In the past 48 hours, both of my kids have been down with a stomach bug: Bits was puking on Tuesday, and yesterday it was Bear's turn. Bits was fortunately at home with the bug hit, but Bear was at school - so someone had to go pick him up and spend the afternoon with him. That may be the subject of another, heavier post later ... right now I just need to tell someone about the interplay between the kids' illness and Mr. Mama.
All afternoon yesterday Mr. J was feverishly blowing up Mr. Mama's phone, hoping she could help out with the sick Bear so that he could get to Lexington for a work appointment rather than me having to leave work early. When she finally called him back - hours having passed - she was in the check-out line at Kohl's. She couldn't help, she was very busy shopping all afternoon - and I know Christmas is coming, but I also know that she has been stockpiling gifts since October. And she has two more weeks until Christmas, and no other obligations in her day time hours. Ahem. Anyway, she was unwilling to come help him out. Fair enough, she's got priorities.
So at 8:10 this morning she sent me an email asking how Bear was doing. I thought this was a very kind gesture since she knew he had been sick, and I wrote back promptly that although he was still upchucking at bedtime, he seemed to have made it through the night and was still sleeping when I left for work at 7:40, bless his little heart.
At 10:26, I got a call from Mr. J. He said, "I deliberately left my glasses in the truck so I could come back out and tell you about this. You will not believe it. She showed up at the house at 9:45 with her @$$ on fire telling me to get the kids out to the car, and she wanted me to drive since we were already going to be late. She made an appointment for them to get their Christmas pictures made."
Y'all. Two kids who have been puking everywhere for the past two days. And I know she did not have that appointment made before they got sick because she was just asking me on Tuesday if she could take them over the weekend. (And I said maybe, depending on what time she could get an appointment, so this wasn't her only chance.)
You know everyone who comes to that photography studio in the next week is picking up the bug. I would warn you off by name, but none of y'all would ever be tacky enough to take a child there in the first place. It's awful. Fake fireplace backdrops, fake pine cones. These photos are going to be a rich treasure trove some day when Bits and Bear encounter Awkward Family Photos.
As always, completely oblivious to the needs or interests of anyone other than herself.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Julep: bella figura
I just got the daily e-newsletter from school, which often features a few photos of what the children have been up to today. And I noticed today, as I have before, that my kid looks adorable and the other kids, not so much.
It's not that my children are physically so attractive - they are, but most of the other kids are also nice-looking. The difference is in wardrobe. The other kids might as well be wearing their pajamas. For instance, today the Bear has on khaki pants, a white oxford shirt, and a blue argyle sweater vest. And of course, his school shoes. The boy with whom he is building a block tower in the photo is dressed in a long-sleeved horizontally striped T-shirt, sweatpants with vertical striping on the legs, and plastic sneakers which may or may not light up.
The girls aren't much better. Mostly I'm seeing pants with long-sleeved T-shirts or T-shirt dresses with leggings. I prefer to send Little Bits to school in a dress, but I was caught short on the laundry this morning - they don't usually go to school on Thursday, and I don't have enough tights for four school days in a row. I could have sent her in play clothes, but instead Little Bits is wearing red corduroy overalls with black and white plaid trim, a white blouse with peter pan collar, and two hair bows. (She wanted white, and her brother was adamant that she should wear a red one to match her outfit.)
In a vacuum, most of the clothing items these kids are wearing are fine. I would let my kids wear any given item around the house for play time, or over to my mom's house, or even to Target or the grocery store. But even though they do a lot of play at "school" at this age, I just feel like school deserves the good stuff out of one's wardrobe. Yes, a lot of the time they come home with paint or spaghetti sauce on their nice clothes. I have a free hand with the Oxi Clean, and that is a sacrifice I'm willing to make so that my kids don't grow up to be the kind of people who go to their college classes in sweats or show up to traffic court wearing a Tweety Bird T-shirt and jeans with holes.
Twinks, I am expecting next year's school experience to be a step up. If nothing else, I know the Twinkle sisters will ensure that my two are not the only ones in the building who appear to have changed their clothes after rolling out of bed in the morning.
It's not that my children are physically so attractive - they are, but most of the other kids are also nice-looking. The difference is in wardrobe. The other kids might as well be wearing their pajamas. For instance, today the Bear has on khaki pants, a white oxford shirt, and a blue argyle sweater vest. And of course, his school shoes. The boy with whom he is building a block tower in the photo is dressed in a long-sleeved horizontally striped T-shirt, sweatpants with vertical striping on the legs, and plastic sneakers which may or may not light up.
The girls aren't much better. Mostly I'm seeing pants with long-sleeved T-shirts or T-shirt dresses with leggings. I prefer to send Little Bits to school in a dress, but I was caught short on the laundry this morning - they don't usually go to school on Thursday, and I don't have enough tights for four school days in a row. I could have sent her in play clothes, but instead Little Bits is wearing red corduroy overalls with black and white plaid trim, a white blouse with peter pan collar, and two hair bows. (She wanted white, and her brother was adamant that she should wear a red one to match her outfit.)
In a vacuum, most of the clothing items these kids are wearing are fine. I would let my kids wear any given item around the house for play time, or over to my mom's house, or even to Target or the grocery store. But even though they do a lot of play at "school" at this age, I just feel like school deserves the good stuff out of one's wardrobe. Yes, a lot of the time they come home with paint or spaghetti sauce on their nice clothes. I have a free hand with the Oxi Clean, and that is a sacrifice I'm willing to make so that my kids don't grow up to be the kind of people who go to their college classes in sweats or show up to traffic court wearing a Tweety Bird T-shirt and jeans with holes.
Twinks, I am expecting next year's school experience to be a step up. If nothing else, I know the Twinkle sisters will ensure that my two are not the only ones in the building who appear to have changed their clothes after rolling out of bed in the morning.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Julep: for laughs
I feel like you girls will appreciate these.
http://the-toast.net/2014/11/06/women-rejecting-marriage-proposals-western-art-history/
http://the-toast.net/2014/11/06/women-rejecting-marriage-proposals-western-art-history/
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Julep: Nobody puts Baby in the corner
The Bear loves to sing. He sings to me, he sings to himself all the time. He makes up his own songs, he sings children's songs, he sings songs on the radio. He particularly loves to sing the songs from Frozen, including - especially, of course - "Let It Go." He knows every word. He will sing it with me when there is no music playing. Sometimes I can hear him singing it to put himself to sleep.
So yesterday we were driving home from school, he was singing something and I said, "I love to hear you sing, buddy." And he said, in the saddest little voice imaginable, "But I can't sing Let It Go anymore." I said, "Why not? Who said so?" And he said, "XX [a little girl in his class] told me. I'm not allowed to sing that song because I'm not a gril." (Not a typo - this is how he pronounces "girl.")
Y'all. My heart broke.
Needless to say, I immediately assured him that XX doesn't know what she's talking about, that just because Elsa is a girl doesn't mean boys can't sing that song too, that he should sing "Let It Go" anytime he wants to and he can tell XX that his mama says XX doesn't know shit from Shinola. (The last part was slightly more child-friendly when I said it out loud.) I think I convinced him. But. Little Miss XX has some thunder coming.
I'm sure the preschool director thought I was a nut when I called her today to report this story and insist that someone have a little chat with XX. I realize that XX is only 3, and this is an age where children are very interested in gender development and making distinctions between themselves and the other, and I understand that she didn't mean to crush him. But imagine the reaction if Bear had told XX she is not allowed to play with trucks, because trucks are only for boys. Or if someone told XX she is not allowed to sing "Let It Go" because Elsa is a white girl and XX is black.
Reverse sexism is still sexism, and I am having no part of it. If my son wants to sing diva show tunes until the cows come home, damn it, he can.
So yesterday we were driving home from school, he was singing something and I said, "I love to hear you sing, buddy." And he said, in the saddest little voice imaginable, "But I can't sing Let It Go anymore." I said, "Why not? Who said so?" And he said, "XX [a little girl in his class] told me. I'm not allowed to sing that song because I'm not a gril." (Not a typo - this is how he pronounces "girl.")
Y'all. My heart broke.
Needless to say, I immediately assured him that XX doesn't know what she's talking about, that just because Elsa is a girl doesn't mean boys can't sing that song too, that he should sing "Let It Go" anytime he wants to and he can tell XX that his mama says XX doesn't know shit from Shinola. (The last part was slightly more child-friendly when I said it out loud.) I think I convinced him. But. Little Miss XX has some thunder coming.
I'm sure the preschool director thought I was a nut when I called her today to report this story and insist that someone have a little chat with XX. I realize that XX is only 3, and this is an age where children are very interested in gender development and making distinctions between themselves and the other, and I understand that she didn't mean to crush him. But imagine the reaction if Bear had told XX she is not allowed to play with trucks, because trucks are only for boys. Or if someone told XX she is not allowed to sing "Let It Go" because Elsa is a white girl and XX is black.
Reverse sexism is still sexism, and I am having no part of it. If my son wants to sing diva show tunes until the cows come home, damn it, he can.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Twinkle: Fun Sink Needs a Personality Adjstment
So I've found this awesome balance with my new job, and it is working really well. I now do all of it from home, or a coffee shop, or a carpool line, or wherever. I describe what I see in pictures of the items that are in these estate sales. For instance, there might be a picture of a blue vase, and the caption will say "blue vase," and I'll change it to say, "A lovely Sevres-style vase with gilded foliate scrollwork and cobalt blue ground; it has a pretty pastoral scene in reserve." I love it because it's fun learning the words for everything, and I can do it on my own time. It's not every day; I can still go to the grocery store or make dinner or do laundry, but I look forward to when new items pop up that need their descriptions embellished. It is fascinating; I learn every day, but I don't feel like I'm neglecting my mom duties. It's not a full-time job, and sometimes it's only a few hours a week. It depends on how many sales are going and where we all are in the sale. I enjoy the times when there's a lot of work, because I learn new things. But if there's not a lot of work, that's fine, too. It is the perfect balance for me, and I could not have designed a better job for me.
I don't know why Fun Sink has to be so nasty about it. Things are generally OK with her, but I don't think she understands this job at all. She was asking about it tonight. I talked passionately about how much I like it, how fascinating it is, how much I feel like I'm learning, and what a great balance I've found by working from home on a really relaxed and flexible schedule. She said, "Well, that's all fine. IF you can make any money that way." And, honestly, for me this job is about learning and doing something that I find intellectually interesting, and a little bit of extra money is great, but I'm not exactly the primary breadwinner here, and nobody expects me to be. This balance works for us; and it's OK that we're not getting a 40-hour/week salary for it because the flexibility is worth more to us than that monetary amount. What is her problem?
I sort of feel like no one can judge me anymore. Like, now I have this job, so the Leaning In b*tches can't criticize me. But I'm still home with my kids. So the Stay-At-Home crowd can shut their mouths. I have carte blanche and no hater can say anything. It's a lovely place to be.
She was also a little too giddy tonight when there was a miscommunication between Mr. Twinks and me. The girls are spending the night over there tonight, so I thought Mr. Twinks and I would have a date night, and we had even talked about it. But he decided he needed to work on Baby B's birthday cake, so, when I said, "What are we doing tonight?" he said, "I guess I'm decorating a cake." I said, "Oh...I thought we were having a date night." Fun Sink giddily chimed in, "Misunderstanding!" She just sucks. And yeah, it was a low-key night: we went to Kroger for cake supplies and joked around and had fun. We were laughing more in a Kroger than she ever has. What the hell is her problem?
I don't know why Fun Sink has to be so nasty about it. Things are generally OK with her, but I don't think she understands this job at all. She was asking about it tonight. I talked passionately about how much I like it, how fascinating it is, how much I feel like I'm learning, and what a great balance I've found by working from home on a really relaxed and flexible schedule. She said, "Well, that's all fine. IF you can make any money that way." And, honestly, for me this job is about learning and doing something that I find intellectually interesting, and a little bit of extra money is great, but I'm not exactly the primary breadwinner here, and nobody expects me to be. This balance works for us; and it's OK that we're not getting a 40-hour/week salary for it because the flexibility is worth more to us than that monetary amount. What is her problem?
I sort of feel like no one can judge me anymore. Like, now I have this job, so the Leaning In b*tches can't criticize me. But I'm still home with my kids. So the Stay-At-Home crowd can shut their mouths. I have carte blanche and no hater can say anything. It's a lovely place to be.
She was also a little too giddy tonight when there was a miscommunication between Mr. Twinks and me. The girls are spending the night over there tonight, so I thought Mr. Twinks and I would have a date night, and we had even talked about it. But he decided he needed to work on Baby B's birthday cake, so, when I said, "What are we doing tonight?" he said, "I guess I'm decorating a cake." I said, "Oh...I thought we were having a date night." Fun Sink giddily chimed in, "Misunderstanding!" She just sucks. And yeah, it was a low-key night: we went to Kroger for cake supplies and joked around and had fun. We were laughing more in a Kroger than she ever has. What the hell is her problem?
Julep: shoes with lights
Mr-Mama went to Hilton Head with her buddies two weeks ago. I knew she would be spending a lot of time at the outlet malls, and in a feeble effort to get out ahead of a problem, I sent her an email with a list of items that the kids and I could really use, if she happened to run across any of them while bargain-hunting.
Instead of purchasing any of the things on the list, she bought Little Bits some sleeveless pajamas (very handy for wintertime) and a new pink coat ... after I just dropped $40 on a beautiful little corduroy swing coat for her. Best case scenario, my coat gets worn half as often, worst case is she gets all attached to the pink coat and there's a battle royale every time I try to get my coat on her. You know what? Mr-Mama's coat is going back. I picked out a coat I really like for my kid to wear all winter, and she's going to wear it. Finis.
