We went to brunch with the delightful California cousins today, and the conversation turned to Mad Men. They asked if I watched, and I said I used to, but now that it's the late sixties and the clothes aren't as cute, I'm less interested. (Everyone knows that, right? It is universally acknowledged that the early '60s are much, much cuter than the late '60s. This is not breaking news). Fun Sink got all offended and was all, "Don't insult the late '60s. That was our time." Screw you, Fun Sink. I didn't say you were personally responsible for bellbottoms and avocado green. I essentially said that I prefer a pillbox hat to everything that came later, OK? It has nothing to do with Fun Sink. She thinks everything is a personal insult directed at her.
Tonight she got the chance to complain about fixing dinner for all those people in the kitchen at the Glenview, so I guess that was fun for her. Mr. Twinkle just had to bring up the case of the mistaken dinner invitation. (I thought it was best to let it go at this point). He said we can't have them for dinner on Derby Eve but we can do it the next week, and her reaction is infuriating because it was the same type of reaction that led to the original misunderstanding about last Friday night. Here's how it went down.
Mr. Twinkle: We're busy Derby Eve, but we'd love to have you over the next week.
Me: Yes, and you're welcome every week until your kitchen is done. (Which is more than generous, might I add).
Fun Sink: (noncommittal) Oh, I don't know. It'll probably be ready by then. We'll see. (This is what she said weeks ago that led to us think she didn't really care about coming on the night of the mistaken dinner invitation).
---
Oh--and they just dug up her subfloor in the kitchen--probably one of several unforseen add-on projects that will make the 6-week process take even longer. So there's no way she's going to have a kitchen by the week after Derby.
---
Mr. Twinkle: We want to have you over. We just needed to go to dinner with her mom that other weekend and... (he had to go there)
Me: Well, I don't think we ever actually nailed down the plans on dinner that night. We never committed to it and I think it led to a misunderstanding.
(When I was mid-sentance, Fun Sink turned to another family member (the babydaddy--like she really wanted to talk to him) and tried to start a conversation. I was literally in the middle of a sentence about a topic that she was pissed off about, and she turned away from me to talk to the babydaddy. She just didn't want to hear the reasonable thoughts I was trying to express).
Mr. Twinkle: And--yeah. We never committed to a plan. We'd love to have you all over.
Fun Sink: Oh, I don't know. We'll see. (Again with the noncommittal response--apparently Fun Sink can't just accept a damn dinner invitation. But then she'll get mad at me for not knowing that she was planning to come to dinner at my house, after she didn't accept the original invitation one way or the other).
Me: Well, I think the other misunderstanding happened because we didn't have a plan. So let's make a plan now. You all will come to dinner the week after Derby, and as many weeks after that as you need to. (Except for the night of the Bacon Ball).
Fun Sink: OK. We'll see.
Me: Fuck you, Fun Sink. I hate you, and hereby revoke all invitations to dine with us. (This part was said silently, inside my head).
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Friday, April 26, 2013
Twinkle: There's No Dill In Benedictine, You Moron
Tonight was Fun Sink's dinner party at the Glenview, with the California cousins (who were delightful, by the way). She made a few hors d'oeuvres for once, but no one ate them because no one wanted to be judged for eating them. Anyway, my little foodie E went to town on the cheese and crackers. It clearly was some sort of cheese spread with chunks of cucumbers and dill. I prayed she was not going to try to call it benedictine, but later Fun Sink announced to her California cousins that benedictine was made of "cucumber, cream cheese, onions, and dill." It wasn't even green.
Now, I love some dill, but putting dill in benedictine is just plain unholy. Have you ever heard of such sacrilege? Also, the fact that it wasn't green really bothers me. I'm all about being healthy and avoiding artificial colors and all that b.s., but there's something so midcentury fabulous about a neon green tea sandwich. Those were the good old days, when no one gave a sh!t about their health. Now, what she made wasn't bad, but it wasn't benedictine. Also, my grandmother ate benedictine sandwiches at Miss Jenny Benedict's tea room while Fun Sink's ancestors were huddling in their huts in Poland, so she should have come to me with all her benedictine questions, because she is clearly confused.
Also, she made the cheese grits from the cooking class we were in together, but she somehow made them using no dairy. And I have to give her credit, because I could not tell the difference. Those grits were beyond amazing, and they are a credit to Fun Sink's impressive culinary abilities.
I didn't think twice about the grits being there. Ninety-eight percent of the people at that dinner didn't care about the kosher rules, so I figured since Fun Sink was cooking in the Glenview kitchen instead of her own, and since she was serving tenderloin (which isn't a kosher cut) as well as salmon (which anyone who wanted to keep kosher could eat with the grits) that she was just relaxing the rules a little bit and letting everyone pick and choose what he or she wanted. Which is what a normal hostess would do, especially in someone else's kitchen that makes no pretenses about being kosher. Especially while serving tenderloin, which she would never fix in her own kitchen.
