Several months ago, Mr. J and I sat down with the calendar and filled in all his summer sailing trips. Then Mr. J told me before we went to Italy that many of the trips would be cancelled. I deleted all but the four trips he told me were still on or possibly on, delighted to think of all the summertime fun we would be able to have with him home so much more often.
Since we got home last Tuesday, I have made all sorts of plans for this weekend. I requested the firm's clubhouse seats for night racing and invited two fun couples to join us. I RSVPed our attendance at the annual summer associate barbecue. I arranged with J-Mama to get together on Saturday during the day to celebrate Step-Papa's birthday. And our Supper Club friends decided to make our monthly gathering a picnic at the Willow Park Concert. What a fun weekend! Needless to say, I asked Mr. J about all of these plans as they were being made.
Then TODAY at 12:30 pm Mr. J informs me that he will be sailing in Cleveland this weekend. It seems there was some error of communication in the calendar-clearing. Double-booked. Oops!
I hate seeing my fun-filled weekend disintegrate. Not that I won't do all these things without him, but if I thought life was just as fun without him, I wouldn't have married him to start with.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
They Already Went Through The Jewelry, Dammit: Dibbs
Remember how I got all that vintage jewelry from my grandmother? Remember how excited I was, and how I'm going to get it made into cool, cool stuff?
I just talked to my mother. I told her how I'm going to wear my grandmother's necklace. (I found coordinating earrings at Red Tree. Fab.) I explained how if my aunt or cousin say anything I'll just sneer and say that jewelry doesn't go with their shoes.
This is what I get for being snide. They went through all the jewelry. They didn't want it. I got it by default. Would it be terribly tacky to wear a soup spoon around my neck?
By the way, cousin, when your grandfather tells people that his adult grandchild works two days a week in a pet food store, it makes her sound like she has supported employment.
I just talked to my mother. I told her how I'm going to wear my grandmother's necklace. (I found coordinating earrings at Red Tree. Fab.) I explained how if my aunt or cousin say anything I'll just sneer and say that jewelry doesn't go with their shoes.
This is what I get for being snide. They went through all the jewelry. They didn't want it. I got it by default. Would it be terribly tacky to wear a soup spoon around my neck?
By the way, cousin, when your grandfather tells people that his adult grandchild works two days a week in a pet food store, it makes her sound like she has supported employment.
Julep: Ingratitude, Again
It occurred to me as I was on my way here to post that we all have our themes here, don't we? Twinkle struggles to be recognized and valued as an individual in the face of her in-laws. Dibbs is surrounded by crazy people. LoLa is the Tweeter of happy little moments. And I am the ingrate.
Before I launch into that -- Mr. Twinkle had a nose job? Do-buh-what?
OK, so ... ingratitude. Here's what I've reconstructed from the evidence: shortly before we went to Italy, Mr-Papa suggested to Mr. J that he was thinking of signing us up for scuba lessons. When I say "us" I don't mean Mr. J, who is already certified and would love for me to be. "Us" is Mr-Papa, Mr-Sis, and myself. We have had this conversation in the past, that it would be neat and we should all arrange to do the lessons here at some point. The prime talker on my count is Mr. J. I have not been 100% on board with this notion, as I am a pretty poor swimmer, but I am willing to smile and nod about something that is well down the road.
Not as far as I thought, apparently. Mr-Papa has his big ol' boat gearing up for next winter in the tropics, and he is making plans. He called around, got us registered, scheduled the first class ... all before anyone mentioned it to me. Now, in Mr-Papa's defense, he apparently did discuss this with Mr. J - at least in the initial stage, and then we left for Italy. And in Mr. J's defense, it was a preliminary mention while he was running around getting ready for Italy. It slipped his mind. Highly understandable. But the long and short is, the first I heard of this was on Sunday night, when Mr-Papa inquired what time they should pick me up on Monday to head to the lesson at 4:30.
Now I don't usually leave work at 4. And I often have plans in the evenings that can't be rearranged. (Not in this case, thanks to LoLa's willingness to be flexible.)
It was very nice of Mr-Papa to take the initiative, and even nicer of him to pick up half the tab. But I generally like more than 18 hours notice that I am going to drop $250 on anything.
And did I mention that I wasn't completely on board with this whole scuba idea? The first lesson did make me feel more comfortable on one count, as I survived the swim test (note that 14 laps and ten minutes of treading water have left me totally exhausted even a day later). But it did raise another issue: the medical page of the release you have to sign asked if you are pregnant or trying to become pregnant. I checked Yes and no one said anything ... I am not too worried for the time being as even if I conceived this month, it's not even anchored in yet - plus we are only "diving" in a pool to get used to breathing with the regulators. I figure by the time the class gets to pressure changes, I will know I'm not pregs or can call the doctor to ask if I should stop the class.