I can't get around the other problem she purchased for me, though. She bought the Bear sneakers that look like cars, with lights in the heels. He wore them yesterday (since she brought them over when I was not home), and he wanted to wear them to school today. I said no. Tears ensued.
She sent me four text messages about the shoes from Hilton Head to make sure she had the size right. I ignored the first three. The fourth came after midnight, when she informed me that she bought the shoes and I should let her know whether to exchange sizes before she came home. I wrote her back and said, "While he would love shoes with lights, I already bought him some very nice shoes to play in for winter." Did that stop her? Ha!
I draw the line at wearing these shoes to school or church. I would prefer that my child never wear plastic shoes that light up, but as a grandmother, I suppose it's her prerogative to buy hideous items that he will love madly. However, one would hope that she would have enough foresight to realize that buying my kid something I will not let him wear every day means that she has purchased a boxful of family trauma. Thanks, My-My!
Instead of purchasing any of the things on the list, she bought Little Bits some sleeveless pajamas (very handy for wintertime) and a new pink coat ... after I just dropped $40 on a beautiful little corduroy swing coat for her. Best case scenario, my coat gets worn half as often, worst case is she gets all attached to the pink coat and there's a battle royale every time I try to get my coat on her. You know what? Mr-Mama's coat is going back. I picked out a coat I really like for my kid to wear all winter, and she's going to wear it. Finis.
I can't get around the other problem she purchased for me, though. She bought the Bear sneakers that look like cars, with lights in the heels. He wore them yesterday (since she brought them over when I was not home), and he wanted to wear them to school today. I said no. Tears ensued.
She sent me four text messages about the shoes from Hilton Head to make sure she had the size right. I ignored the first three. The fourth came after midnight, when she informed me that she bought the shoes and I should let her know whether to exchange sizes before she came home. I wrote her back and said, "While he would love shoes with lights, I already bought him some very nice shoes to play in for winter." Did that stop her? Ha!
I draw the line at wearing these shoes to school or church. I would prefer that my child never wear plastic shoes that light up, but as a grandmother, I suppose it's her prerogative to buy hideous items that he will love madly. However, one would hope that she would have enough foresight to realize that buying my kid something I will not let him wear every day means that she has purchased a boxful of family trauma. Thanks, My-My!
Mr. J called me a fascist this morning when I told the Bear that his new shoes are not school shoes, and handed him his school shoes instead. (We are still in a cold war stand-off after yesterday's explosion.) I'm OK with that. At least my kids will grow up learning to dress for the occasion.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Julep: overwrought
This was supposed to be the first weekend in three months that Mr. J would be home all weekend and available to participate in family life. Literally since the end of July, there have been only two weekends that he was not wholly occupied with sailing all weekend, and one of those weekends was our anniversary trip to Maine.
I desperately need a new pair of shoes for the cold weather - my driving mocs/ bus-walking shoes are completely trashed - and I need some new bras but I need to get fitted first. I don't want to take my children for these activities; although Little Bits would love the shoe department, I feel that they are rather too much to unleash on the sanctity of Dillard's lingerie department. I can only imagine the Bear's running commentary on the measuring process.
So I've been waiting and waiting for this weekend. Did I mention that Sunday is the Bear's birthday? Did I mention that we have family and Bear's friends coming over to our house on Sunday afternoon ... and that our powder room toilet has been broken for at least eight months, plus there's a gaping hole in the screen door on the back porch and a pile of crap next to our garage that makes us look like white trash? For Mother's Day - yes, that's right, in May - I asked Mr. J to address these household tasks plus a couple other items that should take a handy man like himself less than two hours, total, to complete. None have been tackled, but he did find time to install his friend's garbage disposal, so there's that.
To complete the white trash motif, our grass is overgrown, and my toes haven't seen a pedicure since August.
Mr. J just told me that he has booked sailing lessons both days this weekend. I cussed him like a sailor, then called my mother and cried.
I desperately need a new pair of shoes for the cold weather - my driving mocs/ bus-walking shoes are completely trashed - and I need some new bras but I need to get fitted first. I don't want to take my children for these activities; although Little Bits would love the shoe department, I feel that they are rather too much to unleash on the sanctity of Dillard's lingerie department. I can only imagine the Bear's running commentary on the measuring process.
So I've been waiting and waiting for this weekend. Did I mention that Sunday is the Bear's birthday? Did I mention that we have family and Bear's friends coming over to our house on Sunday afternoon ... and that our powder room toilet has been broken for at least eight months, plus there's a gaping hole in the screen door on the back porch and a pile of crap next to our garage that makes us look like white trash? For Mother's Day - yes, that's right, in May - I asked Mr. J to address these household tasks plus a couple other items that should take a handy man like himself less than two hours, total, to complete. None have been tackled, but he did find time to install his friend's garbage disposal, so there's that.
To complete the white trash motif, our grass is overgrown, and my toes haven't seen a pedicure since August.
Mr. J just told me that he has booked sailing lessons both days this weekend. I cussed him like a sailor, then called my mother and cried.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Julep: what we have here is a failure to communicate
Mr. J is off sailing again this weekend. I talked to my MIL earlier this week, and she said she'd like to have the kids come play at her house sometime. "That would be great," I said; "We have plans on Sunday and we'll be going to church on Saturday evening, but I have a lot of errands to run and it would be such a help if they could hang out with you for a while."
She sent me an email today and suggested that the kids could come over Saturday afternoon so I could run my errands or get a pedicure or go to church, and then I can come back around dinnertime and we can order a pizza and I can look at the sample clothes from her Expensive Clothes party.
Well, this would not be helpful. I know perfectly well what was going on in her head. She doesn't like to get up in the mornings, and would prefer to loll around in her pajamas until noon. I feel that - I would love a pajama-lolling myself. But you know, I already told her that we were going to church Saturday evening - it's her church too, she's well aware of what time Saturday Mass starts and she knows that they can't be relied on to wake up from naps before 3:30. I would get them over to her house, run maybe one errand, and then come back and have to drag them to church when they are not nearly tired of her toys yet.
But did you catch the key piece from her idea? I would leave the kids with her while I go to church. She thought to herself, "Julep can go to church by herself and that way I can sleep in."
Last month I let her keep the kids while I went to church on Sunday evening. And I did not feel right about it at all. My conscience was pricking me all through Mass, and I actually missed having them there squirming around in the pew. I decided I don't want to do that any more. And when I picked them up from her house that evening, I thanked her profusely and told her that the time alone with my thoughts helped me realize that even though it's hard to take both of them by myself when Mr. J is gone, I can manage, and I want to manage. It is important to me that my kids go with me to church on Sunday, every week.
I do my level best to be diplomatic with her but that woman just does not listen.
Oh, and the Expensive Clothes? I have told her the last two times that they just don't cut their clothes for me. They are beautiful, but they don't make petites. It is really nice that she wants to give me things, but I don't need any of the things she wants me to have, and all the sleeves and hems are several inches too long.
She doesn't care what I actually need, she only cares about what she wants to give.
She sent me an email today and suggested that the kids could come over Saturday afternoon so I could run my errands or get a pedicure or go to church, and then I can come back around dinnertime and we can order a pizza and I can look at the sample clothes from her Expensive Clothes party.
Well, this would not be helpful. I know perfectly well what was going on in her head. She doesn't like to get up in the mornings, and would prefer to loll around in her pajamas until noon. I feel that - I would love a pajama-lolling myself. But you know, I already told her that we were going to church Saturday evening - it's her church too, she's well aware of what time Saturday Mass starts and she knows that they can't be relied on to wake up from naps before 3:30. I would get them over to her house, run maybe one errand, and then come back and have to drag them to church when they are not nearly tired of her toys yet.
But did you catch the key piece from her idea? I would leave the kids with her while I go to church. She thought to herself, "Julep can go to church by herself and that way I can sleep in."
Last month I let her keep the kids while I went to church on Sunday evening. And I did not feel right about it at all. My conscience was pricking me all through Mass, and I actually missed having them there squirming around in the pew. I decided I don't want to do that any more. And when I picked them up from her house that evening, I thanked her profusely and told her that the time alone with my thoughts helped me realize that even though it's hard to take both of them by myself when Mr. J is gone, I can manage, and I want to manage. It is important to me that my kids go with me to church on Sunday, every week.
I do my level best to be diplomatic with her but that woman just does not listen.
Oh, and the Expensive Clothes? I have told her the last two times that they just don't cut their clothes for me. They are beautiful, but they don't make petites. It is really nice that she wants to give me things, but I don't need any of the things she wants me to have, and all the sleeves and hems are several inches too long.
She doesn't care what I actually need, she only cares about what she wants to give.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Twinkle: My Feelings on My New Job, and My MIL's Rude Questions
To the working mothers out there: I have had the slightest, smallest glimpse of what you all do, and you have my utmost respect.
I have had my so-called job for two months. It is the most flexible job ever; it is tailor-made for me and where I am in life, and I love it. I mean I actually love it, in a way that I never thought I would want or enjoy a job. I learn something every day--it is making me a connoisseur of antiques and a better shopper in general--what's not to love? I don't want to work all day, or every day--I still want the time to go to the grocery store, or a yoga class, and to take my children to and from school--those things are important to me. But, honestly, it's nice to have somewhere to go on some days, when my children are at school, where I get to do something interesting that I love. I realize I am so incredibly lucky to have the freedom and opportunity to do something that I truly love, and co-workers who totally understand that I need balance and are glad to have me on board in whatever capacity that works for me. They are the coolest people I have ever worked with, and I'm doing the most interesting work I have ever done--I wish this had been my job pre-children, because I would love to throw myself into it in a way that I just can't right now.
That said, I have mommy guilt over loving it. It's a little bit of an identity crisis for me, to love a job. I feel like a big part of my identity is being a stay-at-home mother, and devoting everything to my children. I have loved doing that, but, honestly, it gets a little bit monotonous, and this gives me a really interesting sense of purpose. But when I get home, I feel bad about leaving it. And when I'm there, I feel bad about neglecting my duties at home. And I don't really know what to call myself. Am I a stay-at-home mother, still? I don't feel that I exactly have the street cred to call myself a "working mother." I feel overwhelmed sometimes, and I look at other people who do A LOT more than I do, and see that they're making it work. And then I look at stay-at-home moms, and I ask myself if I should be doing that, and be happy about it. It really is an exercise in not comparing myself to other people, but figuring out a balance between what I want to do and my responsibilities (to the job and to my family)--a balance that makes me happy and works for my family. And thinking about that is probably good for me, because it doesn't matter what everyone else is doing--I know that in my head, but it's hard to put into practice when everybody is doing something different and they all seem to have it together. I don't know what to call myself or what to say when people ask me what I do, but figuring that out is helping me grow as a person.
Anyway, this is a big transition for me and I have a lot of feelings about it: mostly love for the job and guilt over loving the job. It makes me feel good to be around people who are supportive, who ask me questions about it and I can convey just how interesting it is and how much I love it. But my MIL is completely annoying about it. I'm not sure why she thinks I'm doing this, but she doesn't appreciate antiques, so she can't really understand why I enjoy it. When she talks about it to me, she reduces it to a paycheck. She's always saying stuff like, "That one sale looked really good, but did you have to work on that bad one? That one looks like it has a lot of junk in it." And it's true--some sales are better than others. But I still learn something in each and every one, and calling it "junk" just seems to undermine me and the whole process somehow. (Maybe it bothers me that she doesn't have the good taste to know a piece of junk from a treasure, so when she calls it all junk it just rubs me the wrong way). She actually said recently, "Did you get your first paycheck? Were you pleased with it?" I mean WHO asks someone if they are PLEASED with their paycheck? Would it ever occur to any of you to ask someone if they were pleased with their paycheck? That is a tacky (and demeaning) question, and it makes me totally uncomfortable. It makes me shut down completely. It's a rude question and there is no polite answer for it.
I know she just doesn't understand me, or my motivations, or my job, or my interests, but I can't help being offended by her rudeness. And it also plays into my all my insecurities about what this job means to my family and my identity as a working/stay-at-home mother, or whatever combination of that I am now. I don't know what I am, but I am figuring it out every day, and enjoying it as I go. And my paycheck is none of her damn business.
I have had my so-called job for two months. It is the most flexible job ever; it is tailor-made for me and where I am in life, and I love it. I mean I actually love it, in a way that I never thought I would want or enjoy a job. I learn something every day--it is making me a connoisseur of antiques and a better shopper in general--what's not to love? I don't want to work all day, or every day--I still want the time to go to the grocery store, or a yoga class, and to take my children to and from school--those things are important to me. But, honestly, it's nice to have somewhere to go on some days, when my children are at school, where I get to do something interesting that I love. I realize I am so incredibly lucky to have the freedom and opportunity to do something that I truly love, and co-workers who totally understand that I need balance and are glad to have me on board in whatever capacity that works for me. They are the coolest people I have ever worked with, and I'm doing the most interesting work I have ever done--I wish this had been my job pre-children, because I would love to throw myself into it in a way that I just can't right now.
That said, I have mommy guilt over loving it. It's a little bit of an identity crisis for me, to love a job. I feel like a big part of my identity is being a stay-at-home mother, and devoting everything to my children. I have loved doing that, but, honestly, it gets a little bit monotonous, and this gives me a really interesting sense of purpose. But when I get home, I feel bad about leaving it. And when I'm there, I feel bad about neglecting my duties at home. And I don't really know what to call myself. Am I a stay-at-home mother, still? I don't feel that I exactly have the street cred to call myself a "working mother." I feel overwhelmed sometimes, and I look at other people who do A LOT more than I do, and see that they're making it work. And then I look at stay-at-home moms, and I ask myself if I should be doing that, and be happy about it. It really is an exercise in not comparing myself to other people, but figuring out a balance between what I want to do and my responsibilities (to the job and to my family)--a balance that makes me happy and works for my family. And thinking about that is probably good for me, because it doesn't matter what everyone else is doing--I know that in my head, but it's hard to put into practice when everybody is doing something different and they all seem to have it together. I don't know what to call myself or what to say when people ask me what I do, but figuring that out is helping me grow as a person.