When she told me the grits didn't have any dairy, I told her how great they were and then I mentioned that I really thought they did have dairy and maybe she was relaxing the rules since she wasn't cooking at home. I was trying to give her a well-deserved compliment. She was all, "Oh no! I'd never do that!"
Excuse me for thinking she was halfway normal for a minute. Or that she was the kind of hostess who'd let her guests make decisions about what they want to eat or not eat. Because it's one thing for Fun Sink to observe the rules in her own house, but it seems to me that when it's not her house and she's being so hardcore, she's sort of forcing her belief system on guests who are perfectly capable of following the kosher rules if they want to, or not following them if they don't want to. I'm not sure...I can see both ways, but I don't think it would harm anything to leave it up to the guests to decide what they wanted to eat with what, just this once. But Fun Sink would never do that. I'd hate for the California cousins (who are laid back, normal, and awesome) to think she was anything other than the consummate uptight Jewish housewife with a thousand tiny rules to observe and a huge martyr complex.
Now, I love some dill, but putting dill in benedictine is just plain unholy. Have you ever heard of such sacrilege? Also, the fact that it wasn't green really bothers me. I'm all about being healthy and avoiding artificial colors and all that b.s., but there's something so midcentury fabulous about a neon green tea sandwich. Those were the good old days, when no one gave a sh!t about their health. Now, what she made wasn't bad, but it wasn't benedictine. Also, my grandmother ate benedictine sandwiches at Miss Jenny Benedict's tea room while Fun Sink's ancestors were huddling in their huts in Poland, so she should have come to me with all her benedictine questions, because she is clearly confused.
Also, she made the cheese grits from the cooking class we were in together, but she somehow made them using no dairy. And I have to give her credit, because I could not tell the difference. Those grits were beyond amazing, and they are a credit to Fun Sink's impressive culinary abilities.
I didn't think twice about the grits being there. Ninety-eight percent of the people at that dinner didn't care about the kosher rules, so I figured since Fun Sink was cooking in the Glenview kitchen instead of her own, and since she was serving tenderloin (which isn't a kosher cut) as well as salmon (which anyone who wanted to keep kosher could eat with the grits) that she was just relaxing the rules a little bit and letting everyone pick and choose what he or she wanted. Which is what a normal hostess would do, especially in someone else's kitchen that makes no pretenses about being kosher. Especially while serving tenderloin, which she would never fix in her own kitchen.
When she told me the grits didn't have any dairy, I told her how great they were and then I mentioned that I really thought they did have dairy and maybe she was relaxing the rules since she wasn't cooking at home. I was trying to give her a well-deserved compliment. She was all, "Oh no! I'd never do that!"
Excuse me for thinking she was halfway normal for a minute. Or that she was the kind of hostess who'd let her guests make decisions about what they want to eat or not eat. Because it's one thing for Fun Sink to observe the rules in her own house, but it seems to me that when it's not her house and she's being so hardcore, she's sort of forcing her belief system on guests who are perfectly capable of following the kosher rules if they want to, or not following them if they don't want to. I'm not sure...I can see both ways, but I don't think it would harm anything to leave it up to the guests to decide what they wanted to eat with what, just this once. But Fun Sink would never do that. I'd hate for the California cousins (who are laid back, normal, and awesome) to think she was anything other than the consummate uptight Jewish housewife with a thousand tiny rules to observe and a huge martyr complex.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Twinkle: Chair Drama From the People Who Invented Chair Drama
So, since Fun Sink is getting her new kitchen and is finding new homes for her priceless antiques, we have inherited a chair.
It's actually not horrible. Mr. Twinkle wanted it because it's comfortable. The chair was a staple in my FIL's lovely childhood home on Village Drive, so its history is already more than acceptable. Apparently there is some family story involving the chair, where FIL's sister accidentally kicked him in the head while playing in it as a child. It's a heartwarming story, and y'all know I'm a sucker for sentimentality. (If only Fun Sink had been the one kicked). I don't hate the chair. Out of all the awful pieces of furniture in Fun Sink's house, it is the least awful by a longshot. It's actually not half bad. Here's a picture of it in its new home: our bedroom. It's in desperate need of an accent pillow, but I think it works really well in its new space.
I think the chair could be really cute like that, and a great statement piece for our bedroom.
It's actually not horrible. Mr. Twinkle wanted it because it's comfortable. The chair was a staple in my FIL's lovely childhood home on Village Drive, so its history is already more than acceptable. Apparently there is some family story involving the chair, where FIL's sister accidentally kicked him in the head while playing in it as a child. It's a heartwarming story, and y'all know I'm a sucker for sentimentality. (If only Fun Sink had been the one kicked). I don't hate the chair. Out of all the awful pieces of furniture in Fun Sink's house, it is the least awful by a longshot. It's actually not half bad. Here's a picture of it in its new home: our bedroom. It's in desperate need of an accent pillow, but I think it works really well in its new space.
