turning 60 in October, and a few months ago she thought she would like to celebrate with a party, until she decided that it would be a lot of trouble to plan and maybe no one would want to come anyway. Big Sis and I thought she was wrong about that, and so we are planning it for her without telling her (and y'all, the responses from invited guests have been so sweet, I can't tell you how wrong she was about thinking no one would want to come). After a couple of chats to plan, Big Sis and I rather reluctantly decided that we needed to invite Lil Sis in on the planning. While she is a pain in the tuchus, we didn't want her to feel left out of celebrating our mother.
We might as well not have bothered. Although Lil Sis got all high and mighty about not having been included earlier when I first called her to get her up to speed, she has shown her true colors quick enough. I sent a long email to get everyone on board with the tasks we still have to hammer out, with items flagged for each of us. It was incredibly tactful in asking for her participation - we don't have time to do paper invites and will just use email unless she wants to take that on, could she visit the site and report back so that we could talk about decorating, could she bake a couple of cakes. Keep in mind that she is the only one of the three of us who lives in town and has no full-time job.
Not only does she not have time for anything, except maybe she will bake one cake (and please note that I, who have a full-time job, will bake two), she refuses to contribute financially. That's right. This chick, who as of next month will never ever have to pay one thin dime towards her housing costs ever again for the rest of her life, will not even make a token gesture towards paying for her mother's birthday party. Seriously.
I would like to smack her a la Cher in Moonlighting.
I think y'all know that J-Mama bought Little Sister's house. She's been living there for almost a decade, first at a markedly-below and more recently at a slightly-below market rate rent. I had no problem with Lil Sis living there for cheap while she and/or her husband were in school or looking for permanent employment ... but then her husband got a real job and Lil Sis decided she didn't want to go back to work when her son was born. I give all respect to stay-at-home moms, but if one salary can't support your family in the lifestyle to which you aspire, then you ought to get a job. Milking your mother to underwrite your housing is not an acceptable option for a thirty-year-old parent with a master's degree and marketable skills. (J-Mama agreed with me, and this is when the rental rate increased.)
That was four years ago. In the meantime, Lil Sis has been all the time expecting my mom to do things for them at the house like take a tree down in the back yard - the type of things you might ask your landlord if you could do, but not the type of things you would expect the landlord to pay for. J-Mama has gotten tired of Lil Sis's endless requests for upgrades. She has also very nearly gotten the mortgage paid off. She has decided that come October (when the mortgage is gone), Lil Sis will no longer pay rent. J-Mama can't give the house to her outright for tax reasons, but Lil Sis will be responsible for paying the home insurance and the property taxes, and if the place needs a new water heater or Lil Sis wants nicer landscaping, that will be something that Lil Sis has to figure out how to pay for. Someday (a very long time from now, I hope), when J-Mama passes on, Lil Sis will inherit her house.
All of this is background. J-Mama is turning 60 in October, and a few months ago she thought she would like to celebrate with a party, until she decided that it would be a lot of trouble to plan and maybe no one would want to come anyway. Big Sis and I thought she was wrong about that, and so we are planning it for her without telling her (and y'all, the responses from invited guests have been so sweet, I can't tell you how wrong she was about thinking no one would want to come). After a couple of chats to plan, Big Sis and I rather reluctantly decided that we needed to invite Lil Sis in on the planning. While she is a pain in the tuchus, we didn't want her to feel left out of celebrating our mother.
We might as well not have bothered. Although Lil Sis got all high and mighty about not having been included earlier when I first called her to get her up to speed, she has shown her true colors quick enough. I sent a long email to get everyone on board with the tasks we still have to hammer out, with items flagged for each of us. It was incredibly tactful in asking for her participation - we don't have time to do paper invites and will just use email unless she wants to take that on, could she visit the site and report back so that we could talk about decorating, could she bake a couple of cakes. Keep in mind that she is the only one of the three of us who lives in town and has no full-time job.
Not only does she not have time for anything, except maybe she will bake one cake (and please note that I, who have a full-time job, will bake two), she refuses to contribute financially. That's right. This chick, who as of next month will never ever have to pay one thin dime towards her housing costs ever again for the rest of her life, will not even make a token gesture towards paying for her mother's birthday party. Seriously.
I would like to smack her a la Cher in Moonlighting.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Twinkle: Jahooty and Other Wisdom
Do other families do the thing about Jahooty?
At my family gatherings, growing up, all the cousins would knock on the table or the walls and say, "Oh listen, there's Jahooty--he lives in the walls." It was kind of a thing that the big cousins would do to delight and capture the imagination of the little cousins--Jahooty's always fun and harmless, never scary. I have no idea where it started or the story behind it or if other people know about Jahooty, but it's kind of fun and silly, and my kids love being in on the joke.
Tonight the girls and I were talking about Jahooty and I said I didn't know if Daddy's family knew about Jahooty. I said, "I'm not sure if Grams and Zeide are Jahooty people. Do you think so? I mean, we love them, but they don't strike me as Jahooty people."
A said, "Yeah. We love them, but they are NOT as fun as your family."
Ahhhhhh...sweet victory. Thanks, Jahooty.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Twinkle: Thank you, Prosecco, for getting me through this day
Y'all--the best idea I ever had was to pour myself a tall glass of Prosecco this
morning (after services, before lunch at Aunt Gail's), and then proceed to finish off the bottle throughout the day. It made my day not only tolerable, but even joyful and celebratory. I think I've just started a new personal Jewish New Year new tradition. And, someday, five or ten years from now, I'll serve my children mimosas on this day and they'll know that none of it's really so bad, if you've got your buzz on first.
L'Shanah Tovah, b!tches!
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Mr. Twinkle: Putting Me Behind the 8-Ball since 2006
Happy Rosh Hashanah, everyone! The Twinkle family dinner is much smaller this year, due to the recent arrival of Little Lord Fun Sink. I offered to bring a dish to the dinner, and for once Fun Sink accepted.
I found a butternut squash dish--it's baked in olive oil, garlic and parsley, then stirred with kale and topped with a nut mixture. It's nutritious and wholesome, season-appropriate, and it also tastes really good.
