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.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
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.]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)