Twinkle: Crewel Intentions

There's this sweet girl from Junior League--y'all know the one. She used to work long hours at Julep's firm, until she left to follow her dreams. She's super-sweet, likes crafting, and talks about her Nana a lot. I know y'all know to whom I'm referring.

She posted this to Pinterest, along with lots of embroidery ideas for baby turtles and Christmas angels.

This body stocking would actually go really well with my china pattern, and I think the obvious question here is this: where can I order one for Mr. Twinkle?

Julep: A moment of peace, quiet, and tranquility

That is what my grandmama used to say she wanted most of all in her parenting years, and now I know what she meant. I'm enjoying one now and it is enough to weep with joy. The Bear is on day three of a sleeping-in streak that I hope lasts for a month. The Seagull went a whole 5.5 hours between feedings last night and is on hour five of the next round. At this rate I may upgrade her far sooner than projected.

I'm very thankful that the Seagull is a girl. I was so excited to have a daughter, and the residual goodwill flowing from that excitement is pretty much the only thing keeping me sane. When she screams for the entire four hours between her 6 pm and 10 pm feedings, I soothe myself by thinking happy thoughts - about how cute she will be when she is two, and how fun it will be to go to the American Girl store when she is eight, and how much I will enjoy her when she comes home from college.

Her present incarnation has little to recommend it except the wardrobe. But I have discovered that I do not care for the bulk of little girl clothes out there. I do not want to dress her in knits. Onesies - bah. Give me smocking! My cousin brought me some beautiful dresses from her own childhood: batiste, percale, eyelet trimming. That's what I'm talking about. But I fear that I will have to invest in the Seagull's wardrobe myself instead of letting Mr-Mama do all the shopping. Thus far she has shown a sad lack of old-school flair in her purchases. Little knit leggings and a matching tutu tunic are nothing compared with a diaper cover with rows of rosebuds.

I did make a point to dress the Seagull up in one of Cousin's dresses when we went to the Mr-House for a cookout on Memorial Day, and to talk up how much I love those old-fashioned fluffy ensembles. But if she can't buy it at Kohl's ... you would think that a shopaholic with as much money as she has would be all over the little boutiques, but no. She likes the discounters because that way she can convince herself she is saving money.

Twinkle: Disaster Could Strike Local Jews: Rosh Hashanah Buffet May Be In Peril

Fun Sink's arrogance never ceases to astound me.

So Little Lord Fun Sink's arrival is set for mid- to late-August. My money's on mid, so that the bris will fall perfectly on the weekend of the Pink Tie Ball, because this family loves nothing more than to ignore the existence of my social life and prevent me from attending social functions whenever possible. Regardless of when he's born, I'm sure the Fun Sink contingency will be staying up there for weeks after the birth, because everyone knows new mothers don't have their sh!t together* and they need Fun Sink to cook, clean, tend to the baby, and tell them what to do in their own homes.

Here's the big problem: Rosh Hashanah 2013. It's early, y'all. It's the first week of September, and no matter when Little Lord Fun Sink is born, I'm sure everyone will still be up in Connecticut, either planning or recovering from the biggest quinoa, kale, and purified water-soaked bris American Jewry has ever seen. Which begs the question: who is going to make our local Rosh Hashanah dinner happen?????

Now, in a normal world here's how it would go: anyone who's in Connecticut would make dinner for the people who are going to be in Connecticut, and the people who are in Connecticut would eat that dinner together. The rest of us poor suckers back home would either do our own thing, or meet somewhere and all bring our own covered dish. No big deal. The cuisine probably wouldn't stand up to Fun Sink's standards of kosherness, but she wouldn't even be there to worry about it, so why care?

Instead this is a major source of stress for her. The handwringing has already begun. What's going to happen this year on Rosh Hashanah? Where's everyone going to go? Who's going to cook for them? What if we're still up there? How can we make any plans at all if we don't know the exact arrival date of Little Lord Fun Sink? When is the earliest date I can bake and freeze a noodle kugel and still have it taste fresh and delicious when served? And, if I went that route, is Aunt Gail even capable of thawing/serving it?!?!?

The arrogance! I'm pretty sure Rosh Hashanah will go on, even if she's not there to provide/complain about/oversee a banquet spread for 50 people. (If anything, it's a much-needed chance to trim the guest list of randos). But, instead of letting her family and friends figure things out for themselves, I am almost positive she'll be staying up late all summer, cooking and freezing beef briskets and baked turkey, and all sorts of unseasoned broccoli and zucchini blends. I can't wait to watch her try to control the whole thing from afar. If it happens, I will laugh and laugh. And then I will bring some herbs and spices to make those bland vegetables edible.

