Julep: This is (almost) 40

40 days from tomorrow, I will be 40.

Usually my Epoch of Birthday Introspection is from my actual birthday through New Years - it's a strange block of days that seem like a prelude to the new year, since I have turned the page but the rest of the world hasn't yet. This year it's come on much sooner, and it feels weird. But as I think back, I felt weird before my 30th birthday also. I remember describing it as feeling sort of like an emotional bottleneck -- everything squeezed tighter and then you were through, out in all the space imaginable on the other side.

At 30, a lot of what I was feeling had to do with the things I thought I would do by the time I was 30. I had  set a lot of goals for myself, primarily professional and financial things, and I had accomplished those things. I was successful and independent and I was standing there looking around wondering "Where to?" I remember telling my priest that I didn't know what God wanted from me next. And I remember that he told me to pray with a sincere heart, "Here I am, Lord," and then buckle up, because when you tell the Lord you're ready things will move dramatically, in ways you never expected.

So here I am at (almost) 40, in a totally different space, what with the husband, the kids, the family home and the college savings - and yet the fundamental question I'm feeling is still the same. Where to, next? What is my purpose from 40 to 50?

Part of it is realizing that I am no longer the Bright Young Thing. My friend Jeff said that he was a little disappointed the day he realized he was no longer a wunderkind, but just a 40 year old guy doing the same things as most 40 year olds: raising a family, earning a living, making a home. I know what he meant.

Another part of it is realizing that when you're 40, a lot of the major building blocks of your life are in place and that reduces the sense of possibilities. Are you ever going to ditch everything and travel the world with a backpack? Well, if you are our friend Bitsy, maybe. But if you are a parent with two kids, a dog, and a mortgage, probably not.

A third part is the recognition that this is truly midlife. The journey outwards is over. We all have to acknowledge that somewhere between 40 and 50, for virtually everyone, you've crossed the midpoint and are on the way home. And I don't mind that in one sense - I'm not particularly worried about death - but it's weird to think that so much of the record of your life is already behind you.

I remember that around this time of year when I was 29, I had some revelations. Before Thanksgiving I told my mom, the patron saint of non-confrontation, that if my sisters were b!tches to me (as usual), I was not coming home for Christmas. I would stop in to see my mom at some point, but I would spend the holiday with my uncle and his family, where everyone would be glad to see me. 30 felt too old to put up with that shit any longer. And  I don't know what she said to them, but whatever it was, it worked. Here ten years later, I have a genuinely nice relationship with Big Sis, and Lil Sis, well, she's still a pain in the ass, but mostly not to me. I would never have predicted it.

I wonder what the revelations will be this year. I wonder what I can't predict about what my life will be like at 50.

I'm celebrating my birthday with 4 days in New York with my maid of honor. And we've rented a house at the beach this summer with my matron of honor and her family. I don't know what I'm going to do on my actual birthday. I don't want to let it pass in silence, but I'm thinking that maybe this needs to be a whole year of celebrating all of what got me this far.

Julep: And while I'm here....

I got home last night to see that Mr. Mama left the kids' breakfast dishes in the sink. Now I see why her son is such a slob.

I realized this morning that she also let Bits carry her special cup on the ride to school, and then didn't bring it back to the house. I had to call her this morning about the cup - the Bear said he thought it was in Mr. Mama's car, and I didn't want to keep looking around the house if he was right - and she acknowledged that she had the cup but did not whisper one word of apology about dropping the ball on me yesterday.

That woman's emotional maturity peaked in high school. Not only is she about as reliable as a (poorly raised) teenager, she treats her own screw-ups the way a teenager does, too.

Julep: Let us sing of coupon books.

We are all having a great experience at the kids' new preschool. The Bear is feeling good about himself and the music teacher thinks he is the greatest thing since Mozart. Little Bits loves her teachers, and Tiny Twinks is teaching her all about how your bow should be wider than your head. We are not too jazzed about the 7.2 days off over a four-week stretch starting this week, but you know, when you sign up for a preschool run by the Tribe you have to deal with their multitudinous fall holidays.

The one thing that has really irked me so far is the fundraising. When we showed up for the Parents' Night the week before school, we were handed a pile of coupon books and told that we were required to sell them for $20 each, as a fundraiser. Since then, I have been inundated (by which I mean, reminded at least twice a week) about my obligation to sell these d^mn coupon books and turn in the money so that the kids' classrooms can win an ice cream party.

OK, here's the thing. I'm not selling the coupon books. I answered today's email and told the office staff that I'm not selling the books, just give me a number and I'll add it to next month's tuition payment. She sent the number, I amended my auto-bill-pay at the bank, and we're done. See how easy that was? Here's a tip: I don't mind attending a fundraiser event, but this mandatory shilling of unwelcome articles is unseemly and a little bit ridiculous.