I put it in the back of our SUV. Mr. Twinkle came along and put his briefcase right on top of it, crushing the delicately-cubed butternut squash and ruining the appearance of the first dish I have ever been invited to contribute. I cannot fucking win.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Julep: rant
For days I have been mulling over a thoughtful post on the chaotic stage of life in which I find myself, and trying to find time to write it. I don't have time now either, but I have to post this because I need to vent.
We have had dinner plans for a month for Sunday night: our supper club is getting together. This is always a relaxing, enjoyable evening with friends, and the kids get to hang with other kids, and it's a great thing all around. I was really looking forward to it this weekend because it would come after 24 hours in Nashville on the firm retreat, talking about budgets and billing and business development - which will suck, in case that isn't immediately obvious. The weekend just got a lot worse.
Mr. J's dad wants to host dinner on Sunday night for Judgy Grandma's birthday. Mr-Papa will be manning the grill, and Mr-Mama will be inside stressing out as her in-laws always get her torqued up. I will be stuck socializing with Baby Mama Cousin and her mother the Nosy Aunt. I will have to listen to a play-by-play about Baby Mama's son and how he is interacting with the Bear. Meanwhile, there will be no alcohol because Drunk Grandpa is back on the wagon -- which is a good thing for him but not real pleasant for the rest of us. What part of this will be pleasant? None of it. Mr-Papa will char the steaks and Mr-mama will make her nasty bean salad, and of course, Nosy Aunt will bring that damn cheesecake. The whole experience will be awful.
Mr. J called me earlier in the week while I was at work to say that his dad wanted to do this birthday dinner on Sunday. I said, "we already have plans on Sunday." Evidently Mr. J did not bother to relay that back to his father. Now it's Friday and everyone is expecting us on Sunday.
I made the mistake of telling Mr. J I wanted to keep our original plans. I don't want to go to the family dinner, and if they really wanted us to be there, maybe they should have consulted our calendars before scheduling it. Mr. J went into a spiel about how it is Judgy Grandma's birthday and who knows how long she will be around, blah blah. Fine, I said, we will go to your family's dinner. I was very clear: we will go. But I proceeded to tell him exactly how much it is going to suck. Mr. J said, "Think about how bad you would feel if this were her last birthday." And I said, "She's not MY grandma."
Mr. J got really mad, and the conversation deteriorated from there. But here's what I was trying to say: I understand that HE would feel really bad if we didn't go and it was her last birthday. I get that, and I would feel bad FOR HIM if that happened. That's why I said we would go. But me? No, I wouldn't really feel any personal sense of loss if we missed her last birthday. She's not my grandma, I don't have any affectionate history with her, and in point of fact I really don't like her much as a person. She's kind of a manipulative b!tch.
I'm going to go to this sucky awful family function so that Mr. J can feel good about having been there. But what's in it for me? His happiness, not any kind of emotional solace of my own. I'm not going to be feeling any uplift in it for myself. Can't he just accept that I am doing something I don't want to do, FOR HIM, and appreciate that? Why does pointing that out make me the bad guy?
I'm giving up my fun plans for a miserable alcohol-free evening with his awful extended family. Stop trying to convince me it's for my own good and just say thank you.
We have had dinner plans for a month for Sunday night: our supper club is getting together. This is always a relaxing, enjoyable evening with friends, and the kids get to hang with other kids, and it's a great thing all around. I was really looking forward to it this weekend because it would come after 24 hours in Nashville on the firm retreat, talking about budgets and billing and business development - which will suck, in case that isn't immediately obvious. The weekend just got a lot worse.
Mr. J's dad wants to host dinner on Sunday night for Judgy Grandma's birthday. Mr-Papa will be manning the grill, and Mr-Mama will be inside stressing out as her in-laws always get her torqued up. I will be stuck socializing with Baby Mama Cousin and her mother the Nosy Aunt. I will have to listen to a play-by-play about Baby Mama's son and how he is interacting with the Bear. Meanwhile, there will be no alcohol because Drunk Grandpa is back on the wagon -- which is a good thing for him but not real pleasant for the rest of us. What part of this will be pleasant? None of it. Mr-Papa will char the steaks and Mr-mama will make her nasty bean salad, and of course, Nosy Aunt will bring that damn cheesecake. The whole experience will be awful.
Mr. J called me earlier in the week while I was at work to say that his dad wanted to do this birthday dinner on Sunday. I said, "we already have plans on Sunday." Evidently Mr. J did not bother to relay that back to his father. Now it's Friday and everyone is expecting us on Sunday.
I made the mistake of telling Mr. J I wanted to keep our original plans. I don't want to go to the family dinner, and if they really wanted us to be there, maybe they should have consulted our calendars before scheduling it. Mr. J went into a spiel about how it is Judgy Grandma's birthday and who knows how long she will be around, blah blah. Fine, I said, we will go to your family's dinner. I was very clear: we will go. But I proceeded to tell him exactly how much it is going to suck. Mr. J said, "Think about how bad you would feel if this were her last birthday." And I said, "She's not MY grandma."
Mr. J got really mad, and the conversation deteriorated from there. But here's what I was trying to say: I understand that HE would feel really bad if we didn't go and it was her last birthday. I get that, and I would feel bad FOR HIM if that happened. That's why I said we would go. But me? No, I wouldn't really feel any personal sense of loss if we missed her last birthday. She's not my grandma, I don't have any affectionate history with her, and in point of fact I really don't like her much as a person. She's kind of a manipulative b!tch.
I'm going to go to this sucky awful family function so that Mr. J can feel good about having been there. But what's in it for me? His happiness, not any kind of emotional solace of my own. I'm not going to be feeling any uplift in it for myself. Can't he just accept that I am doing something I don't want to do, FOR HIM, and appreciate that? Why does pointing that out make me the bad guy?
I'm giving up my fun plans for a miserable alcohol-free evening with his awful extended family. Stop trying to convince me it's for my own good and just say thank you.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Twinkle: Waiting for the Sh*tstorm to Begin (Warning: Explicit)
My oldest daughter, A, is 5-1/2 years old.