Anyway, this is a big transition for me and I have a lot of feelings about it: mostly love for the job and guilt over loving the job. It makes me feel good to be around people who are supportive, who ask me questions about it and I can convey just how interesting it is and how much I love it. But my MIL is completely annoying about it. I'm not sure why she thinks I'm doing this, but she doesn't appreciate antiques, so she can't really understand why I enjoy it. When she talks about it to me, she reduces it to a paycheck. She's always saying stuff like, "That one sale looked really good, but did you have to work on that bad one? That one looks like it has a lot of junk in it." And it's true--some sales are better than others. But I still learn something in each and every one, and calling it "junk" just seems to undermine me and the whole process somehow. (Maybe it bothers me that she doesn't have the good taste to know a piece of junk from a treasure, so when she calls it all junk it just rubs me the wrong way). She actually said recently, "Did you get your first paycheck? Were you pleased with it?" I mean WHO asks someone if they are PLEASED with their paycheck? Would it ever occur to any of you to ask someone if they were pleased with their paycheck? That is a tacky (and demeaning) question, and it makes me totally uncomfortable. It makes me shut down completely. It's a rude question and there is no polite answer for it.
I know she just doesn't understand me, or my motivations, or my job, or my interests, but I can't help being offended by her rudeness. And it also plays into my all my insecurities about what this job means to my family and my identity as a working/stay-at-home mother, or whatever combination of that I am now. I don't know what I am, but I am figuring it out every day, and enjoying it as I go. And my paycheck is none of her damn business.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Julep: don't blink first
I told Mr. J last night, sometimes I feel like dealing with his mom is an elaborate game of chicken.
Our anniversary is coming up next month, as y'all may remember, and we have built a little tradition of taking a trip together each year to celebrate. Since the kids came along, the trips have gotten shorter due to the need to arrange for child care. (We took the Bear the first year and realized that a family trip is not at all a romantic way to spend our anniversary.) Last year we took a three-day weekend and went to Chicago. This year we were hoping for five days/ four nights - the kids would go to school three days and spend one weekend day and two nights with each set of grandparents.
J-Mama was on board, but we hit a snag when Mr. J reached out to his parents. Evidently the Mr-Parents were planning to go down to their boat that weekend, though they assured Mr. J they would be happy to help out some other weekend. I was pretty frustrated - it's not like they had any special plans for that weekend, it's just one of many to be spent puttering around in Hilton Head. But J-Mama gave me some very sage advice: she said, "You chose to have children, they didn't choose to have grandchildren. If there's a need for someone to revise a plan to accommodate your kids, it's your need, not theirs." Fair enough.
I really hate re-assigning celebrations to other dates. So rather than reschedule the whole trip, we decided to find alternative arrangements. We changed our venue from Taos to Maine and cut a day off the trip. I figured to call on one or more of my cousins to pick the kids up from my mom on Sunday morning and entertain them for the day - Mr-Sister agreed to spend the night with the kids at our house on Sunday and get them to school on Monday morning. Still working out the details on who would pick them up from school on Monday night as our flights were coming in late.
So last night we had dinner with Mr. Mama, and she said, "Tell me about what you have planned for your anniversary trip." I told her all of the above (the last paragraph, that is). And she said, "Well, I can pick them up on Monday." I said, "That would be fantastic, but I thought you would be out of town." Well, it turns out her plans are still in flux. They haven't committed to whether they are going down that weekend. If they go, it will be a short trip since she is planning to play in a golf tournament on Monday morning. Maybe they won't go at all.
In other words, she didn't have any firm plans for the weekend of our anniversary, she just didn't want to commit herself to watching our kids. But she REALLY doesn't like being left out.
Our anniversary is coming up next month, as y'all may remember, and we have built a little tradition of taking a trip together each year to celebrate. Since the kids came along, the trips have gotten shorter due to the need to arrange for child care. (We took the Bear the first year and realized that a family trip is not at all a romantic way to spend our anniversary.) Last year we took a three-day weekend and went to Chicago. This year we were hoping for five days/ four nights - the kids would go to school three days and spend one weekend day and two nights with each set of grandparents.
J-Mama was on board, but we hit a snag when Mr. J reached out to his parents. Evidently the Mr-Parents were planning to go down to their boat that weekend, though they assured Mr. J they would be happy to help out some other weekend. I was pretty frustrated - it's not like they had any special plans for that weekend, it's just one of many to be spent puttering around in Hilton Head. But J-Mama gave me some very sage advice: she said, "You chose to have children, they didn't choose to have grandchildren. If there's a need for someone to revise a plan to accommodate your kids, it's your need, not theirs." Fair enough.
I really hate re-assigning celebrations to other dates. So rather than reschedule the whole trip, we decided to find alternative arrangements. We changed our venue from Taos to Maine and cut a day off the trip. I figured to call on one or more of my cousins to pick the kids up from my mom on Sunday morning and entertain them for the day - Mr-Sister agreed to spend the night with the kids at our house on Sunday and get them to school on Monday morning. Still working out the details on who would pick them up from school on Monday night as our flights were coming in late.
So last night we had dinner with Mr. Mama, and she said, "Tell me about what you have planned for your anniversary trip." I told her all of the above (the last paragraph, that is). And she said, "Well, I can pick them up on Monday." I said, "That would be fantastic, but I thought you would be out of town." Well, it turns out her plans are still in flux. They haven't committed to whether they are going down that weekend. If they go, it will be a short trip since she is planning to play in a golf tournament on Monday morning. Maybe they won't go at all.
In other words, she didn't have any firm plans for the weekend of our anniversary, she just didn't want to commit herself to watching our kids. But she REALLY doesn't like being left out.
Friday, August 15, 2014
Friday, August 8, 2014
Julep: on celebrities and good manners
Looks like maybe we've all forgotten about the blog lately. But even if no one is going to read this, I'm writing it here, because I don't want to start a Facebook war with some bunch of people I don't really know.
So as y'all know, there's this pro sports extravaganza going on in our town right now. This morning, I saw that a guy whom I know from my Leadership Class a few years ago - nice guy, about our age, works in insurance, has a cute little family - posted on FB that his wife saw an Internationally Famous Superstar Athlete and his Olympic Athlete Girlfriend last night, sitting in their parked car outside of the Macy's and looking in the shopping bag. His wife went up and knocked on the car window to ask for an autograph, and IFSA waved her away. Acquaintance's post was extremely huffy: how could IFSA be so rude? And his commenters were in full agreement with him.
Does anyone here disagree with me that the rude person was Acquaintance's Wife? I mean, for the love, let the man check his bag full of athletic socks and underwear in peace. (Sidebar: what do you think these two were buying at Macy's? It's got to be socks or underwear, right? Maybe a belt?)
Personally, I would consider it borderline tacky to approach a celebrity at any time -- although if you happen to be at a restaurant with one of your absolute favorite celebrities, and you feel that you cannot refrain from pausing at their table on your way out to say, "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I just want to say how much I have always enjoyed your work," carry on. And if you find yourself in an elevator or drinks line with a famous person, and you feel moved to start up a conversation just as you might with a normal person, feel free.
But to walk over and knock on the window while he was sitting in his car? Who does that? I wouldn't even walk up to the car of one of you girls while you were sitting there looking in your bags. I would try to catch your eye and wave - I might call you on the phone and say, "Is that you sitting in the Macy's parking lot?" A parked car is an extension of someone's personal space. It would be like walking up to his hotel room and knocking on the door - only even creepier, because at least the hotel room door has a peephole and he doesn't have to make eye contact when ignoring you.
If Acquaintance's Wife had spotted IFSA and OAG while they were shopping, managed to walk over next to them while they were sorting the rack of belts for the right size, and casually said hello, and they were rude to her? OK, fine. Complain about it on Facebook ... though really - these people are not zoo animals. They are not here for your observation. I cannot imagine that after a less-than-stellar day of playing his sport, IFSA wanted to be harassed by autograph seekers.
Honey, you are making this whole town look bad. Act like you've been here before.
So as y'all know, there's this pro sports extravaganza going on in our town right now. This morning, I saw that a guy whom I know from my Leadership Class a few years ago - nice guy, about our age, works in insurance, has a cute little family - posted on FB that his wife saw an Internationally Famous Superstar Athlete and his Olympic Athlete Girlfriend last night, sitting in their parked car outside of the Macy's and looking in the shopping bag. His wife went up and knocked on the car window to ask for an autograph, and IFSA waved her away. Acquaintance's post was extremely huffy: how could IFSA be so rude? And his commenters were in full agreement with him.
Does anyone here disagree with me that the rude person was Acquaintance's Wife? I mean, for the love, let the man check his bag full of athletic socks and underwear in peace. (Sidebar: what do you think these two were buying at Macy's? It's got to be socks or underwear, right? Maybe a belt?)
Personally, I would consider it borderline tacky to approach a celebrity at any time -- although if you happen to be at a restaurant with one of your absolute favorite celebrities, and you feel that you cannot refrain from pausing at their table on your way out to say, "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I just want to say how much I have always enjoyed your work," carry on. And if you find yourself in an elevator or drinks line with a famous person, and you feel moved to start up a conversation just as you might with a normal person, feel free.
But to walk over and knock on the window while he was sitting in his car? Who does that? I wouldn't even walk up to the car of one of you girls while you were sitting there looking in your bags. I would try to catch your eye and wave - I might call you on the phone and say, "Is that you sitting in the Macy's parking lot?" A parked car is an extension of someone's personal space. It would be like walking up to his hotel room and knocking on the door - only even creepier, because at least the hotel room door has a peephole and he doesn't have to make eye contact when ignoring you.
If Acquaintance's Wife had spotted IFSA and OAG while they were shopping, managed to walk over next to them while they were sorting the rack of belts for the right size, and casually said hello, and they were rude to her? OK, fine. Complain about it on Facebook ... though really - these people are not zoo animals. They are not here for your observation. I cannot imagine that after a less-than-stellar day of playing his sport, IFSA wanted to be harassed by autograph seekers.
Honey, you are making this whole town look bad. Act like you've been here before.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Dibbs: That Sinking Feeling...
...that comes with agreeing with Rand Paul. For weeks I've been thinking that we should move the little immigrant children away from the border where people aren't so hostile. Hell, bring them here. That's what I thought.
Well, tonight Rand suggested bringing them to Fort Knox. So I was wrong, right? Misguided? Poorly conceived? I thought so.
Well, tonight Rand suggested bringing them to Fort Knox. So I was wrong, right? Misguided? Poorly conceived? I thought so.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Julep: working it (?)
Is the moon in Venus or something? As I walked the three blocks to collect the kids after work yesterday, I got so many warm smiles and friendly hellos from men -- of all stripes, ages, races, time since last shower -- that I checked to make sure my blouse was fully buttoned. (It was.)
It's apparently still going this morning. Every one of these encounters, taken individually, is non-creepy, but it's starting to freak me out a little. "Friendly and accessible" is not my usual vibe.
It's apparently still going this morning. Every one of these encounters, taken individually, is non-creepy, but it's starting to freak me out a little. "Friendly and accessible" is not my usual vibe.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Lola: This. This right here.
I Wear a Bikini Because... F*ck You.
This article will be my inspiration. Cheers!
Friday, May 23, 2014
Julep: life lessons
As I got dressed this morning, it occurred to me that some times it's nice to be pushing 40. I was able to apply some life experience to realize ...
(1) Pants that are uncomfortable at 7 a.m. are not getting any more comfortable as the day goes on. By 3 p.m. you will be begging for mercy. Just go ahead and take them off now, and put on something else, rather than suffer through the whole day.
(2) The very pretty shirt that was passed along to you (tags intact) by a woman who is 8 feet tall is not flattering on your pocket-sized frame. Take it off, fold it up for the Goodwill, and put on something you bought your own self.
There. Much better.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Julep: Schoolyard politics
The person at the heart of today's post has appeared on our blog before: you may recall that she "crafts to find the balance." She's now running for the state legislature, not in my district. If I lived out in the swamps of suburbia, I would certainly vote for her, and I'd even let her put a sign in my yard. I hope she wins her race. I truly do not wish her ill in any way, bless her heart.
A couple months ago, she called asking me for a campaign donation, and just last week she sent a message to me and to Lola asking if we wanted to "co-host" an event being thrown for her by some other lawyers in town. I wasn't sure what she meant by that, so I inquired further: basically, she just wants me to give her money before the event so she can identify me as a supporter.
I know candidates have to raise money and I don't begrudge her hustling. I realize that for some people, political involvement is a hobby, but I'm not one of them. I'm not in the habit of giving money to candidates who don't live in my district unless I really believe in them and want to show my enthusiastic support. For instance, I gave money to my partner who is running for city council, not in my district - because he is awesome and I love him.
There's the rub. I know she is smart and hard-working; I respect that she does very good work for society in her day job; I'm sure that she will be a good legislator if she manages to get elected despite being a very crunchy liberal running against a conservative 20-year incumbent in the swamps of suburbia. Do I think she is awesome and love her? No, I do not.