The vast majority of the people in my office are either administrative types or attorneys who are not partners. I pay their salaries, in other words, and I find it unseemly to ask people I pay to return some of their money to me -- even in exchange for a coupon book of dubious utility.

My family does enough to help me with my kids - and my friends either have their own coupon books to hawk or don't make enough money to buy something from every d^mn friend's kid with a fundraising requirement. (It's the Pampered Chef party of the next decade, I can sense it.) I am not asking our loved ones to subsidize our educational choices by purchasing a coupon book of dubious utility.

The school keeps suggesting that the books make great holiday gifts for the mailman, etc.Sure, because nothing says "I wanted to share the joy of the season with you" like a coupon book of dubious utility. This is essentially telling me that I should pay for the books myself and foist them on others to whom I feel obligated to give socially-required-yet-awkward gifts. I'm pretty sure the mailman would rather get cash, or cookies, or a $15 Starbucks card,

People: this is a private school. If you need more money to run it, raise the tuition by $100 per year - or create an annual $100 activity-and-materials fee, or something. Don't waste the trees on the coupon books, and don't waste my time on the endless reminders to sell the d^mn things.

Julep: So typical

This morning was the annual fundraiser breakfast for the large local non-profit organization I have chaired for the past three years. Fortunately for this story, I am no longer the chair and no longer called on to speak at the event ... but I was still hosting a table of ten, not to mention that I knew there would be many folks in the crowd that I would want to greet and chat with. (Not least among them you lovely dears.)

Last weekend Mr. J was in Detroit, sailing. He was supposed to be home for three days before turning around and heading to Minneapolis. Well, as it happened, he was wrong about the scheduling and he was only home for about 36 hours. He left yesterday afternoon. It's fine, I can deal with the kids on my own for an extra day or two, but I was going to need some help in the morning today as the kids are not supposed to arrive at school before 8:15, and the doors were opening at the breakfast at 7:30 a.m. for an 8:00 start time.

I called on Mr-Mama. It seemed like the reasonable thing to do, since my own mama was already on board to help pick the kids up at school three days this week, and since the Mr-Parents live half a mile from my house, and since Mr-Mama made a huge point of telling me while I was with her last weekend that she is always up in the morning and had thought about volunteering to take the kids to school on the regular (ha!) but she thought it would be good for Mr. J to get into that routine. Sure, whatever.

So I texted her on Monday night about helping out this morning (Wednesday). She was all about it. No problem at all. I'd get the kids up and dressed and she'd be here by 7:20 to give them breakfast and drive them to school. Great.

Well, this morning at 7:20 she was not at my house. She's routinely late so I was not yet panicked. I got very busy dealing with the Bear, who was having a rough morning (sleepy and cranky), and the Bits, who had somehow removed her own diaper and peed all over her bed such that everything had to go into the washing machine including (the horrors!) her beloved Baby. I was starting to stress, though. My trips downstairs by myself had reduced the Bear to tears, so I was reduced to begging Bear to please, please put on his clothes so that we could go downstairs and call Mr-Mama. At 7:33, we finally got downstairs and the phone rang. It was Mr-Papa. He said, "Was Mr-Mama supposed to be over there this morning to help with the kids?" I said, "Yes, ten minutes ago." He said, "I'm on my way right now and she'll be right behind me."

Through a blessed confluence of green lights, and after literally sprinting two downtown blocks -- providing a great source of entertainment for the people sitting in the Einstein Bagel Bros windows, I'm sure -- I made it to the registration table for the breakfast at exactly 7:59, and I got to my table at the very moment they turned down the lights. I don't need this kind of stress in my life.

This, THIS, is exactly why Mr. J says every time I suggest that we call his mom for help: "I can't rely on her." I would be so mortified and ashamed if my child ever said that about me. The only silver lining is that her flakiness seems to be nudging Mr. J to do better himself.

Julep: The HRF

Mr. J's sister got engaged last weekend. Y'all know that I am dearly fond of Mr-Sister. I am somewhat less fond of her beau, whose previous title (The Highly Regrettable Boyfriend) must now be revised to The Highly Regrettable Fiance. I don't dislike him in the pure sense. But he is not merely socially awkward - he is just plain anti-social. And he makes me uneasy. I don't trust him.

Here's the latest classic example. Mr-Sister is having a lot of anxiety around wedding planning. Now part of that was inevitable, given her mother. But I truly did not think it would be so difficult for her to make some high-level decisions and then tell Mr-Mama to have at it.

I had a long chat with her the other day, and here's what I discovered: The HRF doesn't want a wedding. Not a real one. Mr-Sis told me, "He'd be happy to go down to the Justice of the Peace and have dinner after in my parents' backyard." Furthermore, she said, "He doesn't want to get married in front of a bunch of my parents' friends, or even my friends that he doesn't know well." So Mr-Sis is tying herself in knots trying to transform the wedding she always assumed she would have into something smaller and less ... wedding-like ... so that The HRF won't be uncomfortable.