*I'm in no way claiming to have my sh*t together, but that doesn't mean I want Fun Sink running so much as the dishwasher at Chez Twinkle.

Julep: Hello Darlin(s)...

It's been a long time...

I had a lovely moment of quiet this morning and I was so excited to do a little blogging - I have had great quantities of blog material during the first five weeks of Maternity Leave 2: Seagulls Attack, there has been little time for blogging (though I have managed to read, so please keep writing!).

I booted up the tablet computer only to discover that my internet was down. Of course, by the time I got that sorted out, the Bear is awake and on the move, so this will have to be pretty short. Let me just say that baby girl will be referred to here as the Seagull, because she squawks and eats and poops but no one ever sees her sleep. Today she is all dressed up in an adorable emsemble presented to her by her auntie LoLa, but Ihave warned her that all the cute clothes in the world are not going to help if she can't do something about this attitude problem. Nobody likes a whiner, and she is always complaining about something. Sort of like Fun Sink.

Gotta go. Bear is in destructo mode. More later, I hope.

Twinkle: The School I Like Salted Its Own Game

So we drove to the east end to get bagels this morning, as we often do on Saturdays (and I again pose the eternal question: why can't a person get a good bagel on this end of town?) While we were out there, Mr. Twinkle had the bright idea to drive past a certain school that I toured this week and loved.

The location is horrible for us, but the school is adorable and perfect for A. It's a montessori school with a brand new building. It has huge, bright classrooms and a fenced area out back with lots of trees for climbing. Each class has a garden where they grow flowers, or food to feed their class pets. There are daily violin lessons. The kids have weekly assignment lists that they are responsible for completing, but they figure out on their own how and when to get it all done. Every classroom has a peace corner for calming down (which would totally benefit A). If you want a snack, you go get one (homemade by the teachers), and then you wash your own plate and put it away. The girl who gave me the tour had a baby strapped to her, as I did, and didn't think twice about whipping out a boob in front of me--which I am totally down with. She also made a seamless transition from eight years of montessori into a normal public high school and on to a successful college experience (this is one of Mr. Twinkle's concerns).

Best of all, we can write a check for our spot in the first grade today (unlike the adorably tiny montessori school in the Highlands, where you can't get in if you don't do kindergarten there), and not have to deal with the whole daunting public school selection process. Built-in bonus: this is totally going to piss off Fun Sink.

So I loved it and have been talking it up all week. We won't decide for sure until we tour a few more places, but we've filled out our application and written a check to reserve our spot. I've been talking about how awesome it is and what a great fit for A it will be--and I do believe it will be. Mr. Twinks wanted to drive by after breakfast. We approached the pretty new building where the school is housed. It's a nice building with columns and classical proportions. As we got closer, we saw a few people milling around out front, around some tables that were set up.

They were having a yard sale. As a fundraiser. And it looked like something akin to the infamous five dollar bag sale from BloomingDeals days.

Now, this doesn't bother me, because I can look at it and know it was a half-baked scheme cooked up by some crunchy montessori mom. And as a sustainer in the Junior League, I know I could go in there and whip that fundraiser into shape, if I wanted to. Which don't. (I only get involved in volunteer endeavors if there's wine at the meetings, so without knowing about the wine situation I can't commit to any involvement). But it did not make a good impression on Mr. Twinkle. I mean, of all times for us to drive up there! I seriously cannot believe he had to witness that sorry spectacle. Now he's all worried about how financially sound this school can possibly be, if its fundraiser consisted of a five dollar bag sale.

I'm not worried--I know he'll love it when he tours it. But they could not have picked a worse time to have their five dollar bag sale.

Twinkle: Fun Sink Served My 2-Year-Old A Harsh Dose of Reality

E's love affair with the Eiffel Tower started with a Hartstrings nightgown featuring the motif. First she refused to wear any other pajamas to sleep and pushed me to let her wear the nightgown to school. Next she started building Eiffel Towers with blocks. Then she started saying "I'm flying like a baby birdie on the Eiffel Tower" while swinging on the swingset. And now she sees Eiffel Towers everywhere she goes. She yells and points "Eiffel Tower!" every time we pass a church steeple or cell phone tower.