That's 5-1/2 years of watching people look into her (and her sisters') tired eyes and say, "She's going to sleep well tonight!" And 5-1/2 years of knowing they've instantly cursed us with their bullsh*t announcement. Because nothing guarantees a horrible night more than someone proclaiming that "she's going to sleep well tonight." Just leave it the f*ck alone, everybody. Don't comment on it! Keep it to yourself! Or if you just have to say it to me, how about I f*cking call you to come over at 1 a.m. when my kid is still bouncing off the walls, and you can deal with the situation? Or you can come over and sit in her room when she wakes up at 3 a.m. and sees a shadow on her wall. And I will go to your house and sleep in your bed. How about that? Because, when you say out loud that my kid is going to sleep well tonight, this is what I hear: "I hate you, Twinkle, and I want you to have a miserable Friday night." And then I watch you drive off into the night, knowing that you don't have to deal with the sh*tstorm you have just conjured.
I consider it a statement that you hate me, or at the very least don't ever listen to me, because, for 5-1/2 years, I have repeatedly asked friends and family not to say that to me. I have stated, flat out, on multiple occasions, "Do not say that. Please take it back. It is the worst jinx there is." And, for 5-1/2 years, the worst offender has been Fun Sink's mother, Grandma-in-law; she ignores my pleading at every turn.
So my children spent all day at the State Fair, riding every ride available to the 44-inch and shorter set, admiring the giant produce, eating various junk foods, and seeing the different breeds of goats. Common sense would tell us that they'd be wiped out, but who knows? If I've been asking you for 5-1/2 years to just shut the f*ck up about whether or not they're going to sleep well, please respect my wishes. I mean it now more than ever.
Tonight I said (for the millionth time), "Please stop. Please don't say it. Take it back." And then Fun Sink had to chime in and say, "Oh, but I know these girls are going to sleep well tonight." Did you not just hear me, b*tch? I. Asked. You. To. Stop.
Here's the bad news for you, Fun Sink: I'm probably going to drink wine and have sex with your son anyway.
But until then I'm just bracing myself for the inevitable.
That's 5-1/2 years of watching people look into her (and her sisters') tired eyes and say, "She's going to sleep well tonight!" And 5-1/2 years of knowing they've instantly cursed us with their bullsh*t announcement. Because nothing guarantees a horrible night more than someone proclaiming that "she's going to sleep well tonight." Just leave it the f*ck alone, everybody. Don't comment on it! Keep it to yourself! Or if you just have to say it to me, how about I f*cking call you to come over at 1 a.m. when my kid is still bouncing off the walls, and you can deal with the situation? Or you can come over and sit in her room when she wakes up at 3 a.m. and sees a shadow on her wall. And I will go to your house and sleep in your bed. How about that? Because, when you say out loud that my kid is going to sleep well tonight, this is what I hear: "I hate you, Twinkle, and I want you to have a miserable Friday night." And then I watch you drive off into the night, knowing that you don't have to deal with the sh*tstorm you have just conjured.
I consider it a statement that you hate me, or at the very least don't ever listen to me, because, for 5-1/2 years, I have repeatedly asked friends and family not to say that to me. I have stated, flat out, on multiple occasions, "Do not say that. Please take it back. It is the worst jinx there is." And, for 5-1/2 years, the worst offender has been Fun Sink's mother, Grandma-in-law; she ignores my pleading at every turn.
So my children spent all day at the State Fair, riding every ride available to the 44-inch and shorter set, admiring the giant produce, eating various junk foods, and seeing the different breeds of goats. Common sense would tell us that they'd be wiped out, but who knows? If I've been asking you for 5-1/2 years to just shut the f*ck up about whether or not they're going to sleep well, please respect my wishes. I mean it now more than ever.
Tonight I said (for the millionth time), "Please stop. Please don't say it. Take it back." And then Fun Sink had to chime in and say, "Oh, but I know these girls are going to sleep well tonight." Did you not just hear me, b*tch? I. Asked. You. To. Stop.
Here's the bad news for you, Fun Sink: I'm probably going to drink wine and have sex with your son anyway.
But until then I'm just bracing myself for the inevitable.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Twinkle: Be Cool, Mr. Twinkle. Be Cool.
(I wrote this earlier today, but couldn't post from my phone for some reason).
---
So Michele is cleaning my house today, and I like to be gone while she's there, lest she make me organize a closet or something. My inlaws were supposed to pick up the girls for their non-Newport aquarium day, so I called them to see if we could either meet up or if I could just drop them off.
Then there were the questions about his car. Yes, his car is old, but we like it. I take him to work a lot of days because the drive time together is extra time to talk or hang out--it is hard to carve out time to have a conversation together, so chatting while we drive into his office is nice. It works for us, it doesn't hurt anyone else, and who really cares, right? Mr. and Mrs. Fun Sink--that's who. We are forever answering myriad questions about his car and why I'm taking him to work. And I wish he'd just shut it down by explaining it, but he can't explain anything without being defensive, and that just feeds their suspicion of us and the way we do things.
---
So Michele is cleaning my house today, and I like to be gone while she's there, lest she make me organize a closet or something. My inlaws were supposed to pick up the girls for their non-Newport aquarium day, so I called them to see if we could either meet up or if I could just drop them off.
We got there and they were critical of the facts that 1). Mr. Twinkle wasn't at work yet and 2). I was driving him. We knew they'd say something about both, so I told Mr. Twinks ahead of time that instead of letting them beat him down about it, he should remind them that the reason we took the girls there before taking him to work was that we knew they were anxious to see the girls, and we were trying to do them a favor. (Because, if I'd taken him to work first, they would have been mad at me for being there later than they wanted). Of course Mr. Twinkle had to add definitively, "Shelley's not even there yet! He's doing his physical therapy. He does it every Monday at this time." Ok, buddy. Way to play it cool.
Exhausted yet?
I realized that a big part of my reaction to them is tied up with the dynamic between Mr. Twinks and them, which is kind of unfair. I shouldn't let anyone else determine how I react, but at the same time it's his family and so he sets the tone. His tone is always defensive, because he is constantly under attack for his every action. He is constantly answering questions about boring minutiae, so of course he feels the need to give long, desperate explanations for everything.
I actually used to do that, too. I stopped when I realized I'll never impress them. They actually don't want to understand my motivations or reasons for anything, so I don't waste my time explaining.