She was my best friend for the first three years of high school, but she spent our entire senior year blowing off every effort I made to spend time with her, in favor of her private school beau and (even after they broke up) his cool friends. Once we graduated, I didn't hear from her again until the first day of our bar review class, when she greeted me like a long-lost pal. I was polite that day. In later weeks, I allowed her to join my study group (which included Mr. Twinks). I even did some volunteer legal work for her in her first job at a worthy local nonprofit. But it's been more than twenty years since I would have identified her as a friend.
I know high school was a really long time ago. On the one hand, I think I've done pretty well at moving on to date. On the other hand, I've come to realize that I really resent this person - who was responsible for one of the most painful and unpleasant times of my life and has never acknowledged her really sh!tty behavior, let alone made any attempt to apologize - asking me for money and a public show of support.
I can't decide if this is silly on my part. If a high school boyfriend had dumped me after treating me really badly, never apologized, and then 20 years later came around asking me to donate to his political campaign, would it be reasonable to laugh in his face? Is this different?
A couple months ago, she called asking me for a campaign donation, and just last week she sent a message to me and to Lola asking if we wanted to "co-host" an event being thrown for her by some other lawyers in town. I wasn't sure what she meant by that, so I inquired further: basically, she just wants me to give her money before the event so she can identify me as a supporter.
I know candidates have to raise money and I don't begrudge her hustling. I realize that for some people, political involvement is a hobby, but I'm not one of them. I'm not in the habit of giving money to candidates who don't live in my district unless I really believe in them and want to show my enthusiastic support. For instance, I gave money to my partner who is running for city council, not in my district - because he is awesome and I love him.
There's the rub. I know she is smart and hard-working; I respect that she does very good work for society in her day job; I'm sure that she will be a good legislator if she manages to get elected despite being a very crunchy liberal running against a conservative 20-year incumbent in the swamps of suburbia. Do I think she is awesome and love her? No, I do not.
She was my best friend for the first three years of high school, but she spent our entire senior year blowing off every effort I made to spend time with her, in favor of her private school beau and (even after they broke up) his cool friends. Once we graduated, I didn't hear from her again until the first day of our bar review class, when she greeted me like a long-lost pal. I was polite that day. In later weeks, I allowed her to join my study group (which included Mr. Twinks). I even did some volunteer legal work for her in her first job at a worthy local nonprofit. But it's been more than twenty years since I would have identified her as a friend.
I know high school was a really long time ago. On the one hand, I think I've done pretty well at moving on to date. On the other hand, I've come to realize that I really resent this person - who was responsible for one of the most painful and unpleasant times of my life and has never acknowledged her really sh!tty behavior, let alone made any attempt to apologize - asking me for money and a public show of support.
I can't decide if this is silly on my part. If a high school boyfriend had dumped me after treating me really badly, never apologized, and then 20 years later came around asking me to donate to his political campaign, would it be reasonable to laugh in his face? Is this different?
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Twinkle: Pearls Before Swine
This afternoon I met Fun Sink over at Aunt Irene's condo to pick over the final dregs of what no one else in the family wanted of her last worldly possessions. I don't consider it at all insulting that I wasn't invited over sooner--Aunt Irene has children and grandchildren who certainly have a legitimate claim to her belongings, and I would never want to take away what was rightly someone else's if they really wanted it. It's only fair and right that they should choose what they want first; I was glad for the chance to pick over what was left.
And the amazing thing about marrying into a family of tasteless cretins is that they looked over some truly charming treasures. I walked away today with some pretty silver trays, some cordial glasses with silver overlay, some julep cups, a lovely little glass carafe with silver overlay, a silver sugar basket, and two ornate gold frames (the art can be easily replaced--I just wanted the frames). I also claimed a nice lamp, two mirrors with ornate frames (I cannot resist an ornate frame), a Queen Anne-style wingback chair, a Chippendale-style desk, a pembroke table, a brushed gold bar cart, and an oriental rug. (I'm getting them delivered later). I cannot believe these people didn't want any of it--it's really nice.
It was hilarious, too, going through everything with Fun Sink, because it was painfully apparent that she had absolutely NO idea what I was going to go for and what I was going to leave behind. She wanted us to take a four-piece French provincial bedroom suite, which, she pointed out, had lots of storage. I like my bedroom furniture, and I'm not in the market to replace all of it now or ever (I'm more of a piece-by-piece collector, anyway). I think she was surprised that, instead of taking her up on the offer for the entire bedroom set, I was like, "No thanks, but this is a charming little picture on the wall," or "What about this lamp? Can I have this?" She really had no idea what I was going to go for--she had sent me pictures previously of stuff she thought I'd be interested in, and none of it was what I ended up taking.
Anyway, it was nice of her to let me choose some of it and I'm happy with what I inherited.
After that we went to supper with Mr. and Mrs. Fun Sink, where they told us all about their upcoming Mediterranean cruise with their friends. And let me tell you all--this is the last group of people you would ever want to go to Europe with. One of their friends is learning Spanish, not to enrich her experiences in the beautiful city of Barcelona, or to interact more meaningfully with its citizens, but for the express purpose of saying she and her friends don't want pork or shellfish in anything. Talk about a fun sink.
I asked my father-in-law what he was most excited about seeing, and was happy and impressed when he said he wanted to see Michelangelo's David. Fun Sink rolled her eyes and explained that, unlike the rest of their party, he's not content just seeing the reproduction statue in the public square in Florence--he wants to go inside a museum and possibly wait in line to see the real thing. Mr. Twinks and I both defended him and said he was totally right to want to see the actual statue (especially since there's a reproduction of it right here on Main Street in our hometown--I actually love that cheap-looking gold reproduction, and affectionately refer to it as the "five dollar footlong.") Fun Sink said, "Well--you all will change your minds when you hear THIS: there's really good shopping in Florence including lots of nice leather goods, and I'd rather spend my time doing that." So my FIL, to his credit, will stand in line to see one of the world's great Renaissance masterpieces, while Fun Sink shops for tchotchkies.
And the amazing thing about marrying into a family of tasteless cretins is that they looked over some truly charming treasures. I walked away today with some pretty silver trays, some cordial glasses with silver overlay, some julep cups, a lovely little glass carafe with silver overlay, a silver sugar basket, and two ornate gold frames (the art can be easily replaced--I just wanted the frames). I also claimed a nice lamp, two mirrors with ornate frames (I cannot resist an ornate frame), a Queen Anne-style wingback chair, a Chippendale-style desk, a pembroke table, a brushed gold bar cart, and an oriental rug. (I'm getting them delivered later). I cannot believe these people didn't want any of it--it's really nice.
It was hilarious, too, going through everything with Fun Sink, because it was painfully apparent that she had absolutely NO idea what I was going to go for and what I was going to leave behind. She wanted us to take a four-piece French provincial bedroom suite, which, she pointed out, had lots of storage. I like my bedroom furniture, and I'm not in the market to replace all of it now or ever (I'm more of a piece-by-piece collector, anyway). I think she was surprised that, instead of taking her up on the offer for the entire bedroom set, I was like, "No thanks, but this is a charming little picture on the wall," or "What about this lamp? Can I have this?" She really had no idea what I was going to go for--she had sent me pictures previously of stuff she thought I'd be interested in, and none of it was what I ended up taking.
Anyway, it was nice of her to let me choose some of it and I'm happy with what I inherited.
After that we went to supper with Mr. and Mrs. Fun Sink, where they told us all about their upcoming Mediterranean cruise with their friends. And let me tell you all--this is the last group of people you would ever want to go to Europe with. One of their friends is learning Spanish, not to enrich her experiences in the beautiful city of Barcelona, or to interact more meaningfully with its citizens, but for the express purpose of saying she and her friends don't want pork or shellfish in anything. Talk about a fun sink.
I asked my father-in-law what he was most excited about seeing, and was happy and impressed when he said he wanted to see Michelangelo's David. Fun Sink rolled her eyes and explained that, unlike the rest of their party, he's not content just seeing the reproduction statue in the public square in Florence--he wants to go inside a museum and possibly wait in line to see the real thing. Mr. Twinks and I both defended him and said he was totally right to want to see the actual statue (especially since there's a reproduction of it right here on Main Street in our hometown--I actually love that cheap-looking gold reproduction, and affectionately refer to it as the "five dollar footlong.") Fun Sink said, "Well--you all will change your minds when you hear THIS: there's really good shopping in Florence including lots of nice leather goods, and I'd rather spend my time doing that." So my FIL, to his credit, will stand in line to see one of the world's great Renaissance masterpieces, while Fun Sink shops for tchotchkies.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Julep: the saga continues
First, I'd like y'all to know that by dint of getting up very early Saturday morning, I was able to procure some balloons and streamers for the birthday girl. Her little party felt festive and of a very manageable size. Next year will be soon enough to include her future best friends, including of course Tiny Twinks.
Now for something we all should have seen coming: the update on the fashion front. Pumpkin's grandmothers bought her new outfits for her birthday. I should begin by saying that I don't actually like the dresses my mom bought for her, either -- they have cross-stitched necklines and pockets, and while they sound cute in description and probably looked good online (I know these were mail order, I inherited my dislike of shopping), in person they look a little too much like 1970s housedresses.
As for my MIL, Mr. J accused me of being overly critical of his mother, and I see his point. I know she means well - and I don't want to say, "just stop buying her things" - and I have to give her props. She scrupulously abided by the three rules I gave her for little girl's clothing. Not a sequin or an animal print in sight. And yet I do not want my child to wear any one of these three ensembles.
You can't tell very well in this photo, but that white fabric is textured - sort of a nubby inverse-eyelet. Plus the three ruffles on the sleeves (two in a pattern not appearing elsewhere in the ensemble), plus the bow,* plus the ladybug applique, plus the rick-rack. Oh, and the leggings.
If the bottom of this dress were in only two fabrics instead of three, I'd be OK with it. But prairie floral plus eyelet plus gingham? Overkill.
Again, strip off the skirt appliques (not that you can - I looked) and this would be acceptable even if navy-on-navy seersucker is a little dark for a toddler. But red-and-white ruffled hem and straps plus white waist (in a different fabric) plus star-spangled bow plus polka-dot star and heart appliques is just a bridge too far.
Mr-Mama's choices can best be described as "bright" and "busy." I am more of a "simple" and "muted" kind of person. This extends to our personal clothing choices as well - I suspect she thinks my wardrobe is a little dull, but you know, there is less room for big bright prints and statement jewelry on a person of my size than on someone her size. And I may add, even less room on a toddler. My personal rule of thumb would be: If you can't describe the dress fully in a maximum of three descriptive clauses, there's too much happening. But I can't go back to the well with that one - how many rules can I set out? And whatever I come up with, she's going to get around. Who knew there was so much dreck out there?
After discussion with Mr. J, one of these outfits will go back to the store - but only one (while the other two will be worn as infrequently as I can manage). Which will it be? I put it to you, Daddy Rabbit Girls. Vote in the comments, please!
P.S. As a palate cleanser, I offer you the dress Pumpkin received from Nanny. (1) Green gingham (2) with smocked yoke.
Adorable. Pumpkin is wearing it today, in fact. God bless Nanny.
* For voting purposes, be aware that I think I can get the bow off.
Now for something we all should have seen coming: the update on the fashion front. Pumpkin's grandmothers bought her new outfits for her birthday. I should begin by saying that I don't actually like the dresses my mom bought for her, either -- they have cross-stitched necklines and pockets, and while they sound cute in description and probably looked good online (I know these were mail order, I inherited my dislike of shopping), in person they look a little too much like 1970s housedresses.
As for my MIL, Mr. J accused me of being overly critical of his mother, and I see his point. I know she means well - and I don't want to say, "just stop buying her things" - and I have to give her props. She scrupulously abided by the three rules I gave her for little girl's clothing. Not a sequin or an animal print in sight. And yet I do not want my child to wear any one of these three ensembles.



After discussion with Mr. J, one of these outfits will go back to the store - but only one (while the other two will be worn as infrequently as I can manage). Which will it be? I put it to you, Daddy Rabbit Girls. Vote in the comments, please!
P.S. As a palate cleanser, I offer you the dress Pumpkin received from Nanny. (1) Green gingham (2) with smocked yoke.
Adorable. Pumpkin is wearing it today, in fact. God bless Nanny.
* For voting purposes, be aware that I think I can get the bow off.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Twinkle: On Religious Holidays and Fun
Well, it was a joyful Easter in the Twinkle household, which began when Tik Tok by Ke$ha* came on the radio in the car, and E exclaimed, "I love this song!" So we cranked it up and rolled down the highway to Holy Trinity in Georgetown. It ended with E getting into some craft paint and painting her Easter dress and her baby sister's head, before promptly wetting and discarding her underpants, which Baby B immediately picked up and wore as a bracelet. And there was lots of candy-fueled fun in between.
I've spent a lot of time with Mr. Twinks' family this week, and there is a remarkable difference between his family and mine, and I think it stems from the way each family celebrates their own holidays. A trip to the zoo with my inlaws was a sad lesson in healthy Passover snack foods. My sister-in-law brought plenty of raisins and matzo for all, and when we passed the ice cream stand she said, "Good thing it's Passover, because I really want some ice cream." I mean come on--if you really want some ice cream (and you have no religious objection to it on that day), you should just have some ice cream. She was actually glad that Passover was there to keep her in line, and that is just sad. Compare that to my cousin today, who said of her 20-month-old daughter, "She pretty much just had chocolate for breakfast, and I really don't care. As long as her belly is full for church..."
I believe this stems from the way Jews and Christians celebrate their holidays. Compare Easter and Passover. Children are expected to sit quietly and still in seder meals, just like they are in a church service. But after the church service, there is an Easter egg hunt and a day of candy and running around in the sunshine, and games and cookies and cake and everything that kids love. After the Passover meal, you might get a dry cookie made from matzo if you're lucky, and then you have to sit there for even longer. Then you go home and go to bed, and you can't eat bread or chocolate or anything fun for a week. I don't think the Jews are particularly great at gearing their holidays toward the kids, and I think that attitude that you need to buck up, sit still, and deal with how much it all sucks sort of seeps into everything they do.
