Julep: Potpourri

OK dolls, we hit our stride for a stretch there - without dear Twinks carrying the load for once -- even Lola in on the action via blog as well as Twitter. But we've ground to a halt and I take responsibility for starting another round up. I've been busy at work and don't have much exciting to say, so this will be a series of short comments.

* First item from my trip to NC last weekend: we spent one night with Dad and Co., and although it mostly went very well (we hogged the conversation at dinner with funny stories about Mr. J's cousin and the Redneck Wedding, and thus avoided any political/ religious lectures from the Dadster), there was one moment that took me aback. As my baby sister was crossing the room to the couch, my stepmom (a lovely woman and devoted mother) said: "I'm starting to see a little hint of a tummy pooch there, honey. We may have to get you doing some crunches." Y'all. Baby is 13. First of all, she has no pooch (believe me, I know from a poochy tummy). Second, she is 13. Can we not give her an eating disorder, please?

I said, "she's fine!" But now I wonder if I should send her some emails about ignoring her mother. On this one issue only, of course.

* Second item from NC. We stayed two days and nights with my college best friend Beauty and her family, and it was such fun. On the long drive home (not nearly as long as it should have been, Mr. J is working on a land-speed record), Mr. J and I were mourning the fact that all one's favorite people don't live in one's own town, and it's so true. Beauty would love the Classic Cocktail. But the silver lining of having Beauty out of town is that we get to stay right in her home when we visit ... it's almost like college dorm life again, for a little while. Plus the men and children, that is.

* Third item: children. A friend here in town had her baby this weekend. So sweet. I am definitely experiencing a sea change as usually newborns scare the wadding out of me, but I held him and everything.

* Fourth item: children, or lack thereof. I'm still on the sauce. Last month was a bust. Mr. J actually took it up with his doctor last week, and she told him, in a nutshell, that we both should focus on this less and he needs less stress, period. I really don't think I was paying attention to how stressed he has been lately, as he works for his dad and works for himself and gets his rental property on the market and travels and tries to attend to the home front. It hit me when he came home from the doctor with three different prescriptions ... one for a stress-related rash, one for high blood pressure (at his age!), and one to quit smoking, which is a topic that stresses him out just to think about it.

* Last item: today is the birthday of the infamous B, whom y'all remember meeting in Hilton Head. Twinks, I still have the photo you scored of my doppelganger, his bride. I must remember to call him later to say happy birthday. It's a funny thing. I have no doubt that I am much happier and better-off generally married to Mr. J than I ever would have been with the B. But I think of him - well, not often, but occasionally, and fondly - in a way I can't put a label on and don't know that I will bother to try.

Next!

Guess Who's Back, Back Again...

...no not Slim Shady, but close. The Little Pimp enrolled at the school next to my office today. My boss came into my office with a note. His principal had already called by 1:00. Apparently, Little Pimp was yelling, pushing other kids, and telling everyone that he had a twin brother, Peter. He would put his head down, then sit up and say he was Peter. Hmm.

I went to see him, natch. He remembered my name when I walked in and remembered that I sent him birthday candy after he moved. He informed me that he had a new sister. It's his step-mother's baby..."by another man" (said scornfully.) He cried when I left. I really love that baby!

In other news, upon walking into my other school, a seriously disabled child felt me up. I'm glad I have these lawyer friends in case I get fired!

Lola: Adventures in Motherhood?

Now I am by no means expecting anything; however, I was leaving the gym this evening with a lovely woman with whom I have become friendly. (She's a French teacher from the high school alma mater of one Mr. Twinkle.) But anyway, I commented on the fact that she had gotten a bit of sun recently and she offered the explanation that she had spent the day at the waterpark with her two kids (to be followed by an evening at Chuck E Cheese tomorrow, as some pre-back-to-school fun). But as far as I'm concerned: Quelle Horror!

I know I loved a waterpark as a child, but that was before my thighs began to rub together and, as an adult, I cannot imagine anything more horrific. How did my mother even tolerate hauling three girls around an icky waterpark wearing nothing but a bathing suit and a pair of old tennis shoes? And what if I should someday come in contact with a child who wants me to go to such a place with him/her? My mind cannot even wrap itself around such an idea. (Twinke - did your MIL ever allow herself to be dragged around a waterpark by the Chosen and the Mistake?) That could be the Twinklette's revenge!!

I am off to bed with the sincere hope that I do not suffer nightmares. xoxo

Twinkle: Sunday Night MIL Report

So, because my in-laws demand not one but two nights each weekend, we found ourselves at a godforsaken Beef O'Brady's on the edge of the universe tonight. And when Mr. Twinkle's cousin's children began to bicker, MIL took the opportunity to comment on the perils of having more than one child. She put it in the context of one of Mr. Twinkle's college friends, Amy, who has a son Twinklette's age and is once again with child. But we all know who the real targets of the comment were.