But I think it would be easier to handle being with them if Mr. Twinks could get a handle on that, too. If he were more confident with them, maybe I would be, too. The honest reasons that we took the girls to their house before taking him to work are that we knew they wanted to see the girls/we were trying to do them a favor/we didn't want to hear them complaining that I was too late dropping them off. We were trying to be nice--you're welcome, *ssholes. The reason I'm driving Scott to work is that we like to spend time together. Mr. Twinks needs to work on just giving the one main answer without going into detail about how the car's fine and this way's easier (he's saving big on parking!), etc.
I'm emotionally exhausted and it's 10 a.m. on a Monday.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Twinkle: Fun Sink's Agenda Shut Down
My inlaws' habit of pushing through with their own agenda without even consulting me persists. Tonight they announced that they were taking my children to the Newport Aquarium tomorrow.
Back up to a few days ago...my inlaws are so worried about my SIL going into early labor with Little Lord Fun Sink that they don't want to schedule any overnight visits with my children for the three weeks leading up to the due date, which is actually fine with me because they're assholes and I don't want my children exposed too much. (Plus, hello, morons--if you get a call in the middle of the night while our children are sleeping over, just call Mr. Twinks or me and we'll come over and sleep at your house...easy solution). Anyway, they were insisting that the girls spend the night tonight because it's the last night they feel comfortable having them over, but Mr. Twinks and I said no because we're trying to get them into some good habits before school starts, and bedtimes at home aren't going well, which leads to behavior problems during the day...so, sorry, no, they can't spend the night. So my inlaws said they wanted to spend some time with the girls on Monday. I said fine.
Tonight we had to go to the big August birthday dinner at Uncle Larry's house, where my FIL just announced that the outing for tomorrow is a trip to the Newport Aquarium ("to do something educational," Fun Sink couldn't help but add). They didn't ask. They announced. I have a problem with this because:
1). I hate that road up to Cincinnatti.
2). When the girls do the Newport Aquarium, I want to go with them.
3). We're trying to form good habits and we need E to nap at home.
4). Want to take my children somewhere? Great--but don't tell me! Ask!
Mr. Twinkle said it might be hard to get back before E's naptime. They said they'd pick the girls up earlier. We went back and forth and back and forth and Mr. Twinkle and I said no every way we knew how, and my inlaws threw back another scenario to make the Newport thing work. Finally Fun Sink said, "Well, why don't we leave Newport at around 1:30 and she can just get her nap in the car?" I looked at Mr. Twinkle, exasperated, and he said as clearly as he could that we want her to nap at home. It's not hard to understand, and yet they think they own us and our children, and can just take them to destinations that are hours away anytime they want.
Then Fun Sink got all passive-aggressive and noncommittal about a pickup time. I actually think she has a mental illness. Who thinks they can take someone else's children to the Newport Aquarium, or anywhere else, without asking? And I'm sure she thinks I'm the mean one for saying no to it.
Back up to a few days ago...my inlaws are so worried about my SIL going into early labor with Little Lord Fun Sink that they don't want to schedule any overnight visits with my children for the three weeks leading up to the due date, which is actually fine with me because they're assholes and I don't want my children exposed too much. (Plus, hello, morons--if you get a call in the middle of the night while our children are sleeping over, just call Mr. Twinks or me and we'll come over and sleep at your house...easy solution). Anyway, they were insisting that the girls spend the night tonight because it's the last night they feel comfortable having them over, but Mr. Twinks and I said no because we're trying to get them into some good habits before school starts, and bedtimes at home aren't going well, which leads to behavior problems during the day...so, sorry, no, they can't spend the night. So my inlaws said they wanted to spend some time with the girls on Monday. I said fine.
Tonight we had to go to the big August birthday dinner at Uncle Larry's house, where my FIL just announced that the outing for tomorrow is a trip to the Newport Aquarium ("to do something educational," Fun Sink couldn't help but add). They didn't ask. They announced. I have a problem with this because:
1). I hate that road up to Cincinnatti.
2). When the girls do the Newport Aquarium, I want to go with them.
3). We're trying to form good habits and we need E to nap at home.
4). Want to take my children somewhere? Great--but don't tell me! Ask!
Mr. Twinkle said it might be hard to get back before E's naptime. They said they'd pick the girls up earlier. We went back and forth and back and forth and Mr. Twinkle and I said no every way we knew how, and my inlaws threw back another scenario to make the Newport thing work. Finally Fun Sink said, "Well, why don't we leave Newport at around 1:30 and she can just get her nap in the car?" I looked at Mr. Twinkle, exasperated, and he said as clearly as he could that we want her to nap at home. It's not hard to understand, and yet they think they own us and our children, and can just take them to destinations that are hours away anytime they want.
Then Fun Sink got all passive-aggressive and noncommittal about a pickup time. I actually think she has a mental illness. Who thinks they can take someone else's children to the Newport Aquarium, or anywhere else, without asking? And I'm sure she thinks I'm the mean one for saying no to it.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
It Happened. Really, It Happened: Dibbs
I've totally been in sympathy, empathy, compassion, all those caring words as we've talked about children. I've understood about how they say your name 1,000 times until you want to change your name to "Please" so they just won't say it, or sit outside the bathroom while you do your stuff, or make you hold them while you brush your teeth, or all the other things they make you do.
Today I had to schedule two weeks in advance to hang out with the boys. August 9th is the best time that I can see them. I would take "Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs, hey, Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs," over girls, McDonald's and college.
Sunrise...Sundown...
Today I had to schedule two weeks in advance to hang out with the boys. August 9th is the best time that I can see them. I would take "Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs, hey, Dibbs, Dibbs, Dibbs," over girls, McDonald's and college.
Sunrise...Sundown...
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
No, The Plumber, I'm Not Anybody's Damn Grandma (And Why Is Botox Failing Me?): Dibbs
Julep let me borrow her baby today. She was precious. Also, my toilet started making crazy noises, so I had to call the plumber. We were right in the middle of a bottle when the plumber arrived. Baby was so polite about taking a break to let the plumbers in. The plumbers, ahem.
Mentioned the word, "Grandma."