I don't want to put life on hold on the off chance that I might get pregnant. But I would sure hate for all this time (and money) go to waste if I can't complete the course, not to mention having to share news with the Mr-Family well in advance of the time that I would otherwise choose to do so.
Sometimes a gift can be a burden. Maybe check with the recipient first sometimes. That's all I'm saying.
Before I launch into that -- Mr. Twinkle had a nose job? Do-buh-what?
OK, so ... ingratitude. Here's what I've reconstructed from the evidence: shortly before we went to Italy, Mr-Papa suggested to Mr. J that he was thinking of signing us up for scuba lessons. When I say "us" I don't mean Mr. J, who is already certified and would love for me to be. "Us" is Mr-Papa, Mr-Sis, and myself. We have had this conversation in the past, that it would be neat and we should all arrange to do the lessons here at some point. The prime talker on my count is Mr. J. I have not been 100% on board with this notion, as I am a pretty poor swimmer, but I am willing to smile and nod about something that is well down the road.
Not as far as I thought, apparently. Mr-Papa has his big ol' boat gearing up for next winter in the tropics, and he is making plans. He called around, got us registered, scheduled the first class ... all before anyone mentioned it to me. Now, in Mr-Papa's defense, he apparently did discuss this with Mr. J - at least in the initial stage, and then we left for Italy. And in Mr. J's defense, it was a preliminary mention while he was running around getting ready for Italy. It slipped his mind. Highly understandable. But the long and short is, the first I heard of this was on Sunday night, when Mr-Papa inquired what time they should pick me up on Monday to head to the lesson at 4:30.
Now I don't usually leave work at 4. And I often have plans in the evenings that can't be rearranged. (Not in this case, thanks to LoLa's willingness to be flexible.)
It was very nice of Mr-Papa to take the initiative, and even nicer of him to pick up half the tab. But I generally like more than 18 hours notice that I am going to drop $250 on anything.
And did I mention that I wasn't completely on board with this whole scuba idea? The first lesson did make me feel more comfortable on one count, as I survived the swim test (note that 14 laps and ten minutes of treading water have left me totally exhausted even a day later). But it did raise another issue: the medical page of the release you have to sign asked if you are pregnant or trying to become pregnant. I checked Yes and no one said anything ... I am not too worried for the time being as even if I conceived this month, it's not even anchored in yet - plus we are only "diving" in a pool to get used to breathing with the regulators. I figure by the time the class gets to pressure changes, I will know I'm not pregs or can call the doctor to ask if I should stop the class.
I don't want to put life on hold on the off chance that I might get pregnant. But I would sure hate for all this time (and money) go to waste if I can't complete the course, not to mention having to share news with the Mr-Family well in advance of the time that I would otherwise choose to do so.
Sometimes a gift can be a burden. Maybe check with the recipient first sometimes. That's all I'm saying.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Twinkle: Comparisons
I just had this epiphany and had to share.
My MIL constantly compares Baby Sophie (the real one) to my SIL, and Baby Sophie is always on the unfavorable end of the comparison. MIL will say, for instance:
"Well, Sophie didn't get that nose from SIL." (I am pretty darn sure my SIL had a nose job. I know Mr. Twinkle did).
"Yes, Sophie does look exactly like SIL, except for that broad forehead. See how dainty SIL's forehead is." (Although, I must add, in SIL's baby pictures she has the exact same forehead, and I don't see anything wrong with the forehead of either mother or daughter...talk about nitpicky).
"Sophie doesn't look like SIL as much anymore, now that her face is getting fatter. SIL's face is so slender." (She's 6 months old...her face is supposed to be fat).
I have never heard my mother (or any family member who would remember me as a child) compare the features of Twinklette and me...but what a great way to give your brand-new granddaughter an inferiority complex! It's even been making me uncomfortable for awhile now, and I have no dog in the fight about who between my SIL and her baby is cuter and more perfect...but it just goes to show you how much MIL is truly obsessed with her perfect my SIL is. I mean, most grandmothers think there's nobody more perfect than their grandchildren...but even precious Baby Sophie can't hold a candle to my SIL. Before Sophie was born, I just assumed that any child of my SIL's would be the most perfect child ever born in my MIL's eyes. I should have known that, to my MIL, not even SIL's baby could compare to the glorious perfection already achieved by my SIL. Unbelievable, but not surprising.