It even works in its current upholstery (although up close it's a bit utilitarian for my tastes), but eventually I'd like to re-cover it in a celery green damask, with a buffalo check accent pillow. Or maybe I'll stick with gray, but definitely in a pretty pattern.
Mr. Twinkle had different ideas for the chair. He wanted it in our living room, but it didn't work at all there for several reasons:
1). The room has a certain balance, and he wanted to shove this large, odd chair into a corner, by itself, completely disrupting the balance of the room, and nonsensically sitting by itself in a corner where no one congregates.
2). The other option was to put it near the sofas in the middle of the room, blocking a high-traffic area.
3). The upholstery, which works remarkably well in the bedroom, seems bland and out-of-place with the living room furniture. It seems more like a hand-me-down in the living room, but I really think it looks like it was made for the space in the bedroom.
Mr. Twinkle wisely came around to my opinion about the chair's placement with very little discussion, but now he's afraid that we're going to offend people because it seems like we're "hiding" the chair.
And he's probably right: Fun Sink can't just selflessly give a gift and let us do whatever the hell we want with it. I'm sure she has an expectation that the chair will be front and center in the living room, whether or not it works in the space. When it ends up in a more private location I'm sure she'll find a way to take it as a personal slight.
Also, these are not people to put a nice chair in a bedroom. It would never occur to them--that is how uncreative and downright peasant-ish these people are. Yes, I just called them peasants. Only peasants would think a nice chair has to be shown off in the living room, even if it works much better somewhere else. Only peasants wouldn't even consider putting a chair where no one's going to see it or enjoy it but themselves.
In other news, I'm a big snob and Fun Sink is clearly right about me. But I don't really care--I'll be lounging in my new chair all day, eating bonbons and not working (unlike my industrious, one-day-a-week-working sister-in-law), because it's my chair now, b!tches!
Twinkle: Fun Sink's New Kitchen Sink Is Draining My Will To Live
Well, Fun Sink is all bent out of shape over something I did, and she's being passive aggressive to Mr. Twinkle.
Do y'all remember the upcoming dinner party at the Glenview, where the longsuffering Fun Sink will prepare a multi-course repast in a tiny kitchen, alone, garnering 100% of the credit and 100% of the rights to complain about the whole thing? And do y'all remember the snubbed dinner invitation? Well apparently there was a misunderstanding and I was supposed to have them over for dinner last Friday night.
My parents have been in town for the past 4 days for my dad's job, so I've been hanging out with my mom non-stop. We did a fun class at Cooking at the Cottage where (surprise!) Fun Sink was in the seat behind us, and Friday night I took the littles to hang out at the hotel, then we went to dinner at Ramsi's. The Casa de Fun Sink is all torn up from the remodeling anyway, so I figured no harm, no foul, we'll skip this week. I'm sure the renovation project will stretch beyond many more Friday nights, so they'll have plenty of chances to bring the party to our house.
It turns out Fun Sink expected to go to our house Friday night, and now she and my FIL are mad/hurt/whatever because:
1). It was Friday night and they "didn't have anywhere to go." (Hello--you live in one of the greatest foodie cities in the nation. Do what Jews and gentiles all over town do every fucking Friday night and find a restaurant. I'm sorry, but "we didn't have anywhere to go" is not an excuse. You're adults with a car and enough money to eat out, so do your Friday night prayers at home, haul your *ss to Mojito's, and shut your pie hole).
2). We didn't invite them to Ramsi's with us. I'm sorry. I NEVER get to do anything with my mom at night; she lives an hour away and doesn't drive at night, and we barely have sleeping room in our house for the members of our immediate family. The Thursday night event I planned for us happened also to be attended by Fun Sink incarnate, so excusez-moi for wanting a nighttime meal without Fun Sink around.
3). We never invite them to dinner with my parents before school programs, recitals, etc. Do you all blame me for not wanting to mix my family with these freaks of nature?
And I am almost tempted to just call her and say, "I'm sorry there was a misunderstanding about dinner, etc." not because I'm really sorry at all, but because I don't like all this whispering and passive-aggression, and Fun Sink talking to my FIL who talks to Mr. Twinkle who talks to me. I am fucking over it. I just want to get it all out in the open.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Julep: while I'm on the subject...
... of the J family, I have a pair of grievances to air that date back to Easter. (I would have blogged it sooner but the next day Mom and I headed off on our annual vacation.)