She was talking about flying off to the Bahamas - she said, "we could invite about 50 people." I gently suggested to her that a destination wedding is extremely inconvenient for people with small children who must either spend thousands of dollars on airfare to bring the whole crew or figure out who will watch their children at home - and I don't mean her brother and me, I figure that Mr-Papa will at least help us with the tab although there won't be much he can do about either Mr. J or me (ha, I pretend that it might possibly be Mr. J) having to spend the evenings after 8 p.m. sitting in a hotel room while the party goes on downstairs and our children sleep, as I do not want to live out the story of that British couple whose daughter was abducted from their hotel room in Portugal while they had dinner downstairs. Where was I? Oh yes, she has several very close friends with small children and non-extensive bank accounts. Also, her lifelong best friend will be nine months pregnant in the spring and certainly not flying to the Bahamas. Oh, and her 90 year old grandmother won't be able to go either. Finally, I asked whether The HRF would be really more comfortable in a group of 50 where approximately 6 of them are his own friends and relations.

I think she has ditched the destination idea. She's now talking about some barn out in the countryside that rents out for weddings. And listen, it's her wedding, she should do what she will love. It's not the specific plans that are bothering me ... it's the idea that your fiance doesn't want you to have a wedding full of the people who have loved you throughout your life, who want to come and celebrate your joy with you, because he's uncomfortable in crowds. Suck it up, dude. He is perfectly happy to stay home and sit on the couch with her at all times - and maybe the times that they are alone together watching TV are wonderful and blissful, I don't know, What I do know is that before she met him, she was a quintessential people person. I know that people change as they get older, and maybe she has realized that being in big groups isn't something she really enjoys or needs in her life. But I don't think so. I think she keeps thinking that it will get better: as he meets more of her friends and gets to know people better, he'll be more comfortable around them. But I think she is mistaken. I don't think he wants that at all. He wants her to make her life smaller so that he will be more at ease in it. And I hate to think she is carving away pieces of herself in order to make him happier.

Oh, and I ain't sayin' he's a gold-digger ... but I am wondering if there is any tactful way to suggest to her that consulting a lawyer about a pre-nup would be a really, really good idea. Shower gift, maybe?

Julep: let the record show...

... that my fears about leaving Mr. J in charge for most of the first two weeks at the kids' new school were unfounded. He stepped up to the plate beautifully. In fact, I now think it was a real blessing that I was gone so much those first few weeks, because it forced him to develop strategies to manage without my contribution. Now that I am home, he's not relying on me to nag him out of bed, thanks be to the sweet baby Jesus. Three weeks in and so far so good.

In discussing this with LoLa, I recognized that in general, Mr. J responds well to pressure. In fact, he thrives on it. He is at his best when everything is going to hell around him. And this is a bit of a stress point in our marriage, because I am not someone who likes to let things go to where catastrophic failure is a real possibility.

Faced with a situation where he has to act or disaster will ensue, you can count on Mr. J to save the day. He will always sink the free throws when the game is on the line. If he'll pardon me the UK analogy, he's a Harrison twin. But (no disrespect to the Harrisons) he is also the player who caused the team to need a game-winning free throw, because he was distracted on defense and dawdled around on the shot clock and seemed like he was sleepwalking through the whole first half.

It was easier to let Mr. J do his own thing when it was just the two of us. Now that we are raising children, I feel obliged to, you know, not fuck them up. So I backstop him, and that makes him lazy. Probably if I were willing to let Mr. J almost-fail more often, he would do better at taking responsibility for our household, family, life ... but I might have a coronary from the stress. I'm thinking there's a zen koan in here somewhere.

Julep: shifting gears

Just read an article quoting Rand Paul in which I immediately thought, "What an idiotic thing to say." A little normalcy is a nice thing.

The kids start their new school on Monday - and will be classmates with the Twinkle sisters! I am excited about this in the big picture but getting anxiety about the transition. Under the new regime, Mr. J will be responsible for dropping the kids off every morning. He will have to be up and somewhat functional at 7:30 a.m. five days a week, and I am here to tell you that he is not good at getting out of bed in the mornings.Yes, he is an adult. Yes, this is the sort of thing that the rest of us had to learn to adapt to a solid twenty or thirty years back. I'm not trying to say it's reasonable, but it's a concern.

If it were me, I would be spending the start of August carefully trying to calibrate my bedtime and rising time to the new normal, so that next week would not be such a shock to the system. I don't have to tell you that I have (thus far) seen no signs that Mr. J is doing the same.

I thought I had a plan in place that was going to give me at least some way to force his hand -- I told him that I would get the kids up and dressed every morning, then leave for the office and let him handle breakfast and the drop-off. This plan masquerades as a division of labor, while allowing me to make sure the children are dressed decently and that they are up and roaming the house thus giving him an urgent sense of the need to get out of bed rather than simply sleeping though his alarm clock.