Kids: (bickering)

MIL: You should take a video and send it to Amy. (Um...why? At this point it's too late for Amy, unless someone just wanted to rub it in her face about what she's gotten herself into).

Me: (sweetly feigning confusion) You had two children.

MIL: Yeah, well. I spaced mine apart.

Mr. Twinkle: One of them was a mistake.

MIL adamantly denies that my sister-in-law was a mistake, and yet Mr. Twinkle and his sister both remember the exact spot in Ruby Tuesday's where the revelation was made. Tonight Mr. Twinkle called his sister about something else, and brought up the bickering and what MIL said (leaving out the eventual direction of the conversation), and my sister-in-law said, "Mom never wants anybody to have more than one kid. Even I was a mistake." But revisionist history is SO my MIL.

She was also talking about having to go to the Immediate Care Center because of a reaction to some medication this morning. She had people coming over for brunch and had to go to the doctor instead of cooking everything and getting it on the table. So my father-in-law really came through and cooked everything, and my MIL got home just in time for the guests to arrive. I think that's pretty darn fabulous of my father-in-law, and if that had been Mr. Twinkle, I would have made a big deal about how he saved the day and was the best husband ever, and what he made was the best d*mn creation in the history of breakfast casseroles.

Of course, MIL couldn't bear to give the man any credit. He smiled proudly as he told us the story, and all the while she was tearing him down, rolling her eyes, and saying, "Now wait just a minute...I was on the phone with you the entire time telling you exactly what you needed to do." Just let the man have his moment in the sun! Or, better yet, how about an old-fashioned "thank you"?

Julep: In Memoriam

Yesterday my great-aunt Jane passed away in Philadelphia at age 87. My mom and uncles (and we kids) were her only close relatives as she married late in life and had no children of her own. Whenever I visited her, anyone we ran into would say how much she talked about her family in Kentucky, but she refused to move here: she said not in this life would she leave Philadelphia. But until the last few years she always came for Christmas, and the holiday season of my childhood didn't begin until she arrived from the airport -- in her full-length mink with bags full of presents from Nordstrom or Saks.

Yes, Aunt Jane was the type of lady we Daddy Rabbit Girls want to be when we grow old. She was always immaculately dressed, jewelled, coiffed, and made-up, and every afternoon at 5 she had cocktail hour on her terrace with her housekeeper, her Bichon Frise, a snack and a Scotch. Even in her 80s she was attending her monthly book club, and though she had to give up golfing in her later years she still loved to have dinner at "The Club" and sing around the piano bar afterwards. (Her signature tune was "Someone to Watch Over Me.") She was a devout Catholic; she used to work for the Philly archdiocese and she got married in the Cathedral with the Archbishop presiding. She was a supporter of the theater, the Art Museum (in the '70s and '80s her apartment overlooked the Rocky steps), and her alma mater high school where she funded a tuition scholarship for needy girls. She could parallel-park her great big Caddy on a dime, and she said she learned to do it "sitting on a bar stool in Cape May." (She taught me the trick and it always works.)

Unfortunately, with her passing and my little grandma with us only in body not mind, I am the only person of faith remaining in my mom's family. So if you have a moment to spare in the next few days, please say a prayer or even a rosary for the repose of the soul of my dearly loved Aunt Jane....

Twinkle: THAT's My MIL--Her Demeanor's SO B*tchy

That's not my princess—her tiara's too bumpy.

That's not my princess—her dress is too thick.

That's not my princess—her sash is too velvety.

That's not my princess—her bows are too silky.

THAT'S my princess—her crown is SO glittery.

So goes one of Twinklette's favorite books, just one of a series of "That's Not My ..." touch-and-feel books that teach kids different textures and adjectives, and also the subtle idea of being able to identify and verbalize the more subtle differences between similar objects or characters. They're fun, cute, and not wholly uneducational, as words like bumpy, thick, velvety, silky, and glittery (while not on the college entrance exam) actually do come in handy sometimes.

So Twinklette has memorized the book and can finish the sentence when prompted. And it's cute, and it's one of her new tricks, and Mr. Twinkle taught it to her so he was excited to show the trick off at dinner with his fam tonight.

So as MIL was doing her usual mealtime curriculum of ABCs, numbers, and "What does the duck say?" (To which Twinklette invariably answers "moo," making me look like a complete slacker). Mr. Twinkle broke out with the, "That's not my princess...her tiara's too..." and Twinklette said "Bumpy," then they went through the whole thing.