We were sitting at the table at Mr-Sis's house for the annual Easter J-family gathering. The Bear was rambunctious: nothing too unusual for a 17-month-old child who is outside his usual haunts and among a whole lot of people he really doesn't know. Still, he's standing up on his chair, generally being excitable. And here comes Mr-Aunt with a giant bunny-shaped sugar cookie (I am not exaggerating when I say this thing was the size of my hand), which she proceeds to hand directly to my child and announce, "Here you go!" I said immediately, "Please don't give him that." And of course, she got offended and acted like I was being ridiculous.
Listen, I know all about people with crazy food issues, and I recognize that she intended to be kind. But there were several problems here. Problem the first: Mr-Aunt hardly knows my child. The fact that she is related to Mr. J hardly gives her the right to skip the basic step of parental clearance. We are not close, and for all she knows, he has a serious food allergy. What the hell is she doing handing a kid anything to eat without first asking one of his parents if it is OK? Would you walk up to some kid in your child's classroom or at the pool and hand him or her an edible item? I think not.
Problem the second: this cookie was massive. It was easily more sugar than he has eaten in his entire life to date. I'm all about special treats, but if the Bear were 7, this cookie would have been a very large treat. And as it happens, I am trying really hard to limit his sugar intake. I am a philosophical subscriber to Twinkle's theory that if you let children have a sweet treat every so often, they won't freak out when in the presence of candy. But Bear is only 17 months old, so that usually equates to me breaking one or two bites off of something and handing it to him. And in so doing, I have observed that (like me), the Bear has a massive sweet tooth. And since he is only 17 months old, I don't expect him to have a lot of self-control. Hence the need for parental involvement in doling out goodies. And finally, I don't have any idea where this cookie came from or what is in it.It's Easter, there are plenty of choices for a little sweet something, and I would really rather not load my kid up with chemical-laden crap.
This is par for the course with the extended J-family. They don't think they need clearance for anything because "it's family." I don't care if you are relatives, you still don't get to override my choices for my child. Respect some boundaries, people.
We were sitting at the table at Mr-Sis's house for the annual Easter J-family gathering. The Bear was rambunctious: nothing too unusual for a 17-month-old child who is outside his usual haunts and among a whole lot of people he really doesn't know. Still, he's standing up on his chair, generally being excitable. And here comes Mr-Aunt with a giant bunny-shaped sugar cookie (I am not exaggerating when I say this thing was the size of my hand), which she proceeds to hand directly to my child and announce, "Here you go!" I said immediately, "Please don't give him that." And of course, she got offended and acted like I was being ridiculous.
Listen, I know all about people with crazy food issues, and I recognize that she intended to be kind. But there were several problems here. Problem the first: Mr-Aunt hardly knows my child. The fact that she is related to Mr. J hardly gives her the right to skip the basic step of parental clearance. We are not close, and for all she knows, he has a serious food allergy. What the hell is she doing handing a kid anything to eat without first asking one of his parents if it is OK? Would you walk up to some kid in your child's classroom or at the pool and hand him or her an edible item? I think not.
Problem the second: this cookie was massive. It was easily more sugar than he has eaten in his entire life to date. I'm all about special treats, but if the Bear were 7, this cookie would have been a very large treat. And as it happens, I am trying really hard to limit his sugar intake. I am a philosophical subscriber to Twinkle's theory that if you let children have a sweet treat every so often, they won't freak out when in the presence of candy. But Bear is only 17 months old, so that usually equates to me breaking one or two bites off of something and handing it to him. And in so doing, I have observed that (like me), the Bear has a massive sweet tooth. And since he is only 17 months old, I don't expect him to have a lot of self-control. Hence the need for parental involvement in doling out goodies. And finally, I don't have any idea where this cookie came from or what is in it.It's Easter, there are plenty of choices for a little sweet something, and I would really rather not load my kid up with chemical-laden crap.
This is par for the course with the extended J-family. They don't think they need clearance for anything because "it's family." I don't care if you are relatives, you still don't get to override my choices for my child. Respect some boundaries, people.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Julep: fashion police
Twinkle, your comments on Judaica never fail to entertain me. I compare and contrast with Mr. J's family, particularly the ladies in his paternal family line, who love themselves some flair. Mr-Mama and The Magnificent Nanny are not above a little glitz from time to time. Mr-Mama's fondness for animal prints once led Mr. J to tell me that my leopard-print mini-skirt made him think of his mother (not the sort of reaction one expects from one's spouse in response to one's leopard-print mini-skirt, and not the reaction I was going for on our romantic evening out). But the J-family takes it to another level. We are talking Dolly-Parton-level flair here. (One of them even has the Dolly-sized fake tatas.)
At Mass this Sunday morning, Mr. J's aunt read the second reading while wearing a gold sequined jacket. Not a gold jacket with a few sequins: every single inch of the jacket was covered in gold sequins, with the exception of the massive fluffy collar. She looked like she came to church straight from a nightclub, where she functioned as the disco ball.