Then I realized this week that I will be out of town for work on Thursday and Friday mornings next week, and at least three mornings of the following week. Three mornings is simply not enough to get Mr. J into a new routine.

I'm starting to worry. My poor kids are going to spend their first two weeks at a new school being those kids who can't show up on time.

Julep: Your Spirit Celebrity

I told LoLa last night that her ensemble reminded me of Reese Witherspoon. Behold, Exhibit A.

I think we all agree that Reese Witherspoon would be our friend if we knew her in person. Also Jennifer Garner (and I think she could use a night out with the girls these days, bless her heart. I hope she has real-life friends who laugh as much as we do). And I suspect we all acknowledge, a la Charlene on Designing Women, that Dolly Parton is our Celebrity Godmother. Who else is on the list?

I think I would quite like Taylor Swift, with the same sort of big-sister spirit I feel towards the young woman associates in my office. Sandra Bullock would make a great Celebrity Big Sister. I have a lingering soft spot for Jennifer Aniston, although I feel that I would be rapidly annoyed with her hipster dude husband. Also I think she would talk too much about yoga and her skin care products. But she might take you with her to Bora Bora, so that would make up for it.

Any other thoughts?

Julep: Solidarity

Twinkle, I just read your last post, and I want you to know how much I sympathize with your situation. It's hard balancing the roles of mother and daughter.

I also want to tell you that your post was really good inspiration for me on how to handle some emotional dramz on my end. See? You're not a bad daughter or mom - you're actually a great mom and a source of tips and guidance! I know your post was really about dealing with your mom, but the parts that rang clear to me are the parts about how you try to keep your girls on an emotionally even keel, being aware of their sensitivities without kowtowing to their whims.

At my house, Little Bits is a drama queen and a diva in the making. She is always wailing about something. Occasionally the wailing is justified, but she howls just as loudly when her brother lightly bumps into her as when he intentionally pile-drives her. This is a problem, and I'm actively working on getting her to toughen up. I want her to stay her sweet, kind self, but as I keep telling her, everything cannot be a five-alarm fire.

The issue that worries me more is when she pitches a fit to get her way. If you tell her "no," or correct her behavior in even the lightest fashion, she screams. And if she doesn't get what she wants? Screams. Let's say that Bear gets a treat after dinner, because he has cleaned his plate. Bits will not eat all of her dinner -- she will not even eat the three bites of veg and two bites of meat that have been given to her as her "eat this much and you can have dessert too" level of eating. When Bear gets his popsicle or cookie, she will proceed to scream bloody murder the whole time he eats it. 

If she bites her brother and gets put in time-out, she screams - and she's not weeping "I'm sorry," it's quite clear that she is doing it for the sole purpose of bullying the other person into backing down. I personally do not back down at the screaming. But Mr. J does ... he swears he only does it in the car, for the sake of his focus on the road, but I don't believe him. Even more worrisome to me is that Bear has started to do it too. Bits has what I call a full service mentality. She will ask me to do something for her that she is perfectly capable of doing, say, getting her doll. When I tell her to do it herself and she starts working up a howl, Bear will trot across the room and collect it for her. 

This child is delightful in many ways, but her potential to be a spoiled brat is off the charts. I want to respect her sensitive nature - I appreciate that being high-strung is not an inherent flaw - but I don't want to raise a kid who expects the world to revolve around her and makes everyone else walk on eggshells.At the same time, I would prefer that my child not hate me, the only person in her world who ever attempts to jerk a knot in her chain. Sigh. 

Twinkle: Another Super-Pleasant Visit With My Super-Fun Mom

My mom visited today, and as usual it was a super-pleasant time.

I actually invited her, because I was trying to reach out and treat her like a normal person. Whenever I expect that of her--just simple normal person behavior--she just can't seem to rise to the occasion.

The trouble started at lunch, when we got to a restaurant and AM wanted to eat outside. I said OK (because I'm a nice mom! yay!), but my mom looked like she didn't want to do that. She actually looked panicked over it, and she said, "Right in the sun?" and "There are lots of tables inside." So I was like, "OK--we're not going to eat at this table because everyone is not on board with that idea, so let's just find a nice table inside."

AM, stubborn on a good day and overtired at this particular moment from a busy week, burst into tears and would. not. stop. My mom immediately changed gears and was like, "It's ok. Let's eat outside. Can we please eat outside? I WANT to eat outside..." and I was like, "No, just give her a minute; she'll get over it." My mom WOULD NOT DROP IT, and AM would not stop crying (she's not stupid; she knows how to get her way with my mom), and it just went on and on and fucking on, with my mom begging to eat outside and AM sobbing at the table, and me trying to minimize it, stick by the decision, and move on with the day. All in front of the booming lunch scene at [Casual French Restaurant in NuLu], where I knew several people. Super fun.