Mr. Twinkle was all proud and beaming, but I know my MIL like the back of my well-manicured hand. So I knew it wasn't going to end well.

All MIL said was, "Oh--that's great." And the implication was that she could not believe we were reading her some frivolous princess book when there are letters to be learned and core concepts to be mastered, and first grade is going to be here before we know it!

That woman needs to back the hell off with the whole education thing. Of course, whatever intelligence Twinklette has is because of MIL's influence as a trained educator, and all Twinklette's shortcomings are because she has a mother who's too frivolous. Does MIL know that every day at naptime, Twinklette and I have a French lesson? Or that, instead of some obnoxious Baby Einstein cd, I actually play the violin for Twinklette? Or that she loves looking at books with Renaissance paintings in them? And that, believe it nor not, we actually do the alphabet, numbers, colors, and animal sounds, too?

It's OK for Twinklette to like a princess book. Even if it had no educational value (which it does), it would be fine to enjoy a book just because you like it. I'm sure MIL would balk at the time I spend reading for pure enjoyment, but, self-indulgent aspects aside, I happen to think that's the best way to instill a love of reading in children. Judging a child's reading material certainly isn't the best way to encourage reading.

Any woman whose reading material includes such literary classics as The Peach Cobbler Murder or Dead Men Don't Crochet has little room to cast aspersions. (I swear. Dead Men Don't Crochet was actually on her bedside table for 6 weeks). But it's not cool for an 18-month-old to read a book about princesses.

Twinkle: Sanitized Nursery Rhymes

We're having a bit of trouble with our station wagon, so today after a date(!) with Mr. Twinkle (we went to a mid-afternoon movie and early dinner--such a treat for us both) we did a switch-a-roo on some cars. So now I'm driving MIL's car because it has a car seat in it. And it is lovely that she's letting me use it, but it is this tan Buick with the driver's seat sitting so high I actually bump my head on the roof of the car when I drive it. I don't know how that birds nest of a hairdo of hers survives any commute.

Of course, playing in MIL's car was a Baby Genius cd (Baby Einstein knock-off) for the benefit of Twinklette. I tend to think that even children's music can be interesting. I play everything for Twinklette (right now we're into '60s protest ballads), but when I want a children's cd I look to a charming little cd I got at the Land of Nod. It's Elizabeth Mitchell, a mom, playing acoustic guitar and singing kids songs (some old-fashioned, some new) in a sweet voice. Sometimes her children sing on the album. It's charming and sort of Southern, and Twinklette and I both like it, when the mood calls for something kid-friendly. Baby Genius, on the other hand, grates on the nerves like someone else's toddler screaming in a coffee shop. (Mine would never do that, of course).

So, there is this one song on the cd, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, sung in an operatic style and performed with a full orchestra. And I have been making fun of it to Mr. Twinkle forever (MIL plays that d*mn cd every chance she gets), so as soon as I got the Buick back at my house, I ganked the cd and loaded my favorite track into iTunes.

And upon more intense listening, it seems that the good folks at Baby Genius have changed the words to this beloved nursery rhyme. As I remember it, the rhyme goes:

Peter Peter pumpkin-eater

Had a wife and couldn't keep her.

Put her in a pumpkin shell,

And there he kept her very well.

I've always liked that particular rhyme, because it's kind of funny, and I like the nod to the cuckolded Peter. It's almost like an Old English version of Finding Nemo, which I haven't seen but apparently has humor that appeals to both children and their parents.

The Baby Genius version says:

Peter Peter pumpkin-eater

Had a wife who could not sleep

He put her in a pumpkin shell

And there she slept so very well.

That's not really fun or whimsical...it's just kind of preachy.

Twinklette has another book with the Little Piggies, and instead of "this little piggy had none," it says, "this little piggy had fun." Because I guess it's not fair that one little piggy got all the roast beef. I don't know about you all, but I just think that is ridiculous. And I really don't understand the thinking behind teaching kids the wrong words to classic rhymes, when history made them that way for whatever reason. Why mess with it, geniuses at Baby Genius? Is there some movement that I'm missing that believes that some nursery rhymes are inappropriate for small children because they're unfair or illustrate unhealthy marital relationships? I say leave the lyrics alone, and for heavens sake stop setting them to classical/country/jazz tunes.

The whole baby education movement is out of control, anyway. Playing is the best thing babies and children can do to learn...and a good way to expose them to different kinds of music is to play different kinds of music. Hey Diddle Diddle with new lyrics, set to a honkytonk beat, doesn't count.