Then she returned to the pew to sit beside Judgy Grandma, who has obviously never heard the adage that when accessorizing, one should remove one item before leaving the house (nor the rule about diamonds during daylight). I have never seen that woman without a large pair of earrings, a necklace, a brooch, and at least two huge cocktail rings loaded up on her very brightly colored ensemble.
At least they wear their nice clothes to church. The woman in front of me had on jeans and a kid in the row behind me was wearing sweatpants. Really? Sweatpants? I know you had to fuss to get your 14-year-old out the door with the family, but couldn't you have spent the extra 30 seconds to make her put on some actual clothes? As my grandmother used to say, "If you won't dress up for God, who do you think is worth dressing up for?" And then she would sigh and say, "At least they came." How true....
At Mass this Sunday morning, Mr. J's aunt read the second reading while wearing a gold sequined jacket. Not a gold jacket with a few sequins: every single inch of the jacket was covered in gold sequins, with the exception of the massive fluffy collar. She looked like she came to church straight from a nightclub, where she functioned as the disco ball.
Then she returned to the pew to sit beside Judgy Grandma, who has obviously never heard the adage that when accessorizing, one should remove one item before leaving the house (nor the rule about diamonds during daylight). I have never seen that woman without a large pair of earrings, a necklace, a brooch, and at least two huge cocktail rings loaded up on her very brightly colored ensemble.
At least they wear their nice clothes to church. The woman in front of me had on jeans and a kid in the row behind me was wearing sweatpants. Really? Sweatpants? I know you had to fuss to get your 14-year-old out the door with the family, but couldn't you have spent the extra 30 seconds to make her put on some actual clothes? As my grandmother used to say, "If you won't dress up for God, who do you think is worth dressing up for?" And then she would sigh and say, "At least they came." How true....
Monday, April 8, 2013
Twinkle: Exploring Judaica--a Pictorial Essay
So
I can't wait to see this kitchen re-do, y'all. Lord only knows what kind of
tackiness Fun Sink will conjure up for her dream kitchen after a spending a lifetime of admiring contemporary Judiaca. Here's what I'm calling: brown walls, black appliances, brown upholstery with some sort of black/beige/brown dot and squiggle pattern, and one large shards-of-glass statement piece.
Do I sound elitist when I say that Jews love to get new everything? Because I may be, but they really, really do. I remember having a conversation with my brother-in-law (he of the yearlong chair drama) about re-covering a sofa. I love my sofa; I love the lines of it; I knew that I'd be re-covering it down the road whenever we had room for it (this conversation happened when we were in our Chicago condo), but he said, "Oh, why bother--I'm sure you'll just want to buy a new one when the time comes." The concept was so foreign to me that I never forgot the conversation. The idea of getting a new sofa never, ever occurred to me before that. Or since, actually. Even if it didn't work in a room, I'd just find another place for it until I had a need for it, or someone else did.
Maybe this makes me a hoarder; I'm not really sure. My family tends to pass furniture around and around, but getting rid of it is never an option. I inherited my dining room table and chairs from my aunt. It mostly happened because I had a dining room that needed a table and she had a table and chairs that she wasn't using. They've literally been passed around my family since my great-great grandfather had them more than a hundred years ago. And not once in that century of marriages, babies, and new houses, did it ever occur to anyone in the family to give that table away. One of these days, my house will settle down and no one will spill milk or bang Legos on the table, and then I'll get it refinished, but I won't get rid of it. And someday one daughter or another will need a table and I won't, and she'll have it until she doesn't need it anymore and someone else does, because that is how my family works. We shuffle pieces around as needed; our furniture, decor, and jewelry is literally part of a traveling collection.
I cannot imagine casting my dining room table into the street like a piece of trash in order to get something new, and I don't plan to raise my children that way. But Jews do it every day, and I find it baffling, tacky, and fascinating all at once.
Anyway, back to Fun Sink. She knows I like antiques and heirlooms--she's picked up on that much. But she thinks this means that I'll take in any sad and pathetic artifact purchased at Value City Furniture in mid-1980s. Here's how Mr. Twinkle's family works: they buy all new and horribly trendy furniture every few decades or so, and then when it's time for a re-do they call it a "family heirloom" and try to dump it on me.
Below is my dining room sideboard, a piece that has been passed around my family. It was in my mom's front hall until she saw that I had the perfect place for it. She gave it to me, figured out a temporary fix for her front hall, and has been scouring antique stores for a new sideboard ever since. (Awesome of her, I know). Unlike Fun Sink, she did not--I repeat did not--consult the staff interior decorator at La-Z-Boy for ideas on this or any other pressing home decor matter.