It's adorable and I love it, because she's 2 and it's OK with me if she believes that every cell phone tower is beautiful and architecturally significant. I sort of love it, and it's become a game. We'll say, "Look E--an Eiffel Tower!" whenever we see one that fits her definition. When there's not one around, she'll lament the fact that there are no Eiffel Towers in sight.

Apparently Fun Sink told her what's up: there's only one Eiffel Tower and it's in Paris and there aren't any real Eiffel Towers around here. She said that there are models of Eiffel Towers in places like Kings Island (when she was dealing this harsh lesson in reality, she had to emphasize the word "models," like the joyless schoolmarm that she is) but the one true Eiffel Tower is in France. So buck up, E, and stop seeing beauty and finding joy in what other people find mundane. That is just a boring old cell phone tower and an eyesore, and the sooner you learn it the better.

Now A, smart and sassy five-year-old that she is, knows the facts and fiction surrounding the Eiffel Tower, but unlike Fun Sink she's kind enough not to ruin it for her sister. In fact, A will be the first one to join the fun and say, "Hey, look, E--there's an Eiffel Tower!" 

And thank goodness the lesson about models went right over E's head. But doesn't that just make you sad? And angry? That Fun Sink would just take the joy away from E like that, all in the name of some facts? She has her whole life to learn what's true and false about the one true Eiffel Tower, but right now she is 2. Let her have a little bit of magic. It makes me want to keep that evil witch far away from my children's impressionable imaginations.

Twinkle: Fun Sink Loves Complaining Almost As Much As E Loves Injera

Lola posted this quote to Pinterest that says "Weak people revenge; strong people forgive; intelligent people ignore." And I've been trying to take that attitude to heart with Fun Sink. So I've been playing it cool around her, and not trying so damn hard to get my kids to eat broccoli in front of her or whatever. I've been cultivating a strong air of I-don't-give-a-sh!t, and I really think it's helping me.

We had dinner at Queen of Sheba tonight, before a program at the girls' school, and let me tell y'all: Fun Sink has struck gold with this kitchen rehab. The chances to complain about her First World Problems are endless! The dining room has to be repainted because the beige that the decorator picked is way too beige. They refinished the living room and dining room floors today and the fumes are going to kill her. The contractors are going to have to put way more cuts in the granite than she wants. Fun Sink: you love to cook, love to complain about cooking, and you are getting the kitchen of your dreams, where you can cook and complain all day long! Be a little bit thankful!

Meanwhile, Grandma-in-law is complaining about all the events she has to go to for my children. And, ok...there was a ballet recital, a piano recital, and this spring singing program. She said, "All this culture is going to kill me." You know what? A lot of octogenarians would be thankful that they've lived to see their great grandchildren get up in front of a crowd of people and sing "How Much is that Doggie in the Window?" Also: don't want to come? Don't come. Nobody's forcing you. At this point it would be one less person to save a seat for.

Oh yeah, and my kids are in the middle of Queen of Sheba, eating chicken and rice and behaving decently, but I'm a bad mom because E is focused on the injera and keeps saying she likes the injera. Fun Sink gave her a little injera with spinach on it and E (who's great about veggies) was all, "Forget this spinach--just give me the injera!" Guess what, Fun Sink--people like injera! Injera is the whole reason why some people eat Ethiopian food in the first place! E is not a freak for liking injera and I am not a bad mom for giving her a reasonable amount of injera when she's also eating her chicken and rice! I am so over the head-shaking and the hand-wringing because my children like bread. Get. Over. It. I mean, seriously, y'all. The sh!t I have to put up with. Fun Sink purses her lips and shakes her head disappointedly because my children like bread. Just think about that for a moment, and then you may begin to understand why I am so uptight about every tiny detail of what my children say, do, and eat in front of her, and why it's so hard for me to let go and stop giving a sh!t.

Okay. Deep breath.

I apologize for all the excessive exclamation points. Not giving a sh!t when Fun Sink is around is clearly getting me all worked up during my downtime.

Ahem: Dibbs

Julep, this book is blowing my Sunny, Southern Mind.  I don't think you knew.