My mom also charmingly interspersed her pleading with accusatory statements that I'm inflexible as a mother and always have to get my way or else. And right when AM settled down and started to move on, my mother brought it right back up and APOLOGIZED to her. This prolonged the drama and the tears.

Here's why it's all SO fucked up:

1). There are five people in our immediate family, and we are constantly having to agree on everything: which movie to watch, where to go get ice cream, whether to swim in the baby pool or big pool. It never stops, and invariably at any given moment, someone is not getting her way and is unhappy about it. In those times (which occur many, many times throughout the day), the best thing to do is just let the person be mad about it, forge ahead, and hope she gets over it and eventually has fun. We cannot constantly cave to whoever's crying. It's also a good lesson: sometimes you have to roll with the group even if you disagree with the plan.

2). I'm trying to raise my children to be nice, kind people, and sometimes to put other people's wishes or comfort above their own. This was a perfect chance for my daughter to learn that maybe just because SHE wants to eat outside in the 100-degree heat, maybe her 67-year-old grandmother does not. Maybe some else's comfort is more important than her wishes. I tried to be kind to her and comfort her; I promised her that we'd go back and eat outside one day next week, but I wasn't going to give in. I don't think that makes me inflexible, I think it makes me thoughtful of my own mother's needs and comfort.

3). If anyone should have been apologizing for how it all went down, it should have been AM. My mom is an adult and is entitled to make kids eat lunch at a table not of their choosing. An apology only served to undermine her authority (which is pretty much non-existant with the kids) and mine.

4). When I was that age, if I had wanted to eat outside in the 100-degree heat, my parents' answer would have been "no" and that would have been the end of it, and they certainly would not have tolerated a damn hissy fit.

One of my biggest problems with my mom is her inability to let me be the mom. She is constantly trying to negotiate after I make the smallest of decisions on something (like whether to eat inside or outside). And then when I don't want to negotiate with her about it, she acts like I'm a rigid dictator. The problem is that someone in this family has to be the boss, and it can't be the kids, and that leaves me. It does't make me mean or rigid or inflexible--in fact proof of my flexibility could be seen when I was all "Sure--let's eat outside; oh wait--someone seems not OK with that plan so let's reevaluate the plan so that we're all comfortable." But when she comes to town and undermines my authority, it's just a miserable experience.

---

Just now she came back to the house after leaving, to inform us that the My Little Pony dolls the girls want from Target are sold out for the next two weeks. E is an emotional wreck most of the time, and news like that could shatter her, so I asked my mom not to mention it as E was happy at the moment.

Me: Please don't tell them that. E is happy right now and that's going to make her start crying.

My mom: Well, I don't want her to expect to get the doll the next time she sees me.

(Aside: I can totally address the issue with E between now and then, and E will cry, and I'll deal with it. I was just asking her not to go there right that second, because it was a brief moment of peace and I was enjoying it).

Me: Fine, go ahead and tell her, and she'll throw a fit.

My mom: No, it's fine. I'll go along with what you want. I ALWAYS DO.

---

I mean, it is just fucking exhausting. I invite her here to have a good day and she acts like I'm an inflexible bitch for making my kids eat inside so that she can keep cool. And then I ask her not to make one of my kids cry so that the brief moment of peace can continue, and she acts like I'm a bitch about that, too. She doesn't help when she's here. She causes more trouble and drama. It's like having a fourth child. I want to be a good daughter and to invite her to do things, but she can't just roll with the plan if even one person is upset. Why do I want to invite her when it's like this? But if I don't invite her to do things she gets her feelings hurt. If she could just be normal and HELP ME (or even just sit quietly while I parent), instead of inserting herself and making everything that much harder. Say what you will about my mother-in-law, but at least she HELPS me, and she never undermines my authority (and actually has lots of authority of her own over the kids, something my mom has never had and never will because she caves to the smallest hissy fit).

Sorry this is so long. I am so frustrated. I don't think I'm a bad person, or a bad daughter, or a bad mother. I'm afraid my mother thinks I'm all of the above, and it hurts. On some level I know she's mentally ill and I just have to accept that as part of who she is and love her anyway, and that is the hardest part.

Twinkle: My China Narrowly Avoided Being Tainted with Non Kosher Meat

It has truly been forever since Daddy Rabbit has been active, and we all need to contribute to make it a relevant place to post our ideas. I realize I've been posting less because of my more Zen relationship with Fun Sink, but last night she made me mad, so here I am.