Do I sound elitist when I say that Jews love to get new everything? Because I may be, but they really, really do. I remember having a conversation with my brother-in-law (he of the yearlong chair drama) about re-covering a sofa. I love my sofa; I love the lines of it; I knew that I'd be re-covering it down the road whenever we had room for it (this conversation happened when we were in our Chicago condo), but he said, "Oh, why bother--I'm sure you'll just want to buy a new one when the time comes." The concept was so foreign to me that I never forgot the conversation. The idea of getting a new sofa never, ever occurred to me before that. Or since, actually. Even if it didn't work in a room, I'd just find another place for it until I had a need for it, or someone else did.
Maybe this makes me a hoarder; I'm not really sure. My family tends to pass furniture around and around, but getting rid of it is never an option. I inherited my dining room table and chairs from my aunt. It mostly happened because I had a dining room that needed a table and she had a table and chairs that she wasn't using. They've literally been passed around my family since my great-great grandfather had them more than a hundred years ago. And not once in that century of marriages, babies, and new houses, did it ever occur to anyone in the family to give that table away. One of these days, my house will settle down and no one will spill milk or bang Legos on the table, and then I'll get it refinished, but I won't get rid of it. And someday one daughter or another will need a table and I won't, and she'll have it until she doesn't need it anymore and someone else does, because that is how my family works. We shuffle pieces around as needed; our furniture, decor, and jewelry is literally part of a traveling collection.
I cannot imagine casting my dining room table into the street like a piece of trash in order to get something new, and I don't plan to raise my children that way. But Jews do it every day, and I find it baffling, tacky, and fascinating all at once.
Anyway, back to Fun Sink. She knows I like antiques and heirlooms--she's picked up on that much. But she thinks this means that I'll take in any sad and pathetic artifact purchased at Value City Furniture in mid-1980s. Here's how Mr. Twinkle's family works: they buy all new and horribly trendy furniture every few decades or so, and then when it's time for a re-do they call it a "family heirloom" and try to dump it on me.
Below is my dining room sideboard, a piece that has been passed around my family. It was in my mom's front hall until she saw that I had the perfect place for it. She gave it to me, figured out a temporary fix for her front hall, and has been scouring antique stores for a new sideboard ever since. (Awesome of her, I know). Unlike Fun Sink, she did not--I repeat did not--consult the staff interior decorator at La-Z-Boy for ideas on this or any other pressing home decor matter.
So you all see the general look of my dining room--I know you've all been there, but I need this for comparison purposes because below is what Fun Sink wants to give to me.
She has been insisting on it and I have been politely trying to say no. Mr. Twinkle has been politely trying to say no. She does not want to take no for an answer, because she believes we "need the storage space." Even though we already have a sideboard, she thinks we should shove this into the opposite corner of our dining room, because we need a place for our linens. At least I have linens. I guarantee you this piece is currently filled with paper napkins, shiny Jerusalem-themed tablecloths, and plastic see-through tablecloth covers--all of which she actually uses at dinner parties.
She essentially wants to turn my dining room into this:
Twinkle: Family Dinner Cockblock
Fun Sink is redoing her kitchen this month, so I graciously offered to do one of our beloved Friday night get-togethers at our house. Not that I thought she'd take me up on it, but we're supposed to be family, so I offered. Tonight Mr. Twinkle and I both got an e-mail from her, making sure we'd be free on the 26th (the night I offered to have them over), to attend a dinner at the Glenview. It'll just be Fun Sink and my FIL, us, and two of Fun Sink's cousins from California. And she is going to take all her supplies and ingredients and cook for everyone in the tiny kitchen of the Glenview, with no help whatsoever.
And here is how that would have gone down in my family, with the loving relationship between my mother and my dad's mother: my grandmother would have said, "I've got these cousins coming in and my kitchen's being remodeled. I don't know what I'm going to do." And my mother (having already offered to host) would have said again, "I'd be happy to host everyone." And my grandmother would have thanked her profusely and offered to bring something and help her set up, and my mother would have accepted her help because she would have known that my grandmother didn't mean anything nefarious by it. And that, I believe, is how families should work.
Anyway, I'm sure y'all are thinking I'm crazy right now because--hello--this Glenview dinner means less (no) work for me. And I'm OK with that part of it. But at the same time I wish Fun Sink would treat me more like a friend and a member of the family. Also, I know what this will be: the same menu of brisket and veggies with no seasoning, and another excuse for Fun Sink to cook a meal at the Glenview and then complain about all her hard work.
Anyway, Mr. Twinkle is more upset than I am that she shunned my gracious offer, so that's something. The sad thing: it doesn't have to be this way. All she would have to do is treat me like a member of the family and stop competing over every little thing. I know that's impossible for her, and that is a shame. It could all be so much better than it is.