History, What?!: Dibbs

   So Julep let me borrow a book, The Southern Mind, and it's fascinating, and I love it, and I need to take notes so we can talk about it at the Classic.  As is probably the case with most of you, my education regarding American history is slanted south of the Mason-Dixon Line.  The first time I ever heard the North referred to as "we" I was an adult with a Specialist degree observing a high school US History class.  I had to shake the cobwebs a little.
   I consider myself pretty knowledgeable about the Civil War, though.  I was all up in its business for a while, reading North and South, Love and War, all the historical fiction I could get my hands on, mostly so I could look more authentic at Old South.  Admittedly, I never read a book about some pretty Yankee girl who came South for Reconstruction with her Carpetbagger husband.  Who wants to know about that?  (An aside, my great-aunt used to call her ex-daughter in-law's new husband a Carpetbagger.  He was from New Albany.)
   Anyway, this Southern Mind book tells me that as soon as Andrew Johnson gave the Southern States back their rights, they put slavery back in their constitutions.  That's why Reconstruction took such a violent, nasty turn.  Is that true?  I have no reason to doubt the author, I just never, ever heard that.  I've heard the ugly--the Klan, for example.  Has history been hiding the Southern Constitutions from me all these years?  Don't get me wrong; I don't care.  I've made it a full half of my life this way.  I'll pull through.  Just curious...

Twinkle: Watch Me Somehow F*ck This One Up

Well, the upcoming dinner party is upon us, which means I'll be making the wrong damn meal again--just watch. Here's the menu:

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Salad:
Vegan Caesar Salad (with regular Caesar dressing for Fun Sink, who has a nut allergy)

Main Course:
Layered Eggplant and Zucchini Casserole
Ratatouille
Grilled Salmon (FIL won't eat it, but my kids will, which might avoid the last dinner's buttered noodle disaster and could potentially make me look like a good mom for once, but it will probably backfire somehow)
Fruit Salad

Dessert:
Homemade Crispy Twix Bars (which are vegan and contain no processed sugar, but I'm sure my FIL won't eat them either because of the calories or whatever, but they are freaking awesome so I don't really care. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to make for dessert? And if I don't make dessert I haven't fulfilled my obligation as a hostess in Fun Sink's eyes. I hate these people).
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And y'all know I like cooking, and I like a dinner party, but I am so dreading this one. I don't mind cooking vegan meals--I do it all the time, but it's really not fun to cook for someone who won't eat anything. I had to filter my regular vegan recipes for his no-pasta, no-potatoes, all-nutrient diet. And, by the way, he weighs 120 lbs., and people he knows are worried about him. He has completely reversed his diabetes through diet, which is cool, but he needs to chill out now. People think he has an eating disorder, and he just might. It's just awful to cook for him.

I think a lot of what's bothering me about cooking for him goes back to my SIL and how perfect everyone considers her. I'm sure she'd make him the perfect bland plain quinoa meal he so craves, and then Fun Sink would tell everyone she knows about the recipe and how great it was and how Sophie ate the whole damn thing and then ate a second helping of steamed broccoli for dessert, and then my kids would be all, "Another milkshake please!"

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Here's something I'm sick of.

Yes, we skipped the Derby this year, and I am super-impressed that Julep made it to the races what with having a new baby and two children under the age of two. I just did not feel that I could get away for a whole day this year, but more power to you, honey. I think taking a couple of years off when I was pregnant or when our kids are little is a normal and understandable thing for Mr. Twinkle and me to do. We have every intention of getting back to it.

But Mr. Twinkle's parents love to refer to us as an "old married couple" since we "don't go to the Derby anymore." And, apparently our good couple friends, T and his pregnant wife S, are also an "old married couple," and aren't we just all a bunch of "old married folks" and isn't it hilarious how "old" and "married" we all are? And of course "old married people" like us have no use for the fun and frivolity of the Derby.

But--oh! My SIL is throwing a fabulous, quinoa- and kale-soaked Derby party in Connecticut, and it's just the most fabulous Derby party you've ever heard of!

And when SIL called Mr. Twinkle on Derby Day, she asked, "How come no one goes to the Derby anymore?"

And Mr. Twinkle answered, "Practically everyone we know is there."

And I find it super-annoying that the entire Twinkle family just assumes that we are boring and likes to laugh about how old and boring we are. I think Fun Sink likes to think of me being knocked off my high horse a little bit, like I don't have my former social life with all these children I've chosen to have. And of course that's just not the case, as you all know. I mean, I do the best I can. I don't think I'm old and boring. I sure as hell would never serve quinoa at a Derby party, so at least I have that going for me.

In news that is actually unrelated to Fun Sink's thoughts on the matter, Mr. Twinkle and I have decided that this will be our last Derby day to be locked in a house with small children. Because that is a miserable undertaking. Next year, it is back on, b!tches.