My MIL constantly compares Baby Sophie (the real one) to my SIL, and Baby Sophie is always on the unfavorable end of the comparison. MIL will say, for instance:
"Well, Sophie didn't get that nose from SIL." (I am pretty darn sure my SIL had a nose job. I know Mr. Twinkle did).
"Yes, Sophie does look exactly like SIL, except for that broad forehead. See how dainty SIL's forehead is." (Although, I must add, in SIL's baby pictures she has the exact same forehead, and I don't see anything wrong with the forehead of either mother or daughter...talk about nitpicky).
"Sophie doesn't look like SIL as much anymore, now that her face is getting fatter. SIL's face is so slender." (She's 6 months old...her face is supposed to be fat).
I have never heard my mother (or any family member who would remember me as a child) compare the features of Twinklette and me...but what a great way to give your brand-new granddaughter an inferiority complex! It's even been making me uncomfortable for awhile now, and I have no dog in the fight about who between my SIL and her baby is cuter and more perfect...but it just goes to show you how much MIL is truly obsessed with her perfect my SIL is. I mean, most grandmothers think there's nobody more perfect than their grandchildren...but even precious Baby Sophie can't hold a candle to my SIL. Before Sophie was born, I just assumed that any child of my SIL's would be the most perfect child ever born in my MIL's eyes. I should have known that, to my MIL, not even SIL's baby could compare to the glorious perfection already achieved by my SIL. Unbelievable, but not surprising.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Blue Baby is Blue Baby, Dammit
So Twinklette is just a teensy bit obsessed with babies and she's particularly interested in her new cousin, Baby Sophie. She has a baby doll named Baby Sophie, but sometimes in that doll's absence, other inanimate objects stand in for Baby Sophie the doll. The items that she has carried around and referred to as Baby Sophie include but aren't limited to a Boo Boo Buddy, a Cuisinart attachment (not a sharp one), a small rock, a pile of baby wipes, and a rubber ducky. When Baby Sophie is on her mind, she will find anything in sight and pretend it's her cousin, and, yes, I think her Baby Sophie fixation is adorable and I encourage it.
Alright...so she spent the night with my in-laws a few weeks ago and she came back the next day calling her favorite doll, Blue Baby, "Baby Sophie." (I realize the example linked is not wearing blue...it's the closest approximation I could find, and Blue Baby is really the only one of her kind I've ever seen. She was meant for Twinklette). Well, I like Blue Baby because I got it for Twinklette after she saw it in Playthings and fell in love with it, and it's the first doll she named herself and it's her special doll, and I want Blue Baby to remain Blue Baby. I insisted that, no, it's Blue Baby, and here's your other doll Baby Sophie. She reverted to the original names and all was right with the world.
But for the next few weeks, every time we saw my in-laws, they kept talking about how she was calling Blue Baby "Baby Sophie" (as if she doesn't call everything that), and I just really felt like they were on some big campaign to have her favorite doll be named Baby Sophie. At one point, Blue Baby came up in conversation (as she so often does), and my FIL said, "There's no more Blue Baby. She calls her Baby Sophie." I just about jumped down his throat to preserve the integrity of the first doll my daughter named.
I know it's kind of dumb, but the way they were trying to change Twinklette's favorite doll's name has been bothering me...I just wanted a record of it. It's not the big things they do, really; it's the sum of all the little things.
Alright...so she spent the night with my in-laws a few weeks ago and she came back the next day calling her favorite doll, Blue Baby, "Baby Sophie." (I realize the example linked is not wearing blue...it's the closest approximation I could find, and Blue Baby is really the only one of her kind I've ever seen. She was meant for Twinklette). Well, I like Blue Baby because I got it for Twinklette after she saw it in Playthings and fell in love with it, and it's the first doll she named herself and it's her special doll, and I want Blue Baby to remain Blue Baby. I insisted that, no, it's Blue Baby, and here's your other doll Baby Sophie. She reverted to the original names and all was right with the world.
But for the next few weeks, every time we saw my in-laws, they kept talking about how she was calling Blue Baby "Baby Sophie" (as if she doesn't call everything that), and I just really felt like they were on some big campaign to have her favorite doll be named Baby Sophie. At one point, Blue Baby came up in conversation (as she so often does), and my FIL said, "There's no more Blue Baby. She calls her Baby Sophie." I just about jumped down his throat to preserve the integrity of the first doll my daughter named.
I know it's kind of dumb, but the way they were trying to change Twinklette's favorite doll's name has been bothering me...I just wanted a record of it. It's not the big things they do, really; it's the sum of all the little things.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Julep: The Art of Doing Nothing
On Sunday J-Mama and I made curtains for the living room. They are nothing complicated - four simple, tab-top panels. It took us about four and a half hours, and included a trip to the JoAnn Fabrics for more red thread and a relocation to J-Mama's house when we discovered that my sewing machine was not working properly.