And here is how that would have gone down in my family, with the loving relationship between my mother and my dad's mother: my grandmother would have said, "I've got these cousins coming in and my kitchen's being remodeled. I don't know what I'm going to do." And my mother (having already offered to host) would have said again, "I'd be happy to host everyone." And my grandmother would have thanked her profusely and offered to bring something and help her set up, and my mother would have accepted her help because she would have known that my grandmother didn't mean anything nefarious by it. And that, I believe, is how families should work.
Anyway, I'm sure y'all are thinking I'm crazy right now because--hello--this Glenview dinner means less (no) work for me. And I'm OK with that part of it. But at the same time I wish Fun Sink would treat me more like a friend and a member of the family. Also, I know what this will be: the same menu of brisket and veggies with no seasoning, and another excuse for Fun Sink to cook a meal at the Glenview and then complain about all her hard work.
Anyway, Mr. Twinkle is more upset than I am that she shunned my gracious offer, so that's something. The sad thing: it doesn't have to be this way. All she would have to do is treat me like a member of the family and stop competing over every little thing. I know that's impossible for her, and that is a shame. It could all be so much better than it is.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Twinkle: Score One For Me!
I've managed to piss off Fun Sink, and I didn't even have to get pregnant or homeschool my children! All I had to do was join a certain cultlike swimming pool and have A drop it into the conversation that she needs some new bathing suits, because she doesn't want to contaminate our new pool with the germs from the JCC.
In my defense, we talked a lot about germs this winter, and I was obsessed with not bringing germs into the house because Baby B was too little to have a flu shot, so I was constantly stripping my children down and bathing them whenever they entered the house, to eradicate outside germs. That's where she got her ideas about germs--not because I told her the JCC had some kind of special germs that we don't want to go spreading around. I actually don't even know if A mentioned her JCC germ theory to Fun Sink, as she did to my mother in part of a larger plot to get my mom to buy her a new bathing suit. But I do like to picture it going down like that.
Anyway, Fun Sink and FIL are in panic mode because now the Twinkle family will not be exclusively swimming with the Jews. Because the JCC is just soooooooo Jewish and no goyim swim there at all.
Here is the reality of the swimming situation in the Jewish community: the Jews are all swimming at a). Standard, b). the pool at Sutherland, c). the Northeast Family Y, because the JCC's facilities are sub-par and not everyone is as willing as Mr. Twinkle to swim at a suck-ass pool out of loyalty to Zion. Even the most dedicated Jews go to their neighborhood pools or to Standard (which I actually heard just closed except for golf--that will be a major blow to snobby Jewry in our fair city). In recent years, the clientele of the JCC was mostly aging Russian immigrants who subscribe to the PB, Attorney-At-Law philosophy of locker room etiquette, and perfectly nice Highlands moms who haven't yet found their golden ticket into you-know-where.
Anyway, the disapproval from Fun Sink was palpable. And we haven't done anything wrong--we're just doing what Jews and gentiles alike do every day of every summer: swimming somewhere other than the JCC. Here's what I say: up your game, JCC--make people want to swim there and you won't have to depend on sympathy memberships from families like ours. If they act now maybe they can poach some disenfranchised Standard members who are drifting aimlessly...because we know those people are not going to Big Spring.
In my defense, we talked a lot about germs this winter, and I was obsessed with not bringing germs into the house because Baby B was too little to have a flu shot, so I was constantly stripping my children down and bathing them whenever they entered the house, to eradicate outside germs. That's where she got her ideas about germs--not because I told her the JCC had some kind of special germs that we don't want to go spreading around. I actually don't even know if A mentioned her JCC germ theory to Fun Sink, as she did to my mother in part of a larger plot to get my mom to buy her a new bathing suit. But I do like to picture it going down like that.
Anyway, Fun Sink and FIL are in panic mode because now the Twinkle family will not be exclusively swimming with the Jews. Because the JCC is just soooooooo Jewish and no goyim swim there at all.
Here is the reality of the swimming situation in the Jewish community: the Jews are all swimming at a). Standard, b). the pool at Sutherland, c). the Northeast Family Y, because the JCC's facilities are sub-par and not everyone is as willing as Mr. Twinkle to swim at a suck-ass pool out of loyalty to Zion. Even the most dedicated Jews go to their neighborhood pools or to Standard (which I actually heard just closed except for golf--that will be a major blow to snobby Jewry in our fair city). In recent years, the clientele of the JCC was mostly aging Russian immigrants who subscribe to the PB, Attorney-At-Law philosophy of locker room etiquette, and perfectly nice Highlands moms who haven't yet found their golden ticket into you-know-where.