At the family zoo outing there were three grandparents and one mom (not me) who were straight-up b!tching out all the kids for running around and doing what kids do--and the zoo is a perfectly appropriate place for kids to run around and do what kids do. At the Easter party, there were lots of sets of parents and grandparents encouraging the joyful madness. There was actually an impromptu egg toss (raw, naturally) with all the children in their Easter finery. Can you imagine that happening with the Fun Sink family? It never would. (And no one's outfit was harmed in the fun).
I think Jews actually think it's character-building to have to sit through all those sucky holidays. They think, "I was able to sit through a two-hour seder and behave myself, and you should, too. And, by the way, the Easter bunny is for pussies**." They don't realize that they are missing out on the joy of creating something magical for their children, even if the magic is sort of extra, and doesn't really have anything to do with the holiday from a religious standpoint. I'm sure some creative Jew could come up with some whimsical Passover tradition that kids would like, but everyone would frown on it because it would make the holiday impure, and there would be a big scuffle about whether the rabbis approved, and no rabbi ever would, and the whole thing would just make everyone more downtrodden and exhausted than before.
These people expect children to fit into their boring adult holidays, instead of making some aspects of the holidays ones that children will have fun with and want to embrace. I think it affects how they treat children in all situations. They expect them to be perfectly-behaved little adults, at the seder or at the zoo or wherever. And don't get me wrong--I want my children to have good manners, but I don't think good manners and fun are mutually exclusive.
And, by the way, I like Passover. But I do think it could benefit from a little bit of whimsy.
*Disclaimer: My children do not normally listen to Ke$ha.
**Sorry, y'all. I hate that word, too.
I've spent a lot of time with Mr. Twinks' family this week, and there is a remarkable difference between his family and mine, and I think it stems from the way each family celebrates their own holidays. A trip to the zoo with my inlaws was a sad lesson in healthy Passover snack foods. My sister-in-law brought plenty of raisins and matzo for all, and when we passed the ice cream stand she said, "Good thing it's Passover, because I really want some ice cream." I mean come on--if you really want some ice cream (and you have no religious objection to it on that day), you should just have some ice cream. She was actually glad that Passover was there to keep her in line, and that is just sad. Compare that to my cousin today, who said of her 20-month-old daughter, "She pretty much just had chocolate for breakfast, and I really don't care. As long as her belly is full for church..."
I believe this stems from the way Jews and Christians celebrate their holidays. Compare Easter and Passover. Children are expected to sit quietly and still in seder meals, just like they are in a church service. But after the church service, there is an Easter egg hunt and a day of candy and running around in the sunshine, and games and cookies and cake and everything that kids love. After the Passover meal, you might get a dry cookie made from matzo if you're lucky, and then you have to sit there for even longer. Then you go home and go to bed, and you can't eat bread or chocolate or anything fun for a week. I don't think the Jews are particularly great at gearing their holidays toward the kids, and I think that attitude that you need to buck up, sit still, and deal with how much it all sucks sort of seeps into everything they do.
At the family zoo outing there were three grandparents and one mom (not me) who were straight-up b!tching out all the kids for running around and doing what kids do--and the zoo is a perfectly appropriate place for kids to run around and do what kids do. At the Easter party, there were lots of sets of parents and grandparents encouraging the joyful madness. There was actually an impromptu egg toss (raw, naturally) with all the children in their Easter finery. Can you imagine that happening with the Fun Sink family? It never would. (And no one's outfit was harmed in the fun).
I think Jews actually think it's character-building to have to sit through all those sucky holidays. They think, "I was able to sit through a two-hour seder and behave myself, and you should, too. And, by the way, the Easter bunny is for pussies**." They don't realize that they are missing out on the joy of creating something magical for their children, even if the magic is sort of extra, and doesn't really have anything to do with the holiday from a religious standpoint. I'm sure some creative Jew could come up with some whimsical Passover tradition that kids would like, but everyone would frown on it because it would make the holiday impure, and there would be a big scuffle about whether the rabbis approved, and no rabbi ever would, and the whole thing would just make everyone more downtrodden and exhausted than before.
These people expect children to fit into their boring adult holidays, instead of making some aspects of the holidays ones that children will have fun with and want to embrace. I think it affects how they treat children in all situations. They expect them to be perfectly-behaved little adults, at the seder or at the zoo or wherever. And don't get me wrong--I want my children to have good manners, but I don't think good manners and fun are mutually exclusive.
And, by the way, I like Passover. But I do think it could benefit from a little bit of whimsy.
*Disclaimer: My children do not normally listen to Ke$ha.
**Sorry, y'all. I hate that word, too.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Julep: Second child blues
Poor Pumpkin. Her brother had a big Hallowwen themed blow-out for his first birthday - but her first birthday is Saturday and we are essentially doing nothing. Well, not entirely nothing: we've invited her grandparents and her godparents and her aunt, uncles and cousins to come over on Saturday mornning for lunch and cake. That's it. No invitations, no balloons. I just can't manage to get my $h!t together for anything more elaborate.
In my defense, Mr. J threw me off because he wanted to have her birthday party at a park, like at the Big Rock picnic shelter. But (1) she will hardly be running in the creek or on the playground herself, nor would any children her age, so this seemed a little inhospitable to me, and (2) weather is always a concern especially at this time of year. I told him if he wanted to arrange it himself, that was fine but I did not have time to be calling Metro Parks to reserve a picnic shelter. To my complete surprise (not at all), he never did anything.
So our baby girl's first birthday is tomorrow and we are, essentially, punting.
In my defense, Mr. J threw me off because he wanted to have her birthday party at a park, like at the Big Rock picnic shelter. But (1) she will hardly be running in the creek or on the playground herself, nor would any children her age, so this seemed a little inhospitable to me, and (2) weather is always a concern especially at this time of year. I told him if he wanted to arrange it himself, that was fine but I did not have time to be calling Metro Parks to reserve a picnic shelter. To my complete surprise (not at all), he never did anything.
So our baby girl's first birthday is tomorrow and we are, essentially, punting.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Twinkle: Escort or Trust Beneficiary?
There's a certain trust company in town that Mr. Twinks does business with, and they recently invited us to hear the Israel Philharmonic. There was a reception before the concert, and it was filled with exactly the demographic you'd expect: lots of olds, and a couple of younger types in ascots.
There was one notable exception.
The first thing I noticed about her was her professional and severely over-sprayed up-do. Her dress was a little too cocktail-y and it had sparkles. She clearly is not someone who understands fashion nuance, because if any of us went to the orchestra on a Tuesday night, we would know how to dress on point. We'd wear a casual cocktail dress (not the sparkly kind) or a nice suit if we were coming from work. Normal hair, because we wouldn't want it to look like we went to the trouble of getting a professional up-do for this. The event is special, so we'd want to look like we put a little thought or effort into an outfit, but not too much thought or effort, because after all the orchestra on a Tuesday night is not the Speed ball. We'd be dressy, yes. But not too dressy, because too dressy means we'd be trying too hard. And this person was.
The next thing I noticed about her was her elaborate leg tattoos. At first I thought they were those awful coloful-patterned leggings, but I was right next to her in the buffet line and they were definitely tats.
The third thing I noticed was that she was returning to the buffet line for seconds or thirds and lingering a little too long in front of the meatball chafing dish (not that I wasn't discreetly sneaking a meatball every now and then, too...so no judgment there). But she was a little too excited about the food and didn't know how to be cool about it.
I think we can all agree that the above evidence points to one obvious fact: this was a Pretty Woman situation.
I discreetly pointed her out to Mr. Twinks, who immediately said with disgust, "That's what happens to trust beneficiaries," and I was like, "No way." Mr. Twinks insisted that the older man she was with was her grandfather and not her most generous client (as he so clearly was). The main reason Mr. Twinkle was wrong on this is that she was trying way too hard. If it were her grandfather, she'd be in normal street clothes with normal hair. No one gets a professional up-do and puts on a too-sparkly cocktail dress to go to the orchestra with her grandfather on a Tuesday. I'm sorry. And if she were really the spoiled trust beneficiary that Mr. Twinks was trying to make her out to be, she probably wouldn't have cared enough to show up at all, much less get an up-do.
Am I reading way too much into this up-do? What do y'all think?
The third thing I noticed was that she was returning to the buffet line for seconds or thirds and lingering a little too long in front of the meatball chafing dish (not that I wasn't discreetly sneaking a meatball every now and then, too...so no judgment there). But she was a little too excited about the food and didn't know how to be cool about it.
I think we can all agree that the above evidence points to one obvious fact: this was a Pretty Woman situation.
I discreetly pointed her out to Mr. Twinks, who immediately said with disgust, "That's what happens to trust beneficiaries," and I was like, "No way." Mr. Twinks insisted that the older man she was with was her grandfather and not her most generous client (as he so clearly was). The main reason Mr. Twinkle was wrong on this is that she was trying way too hard. If it were her grandfather, she'd be in normal street clothes with normal hair. No one gets a professional up-do and puts on a too-sparkly cocktail dress to go to the orchestra with her grandfather on a Tuesday. I'm sorry. And if she were really the spoiled trust beneficiary that Mr. Twinks was trying to make her out to be, she probably wouldn't have cared enough to show up at all, much less get an up-do.
Am I reading way too much into this up-do? What do y'all think?
Monday, March 31, 2014
Monday, March 24, 2014
Twinkle: Blame It All On My Roots, I Showed Up In Boots, and Ruined Your Erev Pesach Affair
You've all met my dour yankee SIL and her husband, the Smug Vegans. Well they're making their annual Passover visit in just a few short weeks. This always makes the already-draconian Passover restrictions even more unfun--who would have imagined it was possible?
So the deal with Passover is that you're supposed to go for eight days without eating any bread and lots of other stuff, too. Even fruits and veggies are restricted (no corn or legumes, and everything theoretically has to be able to be grown in Israel, or something) and any processed food has to be marked "Kosher for Passover." It's a big, expensive undertaking, and I suspect it's a racket perpetuated by the Manischewitz food company to sell their disgusting chocolate or potato chips or whatever that most people wouldn't eat throughout the rest of the year, but will buy for this one week just to have a little variety. (Just so y'all know; I never make it to the end of this and I don't even try).
Anyway, you can imagine that if you had to go all that time without eating normal foods, you'd want your last meal before Passover to be a decadent blowout with all your favorite foods. (I'm totally on board for this meal, by the way). So I was happy to get an email from my SIL's lovely mother-in-law this morning, saying that she and her husband and a few other family members want to treat the whole family to a fun Erev Pesach (the night before Passover) meal, to thank the Louisville crew for our generosity throughout Passover. It was a kind gesture--my SIL's inlaws are lovely Southern Jews with good manners and a fun outlook on life that is so refreshing since Fun Sunk is usually running the show around here. They all come to town once a year at Passover and make the whole thing more bearable, and actually joyful. They drink and laugh and bring aunts and uncles and little kids. They even bring out the best side of Fun Sink, who cuts loose a little bit around them. I like when they're around.
So, yay, Erev Pesach meal--it's a Sunday night so it's not going to interfere with anything else fun that'll be going on; it'll be a big family meal with kids and grandparents and everyone. I was fine with it. And then I read the crucial sentence: "The Smug Vegans have suggested Roots." So, thanks to the Smug Vegans, we get to blow it out on Erev Pesach with bean sprouts and steamed banana leaves.
Mr. Twinks and I are appalled. Appalled. And it's not just because of the last-meal-before-Passover aspect of it. It's just so rude and presumptuous. At my count, there will be 18 people at this dinner, and three of them--three--are vegans. (Two are Smug Vegans and one, Mr. Fun Sink, is the much less common kind of vegan: the Nice Vegan Who Enjoys A Good Steak Every Now And Again). So three people out of the 18 want to eat bean sprouts, and now we're all going to Roots. Roots. How am I supposed to get drunk at Roots?
Also, what the hell are my children supposed to eat at Roots? We've taken them there before with the Nice Vegan Who Likes Steak, and here's the answer: nothing. They hate everything at Roots, as any normal redblooded Americans would. This will only make my children look worse, as I'm sure Sophie will be stuffing her face with the braised beets while my children rightly demand to know where the fuck they can get a bowl of mac and cheese. Similarly, I can't imagine that the inlaws' 90-year-old grandmother, Bubbie, is going to enjoy Roots. Bubbie owned a catering company in Memphis; Bubbie knew Elvis, OK? Bubbie is not down with bean sprouts. Even Fun Sink likes a fat chicken thigh every now and then.
The choice shows a complete disregard of other people's tastes or preferences. It's so typical of the Smug Vegans to try to force their aberrant lifestyle on the rest of us. It's the very worst kind of bad manners. It's the equivalent of me holding them down while Mr. Twinkle sprays a can of whipped cream into their mouths.
Also, what the hell are my children supposed to eat at Roots? We've taken them there before with the Nice Vegan Who Likes Steak, and here's the answer: nothing. They hate everything at Roots, as any normal redblooded Americans would. This will only make my children look worse, as I'm sure Sophie will be stuffing her face with the braised beets while my children rightly demand to know where the fuck they can get a bowl of mac and cheese. Similarly, I can't imagine that the inlaws' 90-year-old grandmother, Bubbie, is going to enjoy Roots. Bubbie owned a catering company in Memphis; Bubbie knew Elvis, OK? Bubbie is not down with bean sprouts. Even Fun Sink likes a fat chicken thigh every now and then.