She had this big idea to do a Shabbat dinner picnic at the JCC. She wanted to pick up Momma's BBQ and have us all picnic poolside and swim after dinner. She had a whole vision, but Mr. Twinkle needed to work and I needed to check out after a week of carting my eldest to and from camp and swim team practice, and entertaining the rest of the crew. The last thing we wanted was a late pool night--we just wanted to get them in bed and be done with it--but we decided to roll with it because she had her vision of a picnic.

Well, the storms came right about the time we were supposed to meet up at the J, and the rain plan was to "picnic" at our house. I'd checked the forecast and had already set the table, just in case: linen tablecloth (only because I had to add a leaf to my table to accommodate eight people, and that was the tablecloth that fit), but I made it more casual with flamingo placemats and napkins from Pomegranate. I also set the table with my white Herend china (the "meat" china, since they insisted on me getting two sets), and my "meat" sterling. I knew they were bringing Momma's, and they don't eat carryout on their real dishes, because carryout would taint the purity of the kosher Twinkle family dishes and flatware. They always use paper and plastic for carryout. But, I thought misguidedly, this is my house, and this is how I do things.

I like setting a pretty table. I don't mind washing everything by hand. I want my children to appreciate nice things and to know what to do when they're invited to someone's house and confronted with a formal table setting. I'm not saying every meal is formal, but we use our nice things on the regular, and my children are used to them. And if I'm serving dinner for eight people, and it's Shabbat (when you're supposed to use your nicest things--one thing I really like about the concept), you'd better damn well believe I'm going to set a beautiful table. None of that actually matters, though--the bottom line is that it's my house, and that's how I like to do things.

Mr. Twinkle and I actually had a conversation about it on the way back from the J (where we had all tried to meet, sticking to Fun Sink's original vision until it was storming brutally, and only then admitting the picnic was probably not going to happen). Mr. Twinkle explained that he didn't want to use our china for non-kosher meat, and he knew his parents weren't going to like it, and he didn't like it either. I reminded him that we've used our plates for carryout before when we've entertained other times our almost nine years of marriage, and I reminded him of his sister's house (back when they used to eat more than raw nuts and twigs), and how they'd put Chinese carryout on their dishes. He said they don't even keep kosher, and I was like, "That's your answer? How is it OK for them not to keep kosher and use whatever plates they want, but we do but we're going to get in trouble for using our plates with carryout tonight?" And my point, really, was that it's our house and we can serve dinner on whatever plates we want, as can my SIL. At the end, he agreed with me (and suggested we get some dishes that we only eat carryout on; I'm thinking these). But he said it would probably help him to just let his parents use whatever plates they wanted. Since so much of our lives is tamping down the crazy in our parents, I was graciously going to put away the plates, in the spirit of supporting my husband, because I know he would do the same for me.

We made it home before Fun Sink, and I told him I was going to put the plates and flatware away, and he said, "No, it's ok. I want you to leave them out." I protested a minute but he protested back, so I left the plates.

Enter Fun Sink in a flurry of bags and coolers. I was putting ice in the julep cups when Fun Sink's mom came into my kitchen saying, "The meat's traiff! The meat's traiff! You don't want to put that on your dishes!" Fuck you, lady--you eat shrimp, so don't talk to me about traiff. Also, don't use the word traiff in my house. This is America, not the old country, and I don't speak shtetl and neither do you. 

Fun Sink was at the door saying something to Mr. Twinkle about traiff, but when she came into my kitchen, she was all, "Oh, I just don't want you to have a big mess to clean up! Oh! I just didn't want you to do any work." At least she knew better than to say the word traiff to me. The next thing I know, she's clearing away my dishes, and my sterling flatware is in a big, unorganized pile on the kitchen counter. First rule of sterling flatware ownership: don't put it in a big pile--stack it neatly and count it so nothing gets lost, you fucking cretin.

I was fuming, and I know that perhaps Mr. Twinkle could have stood up for me, or I could have stood up for myself, but it's just not worth it over some dishes. Meanwhile she was buzzing around my kitchen as if she owned the whole place, asking everyone if they needed anything. I just opened two bottles of Prosecco, one for everybody else and one for me. They didn't even drink theirs; what a waste. And I knew they wouldn't, but just like using real china, I also believe in giving people a full pour of wine. At their house you get paper plates and napkins and a thimbleful of wine. At mine you get china and linen and a full pour, and that's what matters--hospitality, and the little bit of extra work that makes things nice--and that's what my daughters will see.

I look at it as bigger than Fun Sink, but actually a lesson in marriage. I took the path of least resistance to avoid trouble for Mr. Twinkle, and he's done the same for me on other occasions. Our parents, who put so many demands and requirements on us, will never see how their tyranny makes us a team, but it does.

Julep: and another thing --

I've got my crankypants on today, so I might as well come here to write up what I meant to post on Saturday:

Saturday was a gorgeous day and the first weekend of the summer (i.e. post-Memorial Day). Literally everyone in our entire neighborhood was outside, either walking a dog or headed to or from the pool. So who turned on her sprinkler, and carefully arranged it so that it was, at every moment, spraying some portion of the sidewalk in front of her house?  And not a little quick spritz that you could run past and just get hit by a few drops; no, she had it set so that no matter which way the water was falling, a pedestrian passing her house would get the full force.