Anyway, the disapproval from Fun Sink was palpable. And we haven't done anything wrong--we're just doing what Jews and gentiles alike do every day of every summer: swimming somewhere other than the JCC. Here's what I say: up your game, JCC--make people want to swim there and you won't have to depend on sympathy memberships from families like ours. If they act now maybe they can poach some disenfranchised Standard members who are drifting aimlessly...because we know those people are not going to Big Spring.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Twinkle: Fun Sink Gets Her Heart's Desire
Well, Fun Sink is finally getting what she wants. A grandson. And, no, it's not from Mr. Twinkle, her son who never seems quite to measure up in her eyes (never mind my part in the equation of how she got her grandchildren, because clearly I have never mattered). It's time to find a mohel and plan a catered lunch because, oh blessed day, the Royal House of Fun Sink is finally getting A BOY.
And y'all know I would not trade my three-girl family for anything; that is not what this is about. It's about my SIL doing every fucking thing my in-laws want her to do, whether she has any control over it or not. Seriously. First she marries my brother-in-law, the 500-lb. vegan with the adorably Southern-Jewish family. (His vegan diet has inspired everyone in the family to renounce any sort of culinary pleasure, which makes meals with those freaks even less fun than before). She had her daughter a polite 5 years after her wedding (not like my firstborn, who everyone was counting back the months on--it worked out with a few months to spare, in case you were wondering yourself). She works as a speech therapist at a school one day a week, unlike my lazy *ss, which probably can't be pried from the sofa during Regis And Kelly*. And now she has waited a polite 3-1/2 years to breed again. And of course she'll stop at two--who do y'all think she is, Michelle Duggar? So it's so lucky that this last grandchild is finally a boy. SIL gives everyone what they've been wanting! Again! Finally!
Maybe I would not be so sensitive about this if relatives had not been patting my belly a year ago, saying, "Please be a boy." This actually fucking happened to me. Coupled with the lack of congratulations and general sullen behavior from my in-laws when we told them Baby B was a girl, and it feels like Mr. Twinkle and I are (again) somehow major disappointments. But, just when you think all hope is lost, SIL comes through with what everybody wanted all along: Little Lord Fun Sink.
I cannot even believe I am dealing with this in the year 2013. You'd think this was fucking Game of Thrones. Excuse my French, y'all, but I am tired of always being the disappointing one. I mean, let's be serious--which one of you boy mamas wouldn't LOVE to have me for a daughter-in-law? Oh, and the icing on the cake--this long-awaited male heir to Fun Sink Abbey is due August 20. Four days before the Pink Tie Ball, which I've been volunteering for, and which I actually thought I'd get to go to this year since they moved it away from football season. Not so! The bris will probably be that weekend. Just forget that I even have a social life or obligations of my own, people, because there is finally a boy in this family.
*I hope y'all know I was joking about the whole Regis And Kelly thing.
And y'all know I would not trade my three-girl family for anything; that is not what this is about. It's about my SIL doing every fucking thing my in-laws want her to do, whether she has any control over it or not. Seriously. First she marries my brother-in-law, the 500-lb. vegan with the adorably Southern-Jewish family. (His vegan diet has inspired everyone in the family to renounce any sort of culinary pleasure, which makes meals with those freaks even less fun than before). She had her daughter a polite 5 years after her wedding (not like my firstborn, who everyone was counting back the months on--it worked out with a few months to spare, in case you were wondering yourself). She works as a speech therapist at a school one day a week, unlike my lazy *ss, which probably can't be pried from the sofa during Regis And Kelly*. And now she has waited a polite 3-1/2 years to breed again. And of course she'll stop at two--who do y'all think she is, Michelle Duggar? So it's so lucky that this last grandchild is finally a boy. SIL gives everyone what they've been wanting! Again! Finally!
Maybe I would not be so sensitive about this if relatives had not been patting my belly a year ago, saying, "Please be a boy." This actually fucking happened to me. Coupled with the lack of congratulations and general sullen behavior from my in-laws when we told them Baby B was a girl, and it feels like Mr. Twinkle and I are (again) somehow major disappointments. But, just when you think all hope is lost, SIL comes through with what everybody wanted all along: Little Lord Fun Sink.
I cannot even believe I am dealing with this in the year 2013. You'd think this was fucking Game of Thrones. Excuse my French, y'all, but I am tired of always being the disappointing one. I mean, let's be serious--which one of you boy mamas wouldn't LOVE to have me for a daughter-in-law? Oh, and the icing on the cake--this long-awaited male heir to Fun Sink Abbey is due August 20. Four days before the Pink Tie Ball, which I've been volunteering for, and which I actually thought I'd get to go to this year since they moved it away from football season. Not so! The bris will probably be that weekend. Just forget that I even have a social life or obligations of my own, people, because there is finally a boy in this family.
*I hope y'all know I was joking about the whole Regis And Kelly thing.
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