The choice shows a complete disregard of other people's tastes or preferences. It's so typical of the Smug Vegans to try to force their aberrant lifestyle on the rest of us. It's the very worst kind of bad manners. It's the equivalent of me holding them down while Mr. Twinkle sprays a can of whipped cream into their mouths.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Twinkle: The Mitzvah of Mishloach Manot
Well, it's Purim, and y'all know what that means: Fun Sink is doing her annual duty of delivering little Purim gift baskets to family and friends.
This is good news for me, not only because I am a recipient of one of these coveted baskets, but also because she employs my children in the baking, stuffing, and delivering of the mishloach manot. Just so y'all know, I just learned how to spell that and I still can't pronounce it, but here's a translation: it means that I got two afternoons off this week. One while they baked, one while they delivered. So you won't hear me complaining about that. Yay, Purim!
I actually do like Purim, because it's the one holiday that actually seems happy. I mean, sure the evil king was going to kill all the Jews; that's a bit of a downer. But then the lovely Queen Esther comes along and uses her feminine charms to convince him not to. Or something. (Wait--was Queen Esther's husband really a bad guy? Did she actually bone with some murderous anti-Semite who wanted to kill everybody? That doesn't sound right. Did someone say "use your imagination, wink wink" when describing how Queen Esther convinced him not kill everyone, or was that my French professor talking about the study sessions between Heloise and Abelard? I have no idea). Anyway, it's the one holiday where Jews are supposed to cut loose and have a little fun--Mr. Twinks claims you're commanded to get so drunk you can't tell the evil King Haman's name from anybody else's--so naturally it's a holiday I can get behind.
Of course, Fun Sink has to take the Mardi Gras of Judiasm and turn it into another depressing and joyless obligation. And, I swear I don't mean this bitchy, but here is a picture of the basket:
I told Mr. Twinks that if it were me, I'd deliver a split of Veuve Clicquot to my friends and family (same size, infinitely more exciting). He said we should do it next year. But getting into a big fat mishloach manot contest with Fun Sink is not my goal. How about I just buy some Veuve and drink it myself? Or y'all could come over and help me. All in the name of Purim, of course.
Also, can we talk about the plate that all this was delivered on?
This is good news for me, not only because I am a recipient of one of these coveted baskets, but also because she employs my children in the baking, stuffing, and delivering of the mishloach manot. Just so y'all know, I just learned how to spell that and I still can't pronounce it, but here's a translation: it means that I got two afternoons off this week. One while they baked, one while they delivered. So you won't hear me complaining about that. Yay, Purim!
I actually do like Purim, because it's the one holiday that actually seems happy. I mean, sure the evil king was going to kill all the Jews; that's a bit of a downer. But then the lovely Queen Esther comes along and uses her feminine charms to convince him not to. Or something. (Wait--was Queen Esther's husband really a bad guy? Did she actually bone with some murderous anti-Semite who wanted to kill everybody? That doesn't sound right. Did someone say "use your imagination, wink wink" when describing how Queen Esther convinced him not kill everyone, or was that my French professor talking about the study sessions between Heloise and Abelard? I have no idea). Anyway, it's the one holiday where Jews are supposed to cut loose and have a little fun--Mr. Twinks claims you're commanded to get so drunk you can't tell the evil King Haman's name from anybody else's--so naturally it's a holiday I can get behind.
Of course, Fun Sink has to take the Mardi Gras of Judiasm and turn it into another depressing and joyless obligation. And, I swear I don't mean this bitchy, but here is a picture of the basket:
And here are the contents: some dried bananas and apricots, hamantaschen (not all they're cracked up to be), trail mix, some fruit bars, and kosher grape juice. I'm sorry, what? Did someone say grape juice? Am I supposed to get excited about grape juice? Who the fuck is even going to drink that? I mean, I know we have little kids so obviously they could drink it, but is Fun Sink actually delivering grape juice to adults, in the name of celebration and excess? I know those dried apricots are decadent and all; I wouldn't want anyone to go overboard.
Also, can we talk about the plate that all this was delivered on?
Where do you even get a Purim plate? Obviously they're not that common (if they were, who would choose this monstrosity?). I think if it were between this plate and something plain, or just a generic Mardi Gras themed plate with masks on it or something, or any plate other than this, I would go with the alternative. Here are some close-up highlights. I'm not even sure I want this plate in my house. Good luck not having nightmares tonight.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Twinkle: Childcare Drama and Accepting Help When Needed
I always end up looking like an idiot in front of my inlaws.
And it really does hurt that they never want my help. It's even worse when I offer my help and it falls through, making me appear to be more of an idiot. Twice.
So Aunt Irene died on Saturday morning. Jewish people usually have a pretty quick turnaround on funerals, which means--not to be crass--but those of us with small children have under 24 hours find a babysitter. And it's made even more difficult when 8-10 inches of snow are predicted in that 24-hour timeframe.
My parents understandably didn't want to drive two hours round-trip in the impending snowpocalypse. I thought surely I could count on our regular sitter service, so I even called my inlaws to ask them if my SIL needed childcare and wanted to share our sitter. She already had childcare taken care of. Of course.
Well, then the sitter service couldn't find anyone willing to do it.
None of the teachers at school could do it.
A friend with children the same ages as mine offered to take all three girls, but she could only do it if Bella's birthday party got cancelled and all the kids could stay at her house. Naturally it was only raining during the appointed time for the party/funeral, so the party happened as scheduled. My friend graciously took AM to the party, but she understandably couldn't take all my children and all of hers to Bella's party, and of course I would never ask her to.
It was a first class clusterfuck, resulting in Mr. Twinkle and me showing up at the funeral with E and B in the car with us, switching off during visitation while the other one sat in the car. Meanwhile, my SIL, who doesn't even live here, apparently had no trouble getting childcare. Her boring friend Christa did it. Christa actually has a business called Suck and Swallow Specialists, LLC, which doesn't actually sound that boring. But I promise she is.
Anyway, a distant cousin of Mr. Twinks found out about the situation and ended up offering to stay at my inlaws' house and tag-team all the babysitting duties with Suck and Swallow. And I accepted, because I'm not averse to taking help when I really need it. But we still sort of ended up looking like idiots who can't get our sh*t together, while my SIL always, always, always has her fucking sh*t together, even while finding childcare out of town.
---
Today Mr. Twinkle called me. He wanted to know if I could ask the school if cousin Sophie could go to E's class tomorrow (this has happened in the past and hasn't been a big deal). I called the school; the school said fine. Like an idiot I texted everyone to let them know it was all good to go, because I so crave a pat on the back from these jerks.
A few hours later I heard from the principal, who said that actually they have an extra kid in that class on Wednesdays so Sophie can't come. So I looked like an idiot yet again, and had to text my SIL and say never mind. Since I had a sitter booked for tomorrow (I'm going to that luncheon at the Woman's Club), I again offered for my SIL's kids to come over and stay with my sitter. My SIL said no thanks; they have it covered. Of course they fucking do.
---
And I think the worst of it is that they don't really look at me to get to know me. They have no clue how fabulous all of you are, and how fabulous I am just by proximity to such amazing, interesting women. I know my SIL does not have interesting friends, and I'm not just talking about Suck and Swallow. She has one friend that I know up in Connecticut--she's cool and I like her. She's a big, loud, funny northeasterner, and she actually humanizes my SIL to me a lot, but she couldn't hang with you Southern fabulous girls. I feel like, as with everything this family does, my SIL is friends with people out of obligation, because they're Jewish or because she's been friends with them forever--whereas I'm friends with people because I like them and find them interesting. She happened to find a gem in that one yankee girl that I've met, but I bet you she'd never have given that girl the time of day if she hadn't been Jewish.
And when I sent that ill-advised text today announcing that Sophie could attend school tomorrow, I really did want everyone to say, "Yay, Twinkle--great job! Thanks for taking care of it!" because it is a good feeling to be useful and to do someone a favor. And that's my problem, because I can't force those people to appreciate me, and of course no one did, and they never will. And now I look like an idiot and a flake and my SIL should obviously just arrange her own childcare and bypass me altogether because I'm incapable of getting my sh*t together. Twice.
---
Also, Sophie is a mean girl who tried to make E feel bad for being younger (because being almost three-years-old instead of four is totally E's fault) and I so wanted to make Sophie be in her class at school. And if she couldn't be in E's class, I really wanted to make her stay at my house with a babysitter and Baby B. Maybe I'm a vindictive b*tch, but you don't mess with my sweet baby E.
---
Also, Sophie came to my house and I fed her a smorgasbord of sweets. It seriously was the most decadence that kid has ever seen, and she could not control herself in the face of all that excess. She also found one of Baby B's pacifiers and was kind of hiding it behind her back. I was like, "What do you have behind your back, Sophie? Oh, I don't really care if you have that. You don't have to hide it. Go for it!" So even though she annoyed me by trying to exclude E (whom AM totally stood up for, by the way--Twinkle sisters stick together!), I'm still sort of angling to be the only adult who ever says yes to anything fun. And let me tell you all--when it comes to the Fun Sink family, it isn't that hard.
And it really does hurt that they never want my help. It's even worse when I offer my help and it falls through, making me appear to be more of an idiot. Twice.
So Aunt Irene died on Saturday morning. Jewish people usually have a pretty quick turnaround on funerals, which means--not to be crass--but those of us with small children have under 24 hours find a babysitter. And it's made even more difficult when 8-10 inches of snow are predicted in that 24-hour timeframe.
My parents understandably didn't want to drive two hours round-trip in the impending snowpocalypse. I thought surely I could count on our regular sitter service, so I even called my inlaws to ask them if my SIL needed childcare and wanted to share our sitter. She already had childcare taken care of. Of course.
Well, then the sitter service couldn't find anyone willing to do it.
None of the teachers at school could do it.
A friend with children the same ages as mine offered to take all three girls, but she could only do it if Bella's birthday party got cancelled and all the kids could stay at her house. Naturally it was only raining during the appointed time for the party/funeral, so the party happened as scheduled. My friend graciously took AM to the party, but she understandably couldn't take all my children and all of hers to Bella's party, and of course I would never ask her to.
It was a first class clusterfuck, resulting in Mr. Twinkle and me showing up at the funeral with E and B in the car with us, switching off during visitation while the other one sat in the car. Meanwhile, my SIL, who doesn't even live here, apparently had no trouble getting childcare. Her boring friend Christa did it. Christa actually has a business called Suck and Swallow Specialists, LLC, which doesn't actually sound that boring. But I promise she is.
Anyway, a distant cousin of Mr. Twinks found out about the situation and ended up offering to stay at my inlaws' house and tag-team all the babysitting duties with Suck and Swallow. And I accepted, because I'm not averse to taking help when I really need it. But we still sort of ended up looking like idiots who can't get our sh*t together, while my SIL always, always, always has her fucking sh*t together, even while finding childcare out of town.
---
Today Mr. Twinkle called me. He wanted to know if I could ask the school if cousin Sophie could go to E's class tomorrow (this has happened in the past and hasn't been a big deal). I called the school; the school said fine. Like an idiot I texted everyone to let them know it was all good to go, because I so crave a pat on the back from these jerks.
A few hours later I heard from the principal, who said that actually they have an extra kid in that class on Wednesdays so Sophie can't come. So I looked like an idiot yet again, and had to text my SIL and say never mind. Since I had a sitter booked for tomorrow (I'm going to that luncheon at the Woman's Club), I again offered for my SIL's kids to come over and stay with my sitter. My SIL said no thanks; they have it covered. Of course they fucking do.
---
And I think the worst of it is that they don't really look at me to get to know me. They have no clue how fabulous all of you are, and how fabulous I am just by proximity to such amazing, interesting women. I know my SIL does not have interesting friends, and I'm not just talking about Suck and Swallow. She has one friend that I know up in Connecticut--she's cool and I like her. She's a big, loud, funny northeasterner, and she actually humanizes my SIL to me a lot, but she couldn't hang with you Southern fabulous girls. I feel like, as with everything this family does, my SIL is friends with people out of obligation, because they're Jewish or because she's been friends with them forever--whereas I'm friends with people because I like them and find them interesting. She happened to find a gem in that one yankee girl that I've met, but I bet you she'd never have given that girl the time of day if she hadn't been Jewish.
And when I sent that ill-advised text today announcing that Sophie could attend school tomorrow, I really did want everyone to say, "Yay, Twinkle--great job! Thanks for taking care of it!" because it is a good feeling to be useful and to do someone a favor. And that's my problem, because I can't force those people to appreciate me, and of course no one did, and they never will. And now I look like an idiot and a flake and my SIL should obviously just arrange her own childcare and bypass me altogether because I'm incapable of getting my sh*t together. Twice.
---
Also, Sophie is a mean girl who tried to make E feel bad for being younger (because being almost three-years-old instead of four is totally E's fault) and I so wanted to make Sophie be in her class at school. And if she couldn't be in E's class, I really wanted to make her stay at my house with a babysitter and Baby B. Maybe I'm a vindictive b*tch, but you don't mess with my sweet baby E.
---
Also, Sophie came to my house and I fed her a smorgasbord of sweets. It seriously was the most decadence that kid has ever seen, and she could not control herself in the face of all that excess. She also found one of Baby B's pacifiers and was kind of hiding it behind her back. I was like, "What do you have behind your back, Sophie? Oh, I don't really care if you have that. You don't have to hide it. Go for it!" So even though she annoyed me by trying to exclude E (whom AM totally stood up for, by the way--Twinkle sisters stick together!), I'm still sort of angling to be the only adult who ever says yes to anything fun. And let me tell you all--when it comes to the Fun Sink family, it isn't that hard.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Twinkle: On Judgment and Guilt
So today while the big girls were at school and Baby B was napping, I did something that people probably assume I spend all my time doing, but I never, ever actually do as a stay-at-home-mother. I reclined on the sofa with a few Easter-themed Reesie cups and watched as many True Detective re-runs as naptime allowed. (I was reviewing them for symbolism, y'all. Seriously, I am obsessed).
