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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

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....