Now, I don't remember what the man actually said. I just heard, "Grandma."
Let's review.
Grandmas do not: wear Lacoste tank tops.
recite the words to The Breakfast Club.
go to The Mixer and touch all over the hot little waiter.
sing Train songs to the baby.
pick up Darrell at Old Crow.
get a text from said Darrell.
Right? Right? Please say I'm right. Do not remind me (as my mother did) that I could, numerically, be the baby's grandma.
And tell Rod that his name-on-the-shirt-ass can kiss mine if he wants his $95 check. There.
Mentioned the word, "Grandma."
Now, I don't remember what the man actually said. I just heard, "Grandma."
Let's review.
Grandmas do not: wear Lacoste tank tops.
recite the words to The Breakfast Club.
go to The Mixer and touch all over the hot little waiter.
sing Train songs to the baby.
pick up Darrell at Old Crow.
get a text from said Darrell.
Right? Right? Please say I'm right. Do not remind me (as my mother did) that I could, numerically, be the baby's grandma.
And tell Rod that his name-on-the-shirt-ass can kiss mine if he wants his $95 check. There.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Twinkle: Holy Sh!t. Lesson Learned.
Holy Sh!t.
I am in the middle of the most epically bad bedtime in history. A has pulled out all the stops, drama-wise. I mean, I've never seen anything like it. This is a child who normally at this point in her life reads a book, turns the light out, maybe talks with her sister a little bit, and goes to sleep. It's now 2 hours later and she is wailing in her room. Wailing. I don't feel like describing the long chain of dramatic events because living through them once was exhausting enough, but trust me: It. Was. Epic.
Let me also say that she is a child who needs a little anchoring from home and from her parents. If she's away from the rules and structure of home for too long, it's like she's just adrift at sea. I'm not saying we have some big routine because we don't, but whatever it is that normally happens here at home, she needs it to function like a human being. When she goes without it for too long, she's like a wild animal who has been released into nature and then has to be redomesticated. Basically she melts the f*ck down, as a hyena might if you put a bow in its hair and tried to make it to act like a nice, normal little girl.
Rewind to yesterday morning.
I agreed to let Twinklette go swimming and to a movie with Fun Sink and FIL, without sisters. She's recently had three epic screaming tantrums in front of them (it only happens when they're around, strangely), so I guess they figure, "Hey--let's reward her with a day that's all about her." They picked her up at 9 a.m., leaving a distraught little sister to fend for herself (cling to me) all day while I held Baby B and thought about all the packing I wasn't doing.
Here's what happened when they picked her up:
Me: What time are you all bringing her home?
FIL: I don't know. We have a lot of fun planned.
Me: That's great! Do you have any idea what time it'll be?
Fun Sink: (sort of circumspect) Oh...I don't know...Does she have something to do later?
Me: No, not really.
(Silence).
(More silence as I wait for an answer).
(I mean, for fuck's sake, people--I want to be home when you drop off my kid, so just give me a time!)
Me: So, can you all give me a ballpark?
Fun Sink: Well, maybe she'll just spend the night.
Me: Stunned silence and disbelief as they drove away with my child.
Later they talked on the phone and asked Mr. Twinkle if it was OK. He said yes. And then they sent me a quick text (after it was all said and done) to "ask" me if it was OK. I would have said no if they'd asked under normal circumstances (if they hadn't just announced--in front of her--that it was happening, and if they hadn't already talked to Mr. Twinkle about it), because not only were they supposed to take A yesterday but they were also supposed to take A and E to the pool today. That adds up to around 30 hours that A spent away from home. She went to the pool; she went to the movies; she went to Chuck E. Cheese; she went to the Slugger Museum; she went to a playground; she went on a picnic; she went back to the pool. It was too much time away from home doing too much stuff. She came home completely exhausted and without the grounding she needs to function, and I knew I'd pay the price for it tonight. And I did.
So first we're going to list the multiple ways Fun Sink screwed me over, and then we're going to talk about what I know I have to do about it from now on.
The Screwing Over:
1) I lost a whole day of packing. When she took A out of the mix, E didn't know what to do with herself. If they'd both been here, they could have played together and I could have presumably dashed down the basement to do a couple loads of laundry throughout the day. Instead, E clung to me and my day became all about making her happy.
2). They picked up E late this morning, which delayed B's naptime and shortened my precious packing time.
3). They brought A and E back in the middle of B's naptime, ending naptime early.
4). A was such a nightmare tonight that it's now 10:30 and I lost a whole night of would-be packing.
5). Because of them I have pretty much lost two days of valuable packing time. I know it seems like I still have time, but packing for three girls and myself (minus Mr. Twinks--he has to work) is a daunting task, and I need the time and energy to do laundry, think of everything, make it happen. I can't just throw some things in a suitcase Friday morning.
They did all this under the auspices of helping me have time to pack. And I'm supposed to smile and say, "Thank you so much for taking the girls while I packed," when, actually, because of them, I've barely even started packing.
---
Here's what I've learned:
This is actually my fault for not speaking up. They put me on the spot when they announced that "maybe she'll just spend the night" while she was standing right there, and as shocked as I was, I should have spoken up right then. They went around my authority when they asked Mr. Twinks' permission. But that's still no excuse for not stepping in and saying no, even after he said yes (although Mr. Twinks and I do like to present a united front to them). I knew it was too much; I knew it wasn't going to end well. It was my responsibility to speak up for what was best for my child, and I didn't because I wanted to be nice. I didn't want to give Fun Sink a reason to think I'm a b*tch. When she texted me, I didn't want to be petty and stir up something unnecessarily via text message. I should have called her and said no.
So I've been punished, and I hope that the next time this happens I remember this night, and how awful it was, and how it was really my fault for not standing up for what I know my child needs.
So, lesson learned. And now for the packing.
I am in the middle of the most epically bad bedtime in history. A has pulled out all the stops, drama-wise. I mean, I've never seen anything like it. This is a child who normally at this point in her life reads a book, turns the light out, maybe talks with her sister a little bit, and goes to sleep. It's now 2 hours later and she is wailing in her room. Wailing. I don't feel like describing the long chain of dramatic events because living through them once was exhausting enough, but trust me: It. Was. Epic.