I was literally on my sofa, watching tv instead of having a job, and eating chocolate--the very things that the women in Mr. Twinks' family probably judge me for the most (even though reaching that level of leisure is so rare it's practically unheard-of)--when I got the call that Aunt Irene, of Sister Shubert guilt and mini-hot dog judgment fame, had a massive stroke and is on life support.
I guess I've known Aunt Irene and the rest of the family for 10+ years now (so hard to believe), and I've always felt that Aunt Irene got a bad rap, even though I was sort of hard on her here on Daddy Rabbit. She's known to be a little high strung, but has always been nothing but nice to me. Apparently her first marriage--the traditional Jew-on-Jew match that the 1940s demanded--was to a man who was not so nice, but most of her married life was spent in a great marriage with a non-Jewish man who died right around the time I came into the picture. So she was never that judgmental about Mr. Twinks and me. Mini-hot dogs, yes--she would judge the sh*t out of people who ate too many mini-hot dogs. But she was always cool with interfaith relationships, and I appreciated that. She was never anything but nice to me.
So of course I immediately thought of the Sister Shubert roll that she accepted with guilt and self-loathing almost exactly a year ago, and again I wish she had eaten as many of those as she wanted and not felt guilty about any of them. I mean, y'all, she was old. I'm all for being healthy, but I'm also for living your life and enjoying it. Aunt Irene has had a long life with lots of children, grandchildren, and one bastard great-grandchild who has the tackiest name ever, but how much of that life was spent fretting over calories as she consumed them? I'll tell you how much: a lot. She fretted over how many she consumed; she fretted over how many those around her consumed. It's one example of an unwillingness to enjoy life, and it just makes me sad.
Any one of us could have a stroke at a gas station on our way to the beauty parlor, with a sh*tload of money in our purse. I would argue that, if you're old and have had a good life, it's preferable to a long, drawn-out illness with lots of suffering. But I'm not trying to get too dark here. I'm just saying that I appreciate Aunt Irene not judging me, and I wish she hadn't judged herself quite so harshly.
So, after Mr. Twinks returns from delivering her living will for the second time today (the family lost the first copy, and the incompetence is making Mr. Twinks lose his mind), he and I will enjoy a little wine, a lot of sushi, and the return of Scandal. And we're doing so guiltlessly.
I was literally on my sofa, watching tv instead of having a job, and eating chocolate--the very things that the women in Mr. Twinks' family probably judge me for the most (even though reaching that level of leisure is so rare it's practically unheard-of)--when I got the call that Aunt Irene, of Sister Shubert guilt and mini-hot dog judgment fame, had a massive stroke and is on life support.
I guess I've known Aunt Irene and the rest of the family for 10+ years now (so hard to believe), and I've always felt that Aunt Irene got a bad rap, even though I was sort of hard on her here on Daddy Rabbit. She's known to be a little high strung, but has always been nothing but nice to me. Apparently her first marriage--the traditional Jew-on-Jew match that the 1940s demanded--was to a man who was not so nice, but most of her married life was spent in a great marriage with a non-Jewish man who died right around the time I came into the picture. So she was never that judgmental about Mr. Twinks and me. Mini-hot dogs, yes--she would judge the sh*t out of people who ate too many mini-hot dogs. But she was always cool with interfaith relationships, and I appreciated that. She was never anything but nice to me.
So of course I immediately thought of the Sister Shubert roll that she accepted with guilt and self-loathing almost exactly a year ago, and again I wish she had eaten as many of those as she wanted and not felt guilty about any of them. I mean, y'all, she was old. I'm all for being healthy, but I'm also for living your life and enjoying it. Aunt Irene has had a long life with lots of children, grandchildren, and one bastard great-grandchild who has the tackiest name ever, but how much of that life was spent fretting over calories as she consumed them? I'll tell you how much: a lot. She fretted over how many she consumed; she fretted over how many those around her consumed. It's one example of an unwillingness to enjoy life, and it just makes me sad.
Any one of us could have a stroke at a gas station on our way to the beauty parlor, with a sh*tload of money in our purse. I would argue that, if you're old and have had a good life, it's preferable to a long, drawn-out illness with lots of suffering. But I'm not trying to get too dark here. I'm just saying that I appreciate Aunt Irene not judging me, and I wish she hadn't judged herself quite so harshly.
So, after Mr. Twinks returns from delivering her living will for the second time today (the family lost the first copy, and the incompetence is making Mr. Twinks lose his mind), he and I will enjoy a little wine, a lot of sushi, and the return of Scandal. And we're doing so guiltlessly.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Twinkle: Fun Sink Needs to Let My Children Be Themselves
Well Fun Sink and I have been in a good place lately, and I haven't logged into the blog for awhile. I see there's been lots of activity. Looking forward to catching up with everyone's airing of grievances.
Fun Sink did annoy me a little tonight. She was just a little bit hard on E, and I don't think that's fair.
The girls and I were at the zoo all afternoon, wandering around, eating bananas and peanut butter and crackers as we made our way through the zoo the opposite way from where we usually start. We saw King Louie the endangered white alligator, we saw vampire bats, we stayed on the playground as long as they wanted because we were all just so happy to be out in the sunshine. The only disappointment of the day was that the carousel was closed. E in particular was sad about it but she kept it together. We left the zoo and chalked the day up to a success.
Mr. Twinks is out of town, so Fun Sink and Mr. Fun Sink graciously took the girls to dinner while I went to PB. During the drop-off I handed Fun Sink a change of clothes for E and explained that E's got a new thing where she will only go to the potty at home or school.
Fun Sink looked appalled.
Now, this new phase is absolutely an inconvenience, but it is not the disaster that Fun Sink seems to think it is. E is not yet three; she was trained early because she was interested (unlike AM, who resisted at every turn until she finally decided for herself that it was the cool thing to do, and Fun Sink criticized that plenty, too). Now that E's getting a little older, she's noticing the size of some of the potties out there in the world and she's afraid she's going to fall in. I'm hoping this phase is short-lived, but I'm not that concerned about it. No one takes a Monsters University potty seat to college.
Fun Sink had to turn it into a lecture about E's diet and whether or not she's getting enough fiber. And, honestly, I do the best I can with trying to give everyone vegetables and fruits and healthy grains, but this issue can be traced to the exact moment when E saw a particularly behemoth toilet at the Macy's. She's a little kid and she's noticing that some of the potties out there are much bigger than she is. Fun Sink should have just taken the change of clothes and laughed about it. I'm sure she was thinking if given the chance, she could make E go on any potty anywhere, but I beg to differ. Girlfriend goes completely stiff and thrashes around screaming; my strategy is to just take a change of clothes along until she figures out that being able to go on any old potty is preferable to being uncomfortable and peeing yourself all the time.
Then E was all tired and sad about the carousel, and almost started crying when it came up that we went to the zoo. She reacts to things differently than AM, who would have demanded that we talk to the manager of the carousel and his/her boss and his/her boss and all the way up through the ranks of employees until she convinced the president of the zoo to open the carousel. When E really cares about something, she reacts with real, heartbreaking tears. And I can see when they're coming, and the best thing to do is just hug her and make her feel better.
I feel like Fun Sink doesn't know this. Fun Sink ruled her own children and countless elementary students with an iron fist, and she really believes that all children are alike and all children react the same way, and they shouldn't challenge authority (what AM does) and they shouldn't break down over something as seemingly insignificant as a carousel (what E does).
She still took my children to dinner and I still appreciate it, and I'm still cool with her. But I don't like her coming down hard on my sweet, sensitive E. Or my strong, fearless AM, for that matter. In all Fun Sink's years of parenting and teaching, I really don't think she has learned to let children be themselves. And that explains a lot about Mr. Twinks' people-pleasing neuroses--he tries to please her but he never will. No one will, not easygoing E and not strong-willed AM, and not even baby B, who will surely will fall short somehow to Fun Sink. How sad to be that person who's never going to be happy. How sad not to be able to accept your own children and grandchildren for who they are--especially when who one of those grandchildren is is a two-year-old.
Fun Sink did annoy me a little tonight. She was just a little bit hard on E, and I don't think that's fair.
The girls and I were at the zoo all afternoon, wandering around, eating bananas and peanut butter and crackers as we made our way through the zoo the opposite way from where we usually start. We saw King Louie the endangered white alligator, we saw vampire bats, we stayed on the playground as long as they wanted because we were all just so happy to be out in the sunshine. The only disappointment of the day was that the carousel was closed. E in particular was sad about it but she kept it together. We left the zoo and chalked the day up to a success.
Mr. Twinks is out of town, so Fun Sink and Mr. Fun Sink graciously took the girls to dinner while I went to PB. During the drop-off I handed Fun Sink a change of clothes for E and explained that E's got a new thing where she will only go to the potty at home or school.
Fun Sink looked appalled.
Now, this new phase is absolutely an inconvenience, but it is not the disaster that Fun Sink seems to think it is. E is not yet three; she was trained early because she was interested (unlike AM, who resisted at every turn until she finally decided for herself that it was the cool thing to do, and Fun Sink criticized that plenty, too). Now that E's getting a little older, she's noticing the size of some of the potties out there in the world and she's afraid she's going to fall in. I'm hoping this phase is short-lived, but I'm not that concerned about it. No one takes a Monsters University potty seat to college.
Fun Sink had to turn it into a lecture about E's diet and whether or not she's getting enough fiber. And, honestly, I do the best I can with trying to give everyone vegetables and fruits and healthy grains, but this issue can be traced to the exact moment when E saw a particularly behemoth toilet at the Macy's. She's a little kid and she's noticing that some of the potties out there are much bigger than she is. Fun Sink should have just taken the change of clothes and laughed about it. I'm sure she was thinking if given the chance, she could make E go on any potty anywhere, but I beg to differ. Girlfriend goes completely stiff and thrashes around screaming; my strategy is to just take a change of clothes along until she figures out that being able to go on any old potty is preferable to being uncomfortable and peeing yourself all the time.
Then E was all tired and sad about the carousel, and almost started crying when it came up that we went to the zoo. She reacts to things differently than AM, who would have demanded that we talk to the manager of the carousel and his/her boss and his/her boss and all the way up through the ranks of employees until she convinced the president of the zoo to open the carousel. When E really cares about something, she reacts with real, heartbreaking tears. And I can see when they're coming, and the best thing to do is just hug her and make her feel better.
I feel like Fun Sink doesn't know this. Fun Sink ruled her own children and countless elementary students with an iron fist, and she really believes that all children are alike and all children react the same way, and they shouldn't challenge authority (what AM does) and they shouldn't break down over something as seemingly insignificant as a carousel (what E does).
She still took my children to dinner and I still appreciate it, and I'm still cool with her. But I don't like her coming down hard on my sweet, sensitive E. Or my strong, fearless AM, for that matter. In all Fun Sink's years of parenting and teaching, I really don't think she has learned to let children be themselves. And that explains a lot about Mr. Twinks' people-pleasing neuroses--he tries to please her but he never will. No one will, not easygoing E and not strong-willed AM, and not even baby B, who will surely will fall short somehow to Fun Sink. How sad to be that person who's never going to be happy. How sad not to be able to accept your own children and grandchildren for who they are--especially when who one of those grandchildren is is a two-year-old.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Julep: yuck
Yesterday I heard a speaker at the Women Lawyers Association talk about gettting more women to run for office here in our state, and she was very pumped about the possibility of having our first woman senator. After such enthusiasm, I find this deeply depressing. Eight minutes of nothing but platitudes and dodging the question.
Now clearly, I will vote for her. I would vote for pretty much anyone who could remove Senator Droopy Dawg from office and fill out the Senate majority to keep the lunatics* from running the asylum. But will I give her money? Put up a yard sign? Knock on doors? No, I will not. I am distinctly unexcited.
* Now, "lunatics" does not refer to all members of the opposing party. There used to be lots of sane conservatives, but unfortunately the other party doesn't seem to elect them any more and there are many fewer than there used to be.
Now clearly, I will vote for her. I would vote for pretty much anyone who could remove Senator Droopy Dawg from office and fill out the Senate majority to keep the lunatics* from running the asylum. But will I give her money? Put up a yard sign? Knock on doors? No, I will not. I am distinctly unexcited.
* Now, "lunatics" does not refer to all members of the opposing party. There used to be lots of sane conservatives, but unfortunately the other party doesn't seem to elect them any more and there are many fewer than there used to be.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Julep: hearts, blessed
When I discovered that Bear would need a "creative, decorated Valentines box," I had a pretty full weekend already. There was about a 90-minute window that I figured I could use to help him on this project. This would be a process. Keep in mind, we don't have a lot of craft supplies sitting around - though we did have some heart stickers that came with the Valentines cards we bought for him to distribute.
For reasons I won't go into, Mr. J burned through that 90-minute window this weekend. And I told him then, "This is the only time I have for his Valentines box. If you keep me from using this time, you will have to be responsible for the box." I had to travel for work on Tuesday, getting home on Wednesday after Mr. J had left for his own trip. On Monday night I set out the shoe box and the stickers, and I told him, "You and Bear will have to make that box while he is home with you on Tuesday morning. If I get home on Wednesday night and there is no creative decorated box, it will be ugly for you, capisce?"
So last night, I staggered downstairs after putting the kids to bed (absolutely knackered), and went looking for the box. Here's what I found.
