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...
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
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.
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