Crazy Neighbor Bunky strikes again.

Julep: too long gone

Ladies, where have we been? I want to see a new post each from Twinks and Dibbs and Lola hit up the Twitter within the week. I'll start this off with some fun from Mr. J's crazy aunts on the Facebook.

Aunt #1 recently posted the following as a Facebook status update - and I am re-typing this word for word, with unedited grammar and punctuation (note the final omitted period): "You can give and give. You can be there for support but you would think that the friends you do that for would be kind back. Maybe they just never were your friend"

To be clear, this was posted by a 58-year-old woman at 9:45 p.m. on a Sunday ... not by a drunken 20-year-old back in the dorm at 2 a.m., after the Sigma Chi Derby Days Skit Night where her sorority little sister spent the whole night flirting with the guy she's been hooking up with herself. If this were posted by the 20-year-old ... say, own of my sweet cousins ... I would PM her and to remind her that using social media while drunk and pissed off is never a good idea. Then I would call her to say, "Listen, honey, passive aggression is no way to live. If you've got issues with someone, be a big girl and talk them out in person, don't use the Facebook. You don't need everyone talking about your dirty laundry." But this was an adult woman, presumably one who was sober at the time. What is wrong with this picture?

The second fun post featured all three of the crazy aunts. Mr. J's sister is on vacation - she and the Highly Regrettable Boyfriend went to Florida, and started off at Judgy Grandma's condo in Fort Lauderdale. Mr.-Sis posted a photo from a ball game their first night away... and Aunt #1 commented, "Take good care of my condo." I was a little confused. I asked Mr. J: "Does Aunt #1 have a place in Florida too?" No, he said, she's talking about Judgy Grands' place. Hmmm, I thought, I bet that won't go over well.

Sure enough, Aunt #2 promptly replied: "Your condo?" and Aunt #3's daughter chimed in on behalf of her mother. Next thing you know all three of the Judgy Grands' daughters are back and forth about ownership rights in the condo, with multiple comments from each of them. You might think this was all light-hearted if you hadn't previously heard them sniping at each other over how to divide their mother's jewelry when she dies. The one who lives in New Zealand told Mr. Mama in my hearing that she would need Mr. Mama to get over there right away and grab certain things for her because the other sisters would snatch all the good stuff before she was able to fly in.

Ah, sisterly love!

Julep: false sense of cuteness

That's what I've been suffering from all day, and it's no one's fault but my own. I have got to stop letting Mr-Mama fill my wardrobe with lovely items that are simply not flattering on a small frame ... or at least, I've got to stop convincing myself that they will look good with the right pieces from my wardrobe. 

I think it's time for another closet purge, friends.

Julep: armchair philosophizing

Since I'm back in the blogging neighborhood I figure it's a good place for me to raise this next topic - because this is awful and tragic, y'all, and I don't in any way mean to discount that with my philosophizing about the life choices of people I do not know in the slightest.

Yesterday a friend of Mr. J's (and mine, but primarily she's his friend) posted a GoFundMe link for a family she knows - a mom, dad, and two small children. I'm not sure which of the parents our friend went to high school with, but the father is 33 and was just diagnosed with mesothelioma - he had a routine surgery for hernia repair and the doctor discovered his abdomen was full of cancer. I'm somewhat familiar with meso because it mostly comes up in people who are exposed to asbestos - but sometimes (as in this case) it's purely random and ideopathic. Either way, it's nasty and it won't be cured. The family has gotten several opinions, but the long and short of it is, he's got 3-4 months to live untreated. With an aggressive campaign of chemotherapy, he might live 8-10 months. According to the GoFundMe page, they will start treatment tomorrow.

After only about 24 hours of setting up the page, they had already raised nearly $20,000. The page was vague about what the money was needed for, other than a reference to the man's fear for his family "not being taken care of." Presumably this well-educated and -employed man has health insurance to cover his medical expenses, and disability insurance to cover his family's living expenses for the duration of time he is no longer working, and life insurance for when he passes. So while I fully appreciate the desire to do something to help in this very unfortunate situation, I have a hard time seeing why people are giving them money. I mean ... they can give money to whoever they want. But setting up a care page for meals, child-tending, and hospital visits seems like it would be a lot more productive and useful.

Now here's the part that will really make me sound like a giant b!tch. I do not understand why this man has signed on for "aggressive chemotherapy" that will, at best, buy him an additional 4-6 months of life. Chemotherapy is literally torturous. You are pouring poison into your body - and I can absolutely see doing it if there were a chance it might cure him, but it won't. He's dying. And evidently he'd rather spend his last few months of life in a hospital, puking his guts out and losing his hair, than coming to terms with his impending departure from this life and making the most of the time he has left.