I greatly appreciate that my mom gave up her Sunday afternoon to help me with this little project. I might could have done it on my own (but for the equipment failure) but I am not adverse to accepting more experienced help. For that reason, I was OK with it back at the holidays - yes, the CHRISTMAS holidays - when I decided that I wanted to get the windows covered after almost three years in our house, and Mr. J suggested that his mother should make our curtains. As I said at the time, I was pretty sure that I could handle the straight seams involved, but the woman is, in fact, a very talented seamstress, and I am sure that her work would be much better than mine. And, one might think, much quicker - since she has all that experience. AND NO FULL-TIME JOB. But oh, one would be wrong.
On Saturday, May 15, I reclaimed the fabric that had been sitting in Mr-Mama's sewing room since January 2 - uncut, unpinned, and certainly unsewed. Look, I know it was a favor, not a paying job. But I really don't think there is any excuse for that kind of delay. While she no doubt could have actually performed the task in less than 4.5 hours, Lord only knows when she would have gotten around to it.
The question I have is this: what does that woman DO all day? I can totally understand how busy a stay-at-home mom is, especially one whose children are not yet of school-going age. But when your two children are 27 and 29, what is filling your time? She doesn't clean her own house - she has not one but TWO weekly housekeepers. She doesn't garden - they have a landscaping company that cuts the grass and tends the shrubs. She cooks dinner most nights for herself and Mr-Papa, but you know, Mr. J and I manage to cook dinner most nights too. She runs Nanny around on errands, but there were several years when J-Mama was running J-Grandmama around and fitting it in to her 50-hour workweek, so it can't be that time-consuming.
So WHAT does she DO with herself all day? You might suspect that she is doing volunteer work, but if she is I have never heard one word to mention it. Playing golf and riding her horse are her only activities I know of besides making dinner and occasionally taking Nanny to the doctor or hairdresser. (And shopping. Lots of shopping. Shopping for tons of $h!t nobody needs or even wants.) And it isn't even like she is a dedicated golfer with a scratch handicap who is out every day. Nope, she just plays occasionally - I think she's in a league that plays 14 times a summer or something.
I asked Mr. J this question in the context of wondering when she might ever find time to make our curtains. He said that whenever he swings by there during the day, she's reading a trashy novel or watching TV or playing with the dog. That's about it. And I can only say that I think this a colossal waste of the talent and energy of a very bright woman. I love a trashy novel as much as the next girl, but I love it as a break from my intellectually challenging profession. (Much as this blog post is currently providing me with such a break.)
And for heaven's sake - if you don't want to interrupt your very busy schedule of doing nothing to exert yourself enough to make someone's curtains, DON'T OFFER. If she had said she didn't think she could get to it, Mr. J might have rolled his eyes but we would not have cared a bit. I really don't see the value in promising to do something you are not really interested in doing, but that is a whole other post.
I greatly appreciate that my mom gave up her Sunday afternoon to help me with this little project. I might could have done it on my own (but for the equipment failure) but I am not adverse to accepting more experienced help. For that reason, I was OK with it back at the holidays - yes, the CHRISTMAS holidays - when I decided that I wanted to get the windows covered after almost three years in our house, and Mr. J suggested that his mother should make our curtains. As I said at the time, I was pretty sure that I could handle the straight seams involved, but the woman is, in fact, a very talented seamstress, and I am sure that her work would be much better than mine. And, one might think, much quicker - since she has all that experience. AND NO FULL-TIME JOB. But oh, one would be wrong.
On Saturday, May 15, I reclaimed the fabric that had been sitting in Mr-Mama's sewing room since January 2 - uncut, unpinned, and certainly unsewed. Look, I know it was a favor, not a paying job. But I really don't think there is any excuse for that kind of delay. While she no doubt could have actually performed the task in less than 4.5 hours, Lord only knows when she would have gotten around to it.
The question I have is this: what does that woman DO all day? I can totally understand how busy a stay-at-home mom is, especially one whose children are not yet of school-going age. But when your two children are 27 and 29, what is filling your time? She doesn't clean her own house - she has not one but TWO weekly housekeepers. She doesn't garden - they have a landscaping company that cuts the grass and tends the shrubs. She cooks dinner most nights for herself and Mr-Papa, but you know, Mr. J and I manage to cook dinner most nights too. She runs Nanny around on errands, but there were several years when J-Mama was running J-Grandmama around and fitting it in to her 50-hour workweek, so it can't be that time-consuming.