Let me also say that she is a child who needs a little anchoring from home and from her parents. If she's away from the rules and structure of home for too long, it's like she's just adrift at sea. I'm not saying we have some big routine because we don't, but whatever it is that normally happens here at home, she needs it to function like a human being. When she goes without it for too long, she's like a wild animal who has been released into nature and then has to be redomesticated. Basically she melts the f*ck down, as a hyena might if you put a bow in its hair and tried to make it to act like a nice, normal little girl.
Rewind to yesterday morning.
I agreed to let Twinklette go swimming and to a movie with Fun Sink and FIL, without sisters. She's recently had three epic screaming tantrums in front of them (it only happens when they're around, strangely), so I guess they figure, "Hey--let's reward her with a day that's all about her." They picked her up at 9 a.m., leaving a distraught little sister to fend for herself (cling to me) all day while I held Baby B and thought about all the packing I wasn't doing.
Here's what happened when they picked her up:
Me: What time are you all bringing her home?
FIL: I don't know. We have a lot of fun planned.
Me: That's great! Do you have any idea what time it'll be?
Fun Sink: (sort of circumspect) Oh...I don't know...Does she have something to do later?
Me: No, not really.
(Silence).
(More silence as I wait for an answer).
(I mean, for fuck's sake, people--I want to be home when you drop off my kid, so just give me a time!)
Me: So, can you all give me a ballpark?
Fun Sink: Well, maybe she'll just spend the night.
Me: Stunned silence and disbelief as they drove away with my child.
Later they talked on the phone and asked Mr. Twinkle if it was OK. He said yes. And then they sent me a quick text (after it was all said and done) to "ask" me if it was OK. I would have said no if they'd asked under normal circumstances (if they hadn't just announced--in front of her--that it was happening, and if they hadn't already talked to Mr. Twinkle about it), because not only were they supposed to take A yesterday but they were also supposed to take A and E to the pool today. That adds up to around 30 hours that A spent away from home. She went to the pool; she went to the movies; she went to Chuck E. Cheese; she went to the Slugger Museum; she went to a playground; she went on a picnic; she went back to the pool. It was too much time away from home doing too much stuff. She came home completely exhausted and without the grounding she needs to function, and I knew I'd pay the price for it tonight. And I did.
So first we're going to list the multiple ways Fun Sink screwed me over, and then we're going to talk about what I know I have to do about it from now on.
The Screwing Over:
1) I lost a whole day of packing. When she took A out of the mix, E didn't know what to do with herself. If they'd both been here, they could have played together and I could have presumably dashed down the basement to do a couple loads of laundry throughout the day. Instead, E clung to me and my day became all about making her happy.
2). They picked up E late this morning, which delayed B's naptime and shortened my precious packing time.
3). They brought A and E back in the middle of B's naptime, ending naptime early.
4). A was such a nightmare tonight that it's now 10:30 and I lost a whole night of would-be packing.
5). Because of them I have pretty much lost two days of valuable packing time. I know it seems like I still have time, but packing for three girls and myself (minus Mr. Twinks--he has to work) is a daunting task, and I need the time and energy to do laundry, think of everything, make it happen. I can't just throw some things in a suitcase Friday morning.
They did all this under the auspices of helping me have time to pack. And I'm supposed to smile and say, "Thank you so much for taking the girls while I packed," when, actually, because of them, I've barely even started packing.
---
Here's what I've learned:
This is actually my fault for not speaking up. They put me on the spot when they announced that "maybe she'll just spend the night" while she was standing right there, and as shocked as I was, I should have spoken up right then. They went around my authority when they asked Mr. Twinks' permission. But that's still no excuse for not stepping in and saying no, even after he said yes (although Mr. Twinks and I do like to present a united front to them). I knew it was too much; I knew it wasn't going to end well. It was my responsibility to speak up for what was best for my child, and I didn't because I wanted to be nice. I didn't want to give Fun Sink a reason to think I'm a b*tch. When she texted me, I didn't want to be petty and stir up something unnecessarily via text message. I should have called her and said no.
So I've been punished, and I hope that the next time this happens I remember this night, and how awful it was, and how it was really my fault for not standing up for what I know my child needs.
So, lesson learned. And now for the packing.
Julep: Y'all need to meet somebody ...
Please hasten to http://sittinginbarswithcake.wordpress.com/ Her blog is subtitled, "Attempting to lure boys with sugar." Please note that she is a Tennessean (living in L.A.) and her grammar is impeccable.
I learned of her ten minutes ago and already I kind of love her and want to be her honorary big sister.
I learned of her ten minutes ago and already I kind of love her and want to be her honorary big sister.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Why All The Activism?: Dibbs
When people respond to your perfectly reasonable arguments with snark and "quotes," it's because they know you're right, right? I have a cousin I didn't know was a cousin. His wife is in a club with us. Y'all can figure it out. Anyway, he wrote on FB today basically that people would be safer walking around in polos and khakis than in hoodies.
Asinine. I remarked, "Ok...but how many teenagers wear polos and khakis? #Devil's Advocate." I don't really see the problem with that. A. Teenagers wear a lot of hoodies. They can. It's right there in the Declaration of Independence; Life, Liberty, and the Freedom to be Fashionable. B. What if I wore a hoodie and ate Skittles while I walked down the street? I don't think anyone would hassle me. C. A young #1 wore a lot of hoodies...
Which brought be to my next point, after said cousin responded angrily. I said, "I can't really talk about this case. I bring a bias to it because I work with children (Occupational Hazard.)" I ask you, is that unreasonable? I find that perfectly reasonable. I won't go on a rant because I know I bring baggage to the table.
This brings on a ton of argument using "child" in quotes...just like that.
You know what. I don't even need to talk about this anymore. My cousins are crazy. Done.
Asinine. I remarked, "Ok...but how many teenagers wear polos and khakis? #Devil's Advocate." I don't really see the problem with that. A. Teenagers wear a lot of hoodies. They can. It's right there in the Declaration of Independence; Life, Liberty, and the Freedom to be Fashionable. B. What if I wore a hoodie and ate Skittles while I walked down the street? I don't think anyone would hassle me. C. A young #1 wore a lot of hoodies...