I don't judge this man. I am endlessly sorry for him and thankful that I am not in his shoes. But if it were me, I think and hope I would choose differently. His children are small, but they are old enough to remember him, and to remember how he faced death. I guess he wants them to know that he fought it. I think I would rather teach them that death is something we will all face someday, and it's nothing to be afraid of. If it were me, I would be booking a long family trip to someplace beautiful, and traveling around the country to say goodbye to my friends and loved ones while I still had the strength to go.

If the GoFundMe page were raising money for that, I'd be happy to pitch in.

Julep: Surely you jest.

I don't know if you girls even read this blog any more, but I tried calling my mama and she's evidently working, and Mr. J was terse with me as he is apparently knee-deep in paperwork, and I need to get this off my chest. So here goes.

My bitchy Lil Sis had another baby two weeks ago today. I was not all that interested in seeing said baby (y'all know I don't really get excited by infants) but I was trying to be a good sport so I called and texted her a couple of times to say I hoped everyone was well and we'd love to come by whenever she was ready for company. (Normally I would take a meal, but I can't cater to her smorgasbord of eating restrictions. She won't even eat Thanksgiving dinner at my house, so forget that idea.)

Anyway, Sunday morning she actually answered the phone - my mom and stepdad were over anyway so I think she figured she could get us all out of the way at once. The Bear was at the circus but Bits and I walked over. After 30 minutes we had to leave because I could feel myself about to go Hulk. She is so nasty to J-Mama, a woman who (a) would not harm a fly, (b) is sensitive by nature, and (c) bought Lil Sis the very house in which we sat while Lil Sis mouthed off to her.

But this was the richest part. Lil Sis - who is not Catholic, never baptized her kids, has no religious affiliation whatsoever and is the classic incarnation of a modern secularist - has decided that she wants to send her oldest child to St Spanish Tile next year for kindergarten. She tells me that they really think it's the right continuation of the good foundation they've laid at Hipster Prep preschool down the street. (Translation: lots of the other parents at Hipster Prep - presumably the Catholic ones - are going on to St Spanish Tile.) Lil Sis's kids are on scholarship at Hipster Prep, and while parochial schools are way cheaper than the private schools, St Spanish Tile is running about $7500 for non-parishioners. Not to worry, Lil Sis says - they've applied for financial aid and are hoping for a large grant from the local archdiocese to cover the tuition. Record scratch....

As a tithing, Catholic Service Appeal-donating member of the local Catholic community, I was pretty surprised to hear that the archdiocese was interested in sending Lil Sis's non-Catholic children to a Catholic school for free, particularly a Catholic school that is probably not struggling to keep the doors open, since it is in part of town where most of the neighbors can afford the tuition should they be interested. Surprised is one word. Really, really pissed is another. Why should I pay $9,000 a year to send my two Catholic kids to Catholic school while she sends her non-Catholic kids to Catholic school for free?

I know the archdiocese gives out financial aid, and I have read plenty about how they have a big push right now to increase that aid. But I always had the sense that the need was for families like one we know at our church: the dad went to grade school with Mr. J and he's now a plumber, and his wife worked at UPS. They have a daughter Bear's age and a newborn, and I won't be surprised if they add to the family eventually. They might be able to swing one tuition, but it will surely be a stretch for them to have multiple kids in grade school, or to send their kids to Catholic high school.

I talked with one of my partners who is on the board of the foundation that gives out the money for Catholic school aid. Apparently the greatest interests are in supporting schools in the southwest corridor of the city and increasing Hispanic enrollment. While the aid program is faith-blind, it also sounds like someone like Lil Sis -- who certainly isn't indigent, and isn't applying to a school in a poor neighborhood -- is probably going to get $500 or $1000 at best. The archdiocese has $1.5 million to give out and at least $5 million in demonstrated need.

So that is a silver lining ... she is almost certainly not going to get free tuition, and it's unlikely that any discount will even bring it to the level of what a parishioner pays. That takes the foundation back off my hit list, but even so, it infuriates me to think that underwriting Lil Sis's champagne tastes and beer budget could mean that some family like Plumber's might not get every nickel they need to educate their kids in the parish they were raised in. Where does she get off?

Furthermore, I can tell you from watching her utter lack of gratitude towards J-Mama: funding her is not going to inspire her to any tact or diplomacy when her kids are in second grade and it comes time for First Communion preparation. She will be perfectly willing and happy to bag on the Catholic Church's teachings while taking their (my) money, and lord alone knows what her kids will be telling the other kids in the class about what they hear at home.

Have mercy on the people of St. Spanish Tile, Lord. Don't let the archdiocese give her entitled free-riding bitchy ass a dime.