So WHAT does she DO with herself all day? You might suspect that she is doing volunteer work, but if she is I have never heard one word to mention it. Playing golf and riding her horse are her only activities I know of besides making dinner and occasionally taking Nanny to the doctor or hairdresser. (And shopping. Lots of shopping. Shopping for tons of $h!t nobody needs or even wants.) And it isn't even like she is a dedicated golfer with a scratch handicap who is out every day. Nope, she just plays occasionally - I think she's in a league that plays 14 times a summer or something.
I asked Mr. J this question in the context of wondering when she might ever find time to make our curtains. He said that whenever he swings by there during the day, she's reading a trashy novel or watching TV or playing with the dog. That's about it. And I can only say that I think this a colossal waste of the talent and energy of a very bright woman. I love a trashy novel as much as the next girl, but I love it as a break from my intellectually challenging profession. (Much as this blog post is currently providing me with such a break.)
And for heaven's sake - if you don't want to interrupt your very busy schedule of doing nothing to exert yourself enough to make someone's curtains, DON'T OFFER. If she had said she didn't think she could get to it, Mr. J might have rolled his eyes but we would not have cared a bit. I really don't see the value in promising to do something you are not really interested in doing, but that is a whole other post.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
It's Over: Dibbs
This has been one of those days I don't ever really want to think about again, so I'll just tell y'all en masse, and put it in a black hole. Cool? Cool.
Back story. My cousin, we'll call her TJ, dropped her basket a bit. She got mad that her third husband-to-be didn't want a big wedding complete with red bow ties. She tried to kill him with scissors. Her mother came over. She tried to scissor her, too. TJ went to the Behavioral Health Unit, the fiance put her stuff in storage, her mother and ex-husband got custody of the kids for a year, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.
This week, TJ's father, who has been fighting cancer, passed away. Needless to say, she's hanging on by a thread. Now I'm not in her corner, but it's hard not to feel just a little mercy for someone in her sitch.
Picture it: Funeral home today. TJ is clinging to me like a life preserver. She hasn't seen her kids because of a restraining order. She asks, "When are my kids coming?" "Well, your ex-husband's bringing them, honey, and your mother's coming, too." She decides that she will ask them both to leave, creating a little scene for the town to talk about. Neither of them really need to be there. (She's right. Her ex-husband doesn't have any business there. Her mother just wants to upstage the second, grieving wife. Apples and trees. Apples and trees.) I'm as nervous as a whore in church. Mercifully, the other grandchildren start acting up, and I take them home. Cake, ice cream, and inappropriate Dutch Tulip mani/pedis all around.
Apparently, they played Elvis's "Dixie" as part of the funeral music. It's actually very appropriate for him. He was quite the Southern gentleman. Only his nanny from the early '50s walked in right as the music started. Faux pas.
A few more meltdowns at the family bereavement after the service. Threats of calling the police due to one of the children not being allowed to attend. General nastiness. Sobbing. All over red freakin' bow ties.
Back story. My cousin, we'll call her TJ, dropped her basket a bit. She got mad that her third husband-to-be didn't want a big wedding complete with red bow ties. She tried to kill him with scissors. Her mother came over. She tried to scissor her, too. TJ went to the Behavioral Health Unit, the fiance put her stuff in storage, her mother and ex-husband got custody of the kids for a year, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.
This week, TJ's father, who has been fighting cancer, passed away. Needless to say, she's hanging on by a thread. Now I'm not in her corner, but it's hard not to feel just a little mercy for someone in her sitch.
Picture it: Funeral home today. TJ is clinging to me like a life preserver. She hasn't seen her kids because of a restraining order. She asks, "When are my kids coming?" "Well, your ex-husband's bringing them, honey, and your mother's coming, too." She decides that she will ask them both to leave, creating a little scene for the town to talk about. Neither of them really need to be there. (She's right. Her ex-husband doesn't have any business there. Her mother just wants to upstage the second, grieving wife. Apples and trees. Apples and trees.) I'm as nervous as a whore in church. Mercifully, the other grandchildren start acting up, and I take them home. Cake, ice cream, and inappropriate Dutch Tulip mani/pedis all around.
Apparently, they played Elvis's "Dixie" as part of the funeral music. It's actually very appropriate for him. He was quite the Southern gentleman. Only his nanny from the early '50s walked in right as the music started. Faux pas.
A few more meltdowns at the family bereavement after the service. Threats of calling the police due to one of the children not being allowed to attend. General nastiness. Sobbing. All over red freakin' bow ties.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)