Which brought be to my next point, after said cousin responded angrily. I said, "I can't really talk about this case. I bring a bias to it because I work with children (Occupational Hazard.)" I ask you, is that unreasonable? I find that perfectly reasonable. I won't go on a rant because I know I bring baggage to the table.
This brings on a ton of argument using "child" in quotes...just like that.
You know what. I don't even need to talk about this anymore. My cousins are crazy. Done.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Twinkle: OK, So You Could Make a Case That I'm a Bad Daughter-In-Law
I'm feeling a little bit guilty, because tomorrow is the Fourth of July and I'm hosting my family picnic, which is small this year because all the same relatives are all heading to the beach together in about 2 weeks. Meanwhile, Fun Sink and my FIL don't have plans. And I could totally accommodate them, but I just don't want to.
I don't want to deal with their weird dietary issues--refusing to eat anything but vegetables, drinking water, and judging the sh*t out of anybody who does differently is the very definition of the phrase "fun sink." I also don't want their dour personalities ruining my family's jovial good time. And those two can never just shut the hell up about their rabbi or the Jewish community intrigues or all other varieties of bullsh*t that no non-Jewish person wants to hear about. They can't be normal; therefore they can't be allowed to mix with normals.
Also, this is my party; I'm allowed to have a party with my family. I host plenty of parties with just Mr. Twinkle's side of the family (because, as I said, I'm hesitant about letting them interact with new people).
At the same time, they're supposed to be my family, and I do feel bad for not inviting them. I wish I could. I wish they (OK, just Fun Sink) treated me like a member of their family; maybe if she ever did I would be able to overlook the dour attitude and the annoying dietary issues and the constant judgment over things like when someone drinks a Diet Coke. I'm sorry, but if you're judging someone for drinking Diet Coke, you are going to feel out of place in a setting where water itself is looked upon as just another mixer for bourbon.
And what the hell would they eat? The fried chicken I ordered from Kingsley? I'm sure they'd look down their noses at that. What about the (gasp) grilled corn on the cob? The potato salad? My mom's deviled eggs are loaded with mayo. And the dessert table would appall them: a layered cake with angel food cake and various ice cream and sorbet flavors, banana pudding with real whipped cream (no Cool Whip up in here, biatch), and a s'mores dip involving marshmallow fluff--I know they would not be down with marshmallow fluff.
And what the hell would they eat? The fried chicken I ordered from Kingsley? I'm sure they'd look down their noses at that. What about the (gasp) grilled corn on the cob? The potato salad? My mom's deviled eggs are loaded with mayo. And the dessert table would appall them: a layered cake with angel food cake and various ice cream and sorbet flavors, banana pudding with real whipped cream (no Cool Whip up in here, biatch), and a s'mores dip involving marshmallow fluff--I know they would not be down with marshmallow fluff.
But I do see it from her perspective, and I'm sure this confirms in her small, closed mind that I'm a horrible person. She can use it to prove to my FIL that I'm really just an evil, son-stealing Jezebel, just like she's always said. I hate to give her the ammunition, and I know she can make a justified argument that I'm not nice, because I am having a family picnic and not inviting her. I'm sure that she sees herself as someone who buys my kids shoes and takes them for the afternoon and does fun things with him, and what thanks does she get from me? I can't even include her in a small family picnic. Y'all know my sister-in-law would have the good manners to do that.
And here's the kicker: I feel bad, but not enough to do anything about it. Because if she's not offended and judging me over this; she'll be offended and judging me over something else. The bad part is that this time I can see her side and I know she has a point. But I just don't care enough to sacrifice my party in the name of making it right.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Julep: Sunrise, sunset
Tomorrow is the Bear's first day of "preschool" - which, let's face it, is primarily day care at this age, and I'm just calling it school to make myself feel better. But it works. And I do think it's going to be better for him to spend three days a week with other kids to play with, and with people who are actively trained to spend time teaching him his colors and numbers, and who are happy to let him finger paint and make a huge mess. Mr. J loves the Bear, but I strongly suspect that their time together consists of (a) wrestling and (b) Bear puttering around while Mr. J checks his email and surfs the internet.
Although this maternity leave at home with the Bear has been exhausting and difficult for me in lots of ways, it's also been really sweet. He's gotten super attached to me (which has both positive and negative aspects) and I feel like I know him so well right now. I hope I can hold onto that closeness once I am back at work. I never once felt like I didn't get to spend time with him when I saw him in evenings and weekends. We'll be okay.
On the flip side, there is the Seagull. This feels like such a dirty little secret, but girls ... I am no more attached to this child now than I was ten weeks ago when we brought her home from the hospital. I feel a great obligation to her - I make sure she is clean and fed - but I don't feel any affection for her. She is so mightily unpleasant to be with, I spend most of my emotional energy preventing myself from doing her a permanent injury. And I don't think she is attached to me, either. At least, being held by me does absolutely nothing to soothe any of her problems du jour. She takes no comfort from being with me, and the sense of futility that gives me just feeds my indifference.
I've never been a baby person, so just being near a baby does nothing to inspire me to affection. I can't remember what sort of things the Bear was doing at three months, but I do remember that I was happy to be with him and sad about leaving him to go back to work. I feel a lot of guilt that I don't have similar feelings about the Seagull. I got up at the crack of dawn to be sure I could feed the Bear and snuggle him a bit before leaving for the office. I am certain I won't do the same for the Seagull. She doesn't care a bit if I'm with her, so why should I bother?
I know she won't always be this way. I know someday the screaming will stop and she will be more of a person, and I can make a real connection to her. But I am sorry for both of us that there won't be another maternity leave in a year and a half, when she's old enough for me to appreciate her.
Although this maternity leave at home with the Bear has been exhausting and difficult for me in lots of ways, it's also been really sweet. He's gotten super attached to me (which has both positive and negative aspects) and I feel like I know him so well right now. I hope I can hold onto that closeness once I am back at work. I never once felt like I didn't get to spend time with him when I saw him in evenings and weekends. We'll be okay.