My first reaction, of course, was: Sonuvabitch, I have to make another f%^&ing box. I can't send him to school with this on Friday. Mr. J couldn't even have wrapped the box in tissue paper? Hell, wrap it in printer paper! How am I going to remove and reapply those stickers?
But then I thought twice. You know what? Screw it. So the other moms will sneer at his box. Screw them. Bear won't care - he had fun making the box with Daddy, and he doesn't need to feel like the box he made wasn't good enough.
And when I tell the teachers Bear made his box specially with Daddy, they will love it, because if Mama helped make this box it would be a shameful embarrassment, but Daddy? Wow! What a Super Involved Father!
Mr. J gets kudos just for showing up. He makes a crappy half-a$$ed box, he's Father Of The Year! I'm riding that double standard as far as it will take me.
For reasons I won't go into, Mr. J burned through that 90-minute window this weekend. And I told him then, "This is the only time I have for his Valentines box. If you keep me from using this time, you will have to be responsible for the box." I had to travel for work on Tuesday, getting home on Wednesday after Mr. J had left for his own trip. On Monday night I set out the shoe box and the stickers, and I told him, "You and Bear will have to make that box while he is home with you on Tuesday morning. If I get home on Wednesday night and there is no creative decorated box, it will be ugly for you, capisce?"
So last night, I staggered downstairs after putting the kids to bed (absolutely knackered), and went looking for the box. Here's what I found.
My first reaction, of course, was: Sonuvabitch, I have to make another f%^&ing box. I can't send him to school with this on Friday. Mr. J couldn't even have wrapped the box in tissue paper? Hell, wrap it in printer paper! How am I going to remove and reapply those stickers?
But then I thought twice. You know what? Screw it. So the other moms will sneer at his box. Screw them. Bear won't care - he had fun making the box with Daddy, and he doesn't need to feel like the box he made wasn't good enough.
And when I tell the teachers Bear made his box specially with Daddy, they will love it, because if Mama helped make this box it would be a shameful embarrassment, but Daddy? Wow! What a Super Involved Father!
Mr. J gets kudos just for showing up. He makes a crappy half-a$$ed box, he's Father Of The Year! I'm riding that double standard as far as it will take me.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Julep: Flag on the play
I just got an email from the sweet, sweet ladies who teach Bear at preschool. It starts off:
Valentine's Day is just around the corner. As a home project we would like your child to make a creative, decorated Valentine box for their Valentine's [sic]. Please make sure to open the box so the children can deliver their cards. The children will also need 17 Valentine cards to share with their friends....
"Home project"? WTF is a "home project"? He is two years old and he has homework? We don't have time for homework. I pick him up from school at 5:30, we get home at 6, we eat dinner, he takes a bath, he goes to bed, that's it. When is he supposed to make a creative, decorated box?
More importantly, I am paying these good people hundreds of dollars every month so that I don't have to do crafts with my toddler, or to feel guilty about how much I hate crafts, or to feel embarrassed around other parents at how bad my attempts at crafts turn out to be. This is a violation of my contract.
[Sidebar: I was completely confused by the bit about "make sure to open the box" until I was typing it in here. The creative, decorated box has to have an opening so the other kids can put his cards in it. Check.]
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Julep ... I forgot about this
While I'm here, let me fill y'all in on the St [Somebody] School Centennial that Mr. J and I went to earlier this month. It was a giant dinner function at the [Riverfront] Hotel, and let me just say: Can we get some Junior Leaguers up in here please?
If you are throwing a giant dinner for a Catholic parish, particularly the Catholic parish with our city's largest summer picnic, what is the number one thing you must supply? Booze. This is not rocket science. That first bar right past the check-in table needs to be fully stocked with everything, and then add a couple extra cases to be on the safe side. There is no excuse for that bar to shut down while people are still getting their name tags. And then the next bar shut down too! They made everyone in line go get drinks from the bars in the ballroom. And this was the big ballroom - there were only two bars open during the dinner, and it had to be close to a thousand people in there. A thousand thirsty people - who were paying cash for their drinks.
And there's another thing. If you are charging $50 a head for a dinner -- no band, we are just talking facility rental and meal - you need to throw people a couple of drink tickets. I'm not saying you have to have an open bar: although Lord knows that is preferable, I understand that's not always economically feasible and plus there are liability issues. But come on, who doesn't feel happier at a party with a couple of drink tickets clutched in her hot little hand?
Then there was the food. It was all "stations" which is perfectly fine, but if you are going to make people run all over the damn ballroom for a full meal, you need to make sure that the stations are stocked. Nobody wants to stand in line for ten minutes only to discover that the prime rib is all gone and you've been waiting this whole time for turkey. And here's a tip: nobody in this crowd wanted the turkey. Refer back to paragraph 1 and consider your demographic.
Last but not least, if you have a program to put on, do a dry run to make sure your speakers can keep it in their assigned time frames, and start on time. When your little card says that the program will start at 7:30 and be over at 8:30, people tell the sitter they will be home around 10. When you start the program at closer to 8:00 and you're still rambling on up there at 9:36, people in the audience are texting each other things like "OMG GET THE HOOK." Not the note you meant to end on.
Oh, one more thing. Sing-alongs only work if everyone in the audience knew the song when they came in.
Sigh. With all of that, it was still a good night. The crowd was lots of fun, and I just felt like that crowd deserved better. You know St Somebody must have plenty of JL alums running their PTA. I really wish one of them had taken some time to whip the planning committee into shape.
If you are throwing a giant dinner for a Catholic parish, particularly the Catholic parish with our city's largest summer picnic, what is the number one thing you must supply? Booze. This is not rocket science. That first bar right past the check-in table needs to be fully stocked with everything, and then add a couple extra cases to be on the safe side. There is no excuse for that bar to shut down while people are still getting their name tags. And then the next bar shut down too! They made everyone in line go get drinks from the bars in the ballroom. And this was the big ballroom - there were only two bars open during the dinner, and it had to be close to a thousand people in there. A thousand thirsty people - who were paying cash for their drinks.
And there's another thing. If you are charging $50 a head for a dinner -- no band, we are just talking facility rental and meal - you need to throw people a couple of drink tickets. I'm not saying you have to have an open bar: although Lord knows that is preferable, I understand that's not always economically feasible and plus there are liability issues. But come on, who doesn't feel happier at a party with a couple of drink tickets clutched in her hot little hand?
Then there was the food. It was all "stations" which is perfectly fine, but if you are going to make people run all over the damn ballroom for a full meal, you need to make sure that the stations are stocked. Nobody wants to stand in line for ten minutes only to discover that the prime rib is all gone and you've been waiting this whole time for turkey. And here's a tip: nobody in this crowd wanted the turkey. Refer back to paragraph 1 and consider your demographic.
Last but not least, if you have a program to put on, do a dry run to make sure your speakers can keep it in their assigned time frames, and start on time. When your little card says that the program will start at 7:30 and be over at 8:30, people tell the sitter they will be home around 10. When you start the program at closer to 8:00 and you're still rambling on up there at 9:36, people in the audience are texting each other things like "OMG GET THE HOOK." Not the note you meant to end on.
Oh, one more thing. Sing-alongs only work if everyone in the audience knew the song when they came in.
Sigh. With all of that, it was still a good night. The crowd was lots of fun, and I just felt like that crowd deserved better. You know St Somebody must have plenty of JL alums running their PTA. I really wish one of them had taken some time to whip the planning committee into shape.
Julep: Not again.
I just got a phone call from Mr. J: his Judgy Grandma is planning a family gathering to celebrate his dad's (non-milestone) birthday at their country club, for dinner. We were given date and time -- a full five days before the man's actual birthday -- and told to attend. On one week's notice!
Judgy Grandma has never held a job, and her husband has been retired for eons. But some of us do work for a living. In fact, I had a business development cocktail function scheduled that evening: I was supposed to be mingling with my partners' clients and (the hope is) convincing them that I would do a great job of handling work we don't currently do for those clients.
It pisses me off that this woman is constantly arranging command performances. Never, not once, has she ever called to ask about our schedule before she plans something we must attend at the peril of incurring a whole round of We're Offended -- a favorite game among the Mr.-family womenfolk in which Judgy Grandma the Queen Bee, her daughters the Drama Queens, and their daughters Trashy BabyMama and Tits McGee get themselves all frothed up about how they aren't being paid enough attention. (Most recently, TBM got her knickers in a twist because Mr. J did not call her personally to extend an invitation to our daughter's baptism. Mind you, when he spoke to her mother TBM was on her way over there, and he asked that she be filled in. But that was not good enough. The whole branch of the family skipped the after-party to show how offended they were. What a shame.)
Have some respect! If I need to attend, check my availability before scheduling, or at least give me reasonable notice. Sometimes I have work things to do! Hell, some times I have fun things to do! -- and trust me, "fun things" does not extend to a family function with the extended Mr. clan. I'd a hundred times rather stand around drinking cocktails and talking business with strangers.
Judgy Grandma has never held a job, and her husband has been retired for eons. But some of us do work for a living. In fact, I had a business development cocktail function scheduled that evening: I was supposed to be mingling with my partners' clients and (the hope is) convincing them that I would do a great job of handling work we don't currently do for those clients.
It pisses me off that this woman is constantly arranging command performances. Never, not once, has she ever called to ask about our schedule before she plans something we must attend at the peril of incurring a whole round of We're Offended -- a favorite game among the Mr.-family womenfolk in which Judgy Grandma the Queen Bee, her daughters the Drama Queens, and their daughters Trashy BabyMama and Tits McGee get themselves all frothed up about how they aren't being paid enough attention. (Most recently, TBM got her knickers in a twist because Mr. J did not call her personally to extend an invitation to our daughter's baptism. Mind you, when he spoke to her mother TBM was on her way over there, and he asked that she be filled in. But that was not good enough. The whole branch of the family skipped the after-party to show how offended they were. What a shame.)
Have some respect! If I need to attend, check my availability before scheduling, or at least give me reasonable notice. Sometimes I have work things to do! Hell, some times I have fun things to do! -- and trust me, "fun things" does not extend to a family function with the extended Mr. clan. I'd a hundred times rather stand around drinking cocktails and talking business with strangers.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
It's a Social Contract: Deal With It: Dibbs
Oh, the BC. I'm dubbing it MW Munchausen Coalition. They wear their designer Kohl's outfits, perhaps with a breast cancer ribbon, carry their 31 bags, talk about their above-ground swimming pools, and consider themselves high-rollers. One of them had the temerity to tell me she considered a Master's Degree, but she couldn't give up Mary Kay.
Their latest trend is designer disabilities: Non-Verbal Learning Disability, Ocular-Motor Dysfunction, blah, blah. They come my office and cry for an hour because they fear their straight "A" student children can't read. I don't even need an evaluation for that. Also? There is cancer in this world. Shut it.
So, one of them is worried for my health and wants to sell me in-home vitamins, etc. Melaleuca. I took some. They're fine. Whatevs. I will not be "scheduling my in-home party." She cannot understand the domino effect that comes from said parties. Schedule one vitamin party and you wake up broke with Partylites and Ahni and Zoey scrapbooks all over the floor. It's sad, wrong, and not of the Lord. I will not.
She's farmischt. The coalition lives for this shit. Probably so they can talk about how I hate their kids.
Oh, well. More fodder.
Their latest trend is designer disabilities: Non-Verbal Learning Disability, Ocular-Motor Dysfunction, blah, blah. They come my office and cry for an hour because they fear their straight "A" student children can't read. I don't even need an evaluation for that. Also? There is cancer in this world. Shut it.
So, one of them is worried for my health and wants to sell me in-home vitamins, etc. Melaleuca. I took some. They're fine. Whatevs. I will not be "scheduling my in-home party." She cannot understand the domino effect that comes from said parties. Schedule one vitamin party and you wake up broke with Partylites and Ahni and Zoey scrapbooks all over the floor. It's sad, wrong, and not of the Lord. I will not.
She's farmischt. The coalition lives for this shit. Probably so they can talk about how I hate their kids.
Oh, well. More fodder.
Monday, January 13, 2014
40 Is the New 16?: Dibbs
Girls! Get me back on my diet; order up the Botox. What the hell is going on?!
I think I told you at the last classic about hearing from my friend who had gotten a divorce a few years ago. Just got off the phone with him again. Reminiscing about dancing with a "little person." I believe he spanked said little person. It was a decade and some bourbon ago.
Anyway, last week I got a message from another old friend. He was going to Lexington to stay with a friend. Did I want to meet up with him? Y'all know me--Prudy Prudewell--this friend has a wife who I do not know. So...I said, "That would be fun, but I'm in Louisville." He meant Louisville. He's getting a divorce, too. Blessedly, the plan fell through. He's nice as ever and a raging alcoholic who can't afford his divorce. Needs to work on how he looks on paper. Since then he likes every one of my fb posts, so you can see him if you want.
So, HCG. Botox. Latisse. I ain't the girl I was at 22.
I think I told you at the last classic about hearing from my friend who had gotten a divorce a few years ago. Just got off the phone with him again. Reminiscing about dancing with a "little person." I believe he spanked said little person. It was a decade and some bourbon ago.
Anyway, last week I got a message from another old friend. He was going to Lexington to stay with a friend. Did I want to meet up with him? Y'all know me--Prudy Prudewell--this friend has a wife who I do not know. So...I said, "That would be fun, but I'm in Louisville." He meant Louisville. He's getting a divorce, too. Blessedly, the plan fell through. He's nice as ever and a raging alcoholic who can't afford his divorce. Needs to work on how he looks on paper. Since then he likes every one of my fb posts, so you can see him if you want.
So, HCG. Botox. Latisse. I ain't the girl I was at 22.
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