On the flip side, there is the Seagull. This feels like such a dirty little secret, but girls ... I am no more attached to this child now than I was ten weeks ago when we brought her home from the hospital. I feel a great obligation to her - I make sure she is clean and fed - but I don't feel any affection for her. She is so mightily unpleasant to be with, I spend most of my emotional energy preventing myself from doing her a permanent injury. And I don't think she is attached to me, either. At least, being held by me does absolutely nothing to soothe any of her problems du jour. She takes no comfort from being with me, and the sense of futility that gives me just feeds my indifference.
I've never been a baby person, so just being near a baby does nothing to inspire me to affection. I can't remember what sort of things the Bear was doing at three months, but I do remember that I was happy to be with him and sad about leaving him to go back to work. I feel a lot of guilt that I don't have similar feelings about the Seagull. I got up at the crack of dawn to be sure I could feed the Bear and snuggle him a bit before leaving for the office. I am certain I won't do the same for the Seagull. She doesn't care a bit if I'm with her, so why should I bother?
I know she won't always be this way. I know someday the screaming will stop and she will be more of a person, and I can make a real connection to her. But I am sorry for both of us that there won't be another maternity leave in a year and a half, when she's old enough for me to appreciate her.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Twinkle: Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be B*tchy Mothers-in-Law
I had an epiphany while I was in the shower, letting my mind wander to thoughts of genealogy.
Most of y'all know my sweet grandmother, a true kind-hearted Southern lady. She finds friends wherever she goes--even on Facebook--and she doesn't discriminate based on social class, race (she's 95! Take that, Paula Deen), or even age. She'll be the one talking to some toothless tacky person in the Target, and all the current sorority girls at her college consider her a friend--because, yes, she volunteers there daily. She's not afraid to get her hands dirty philanthropically (like I so hate to do). She personally takes up with immigrants, unwed teenage mothers, people in prison, and the elderly--most of whom are younger than she is--and makes sure they all have winter coats, food on the table, and access to the Bible. Did I mention everybody likes her? And she likes everybody. Just last night she mentioned to me that she wants to start visiting people in nursing homes, where she plans to read them entertaining short stories.
But she had mother-in-law issues.
And then I started thinking about her mom, Nanna, who died when I was a baby, but who was apparently just as sweet, and who also had mother-in-law issues. Her mother-in-law didn't like her specifically because she came from a WASPy family and wasn't German. (I like to imagine that mean mother-in-law spinning in her grave if she ever thinks of me).
Anyway...I was thinking about these mothers-in-law, and how I'm actually their direct descendant. I've heard tales of their meanness, but all my life I never considered that these noted b*tches are a part of my family tree; I have never thought of them as great-grandmothers. I've only thought of them as mothers-in-law, mean old crones who enjoyed pointing out the runs in peoples' pantyhose. (Thank goodness I don't wear pantyhose anymore--I'm sure Fun Sink would eat that sh*t right up). Imagine my surprise when I realized these mean mothers-in-law are actually related to me!
I don't claim to be nearly as sweet as my grandmother or Nanna--that's not what this is about. Although I do think they were wrongly persecuted by their mothers-in-law and I think I'm wrongly persecuted by mine. My point is this: their meanness damaged their images to the child of a future generation (me). Because my grandmother and Nanna were the ones raising the children, and the ones passing down their own traditions and stories. And among those stories were a few sad tales of mother-in-law meanness, the specifics of which I don't even remember. Except for the bit about the pantyhose--that always stood out.
They made their choices; they withdrew their support. And the family sort of went on without them. They made themselves footnotes to the family story, instead of part of the real action. It's a cautionary tale, really. Fun Sink should take note. But she won't. And one day my children will see her for who she is. I'm sure they'll always love her--and they should, because she's their grandmother and it would be sad if they didn't. But nobody likes it when somebody's mean to their mother, and she's risking making herself a footnote in their family story.
Most of y'all know my sweet grandmother, a true kind-hearted Southern lady. She finds friends wherever she goes--even on Facebook--and she doesn't discriminate based on social class, race (she's 95! Take that, Paula Deen), or even age. She'll be the one talking to some toothless tacky person in the Target, and all the current sorority girls at her college consider her a friend--because, yes, she volunteers there daily. She's not afraid to get her hands dirty philanthropically (like I so hate to do). She personally takes up with immigrants, unwed teenage mothers, people in prison, and the elderly--most of whom are younger than she is--and makes sure they all have winter coats, food on the table, and access to the Bible. Did I mention everybody likes her? And she likes everybody. Just last night she mentioned to me that she wants to start visiting people in nursing homes, where she plans to read them entertaining short stories.
But she had mother-in-law issues.
And then I started thinking about her mom, Nanna, who died when I was a baby, but who was apparently just as sweet, and who also had mother-in-law issues. Her mother-in-law didn't like her specifically because she came from a WASPy family and wasn't German. (I like to imagine that mean mother-in-law spinning in her grave if she ever thinks of me).
Anyway...I was thinking about these mothers-in-law, and how I'm actually their direct descendant. I've heard tales of their meanness, but all my life I never considered that these noted b*tches are a part of my family tree; I have never thought of them as great-grandmothers. I've only thought of them as mothers-in-law, mean old crones who enjoyed pointing out the runs in peoples' pantyhose. (Thank goodness I don't wear pantyhose anymore--I'm sure Fun Sink would eat that sh*t right up). Imagine my surprise when I realized these mean mothers-in-law are actually related to me!
I don't claim to be nearly as sweet as my grandmother or Nanna--that's not what this is about. Although I do think they were wrongly persecuted by their mothers-in-law and I think I'm wrongly persecuted by mine. My point is this: their meanness damaged their images to the child of a future generation (me). Because my grandmother and Nanna were the ones raising the children, and the ones passing down their own traditions and stories. And among those stories were a few sad tales of mother-in-law meanness, the specifics of which I don't even remember. Except for the bit about the pantyhose--that always stood out.
They made their choices; they withdrew their support. And the family sort of went on without them. They made themselves footnotes to the family story, instead of part of the real action. It's a cautionary tale, really. Fun Sink should take note. But she won't. And one day my children will see her for who she is. I'm sure they'll always love her--and they should, because she's their grandmother and it would be sad if they didn't. But nobody likes it when somebody's mean to their mother, and she's risking making herself a footnote in their family story.
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