Julep: Raspberries, Pimento Cheese and Sympathy

I am having a little lunch here at the desk, and thought I would check the blog. Not much time to write - but I think this will be longer than a mere "comment." Twinkle, your post made me think not of my marriage (Mr. J is a pretty good defender) but of my mother. My mom is a lot like Mr Twinkle on this count ... she loves her family so dearly, and she just does not have the confrontation gene.

Used to be that my sisters were horrid to me whenever the family was together. I never wanted to cause a big scene by telling them off, but one of the hardest parts of how mean they were was that my mom would not stand up for me. I would have these long impassioned talks with her about how awful they were and beg her to say to them, "You can't talk to your sister that way in my house." But even though she could acknowledge later that they were being awful, she never would tell them to be nice or go home.

Declaring your emotional independence from it all is really the biggest step. (Somehow I had a liberating revelation the year I turned 30.) It was never that she didn't love me enough to fight for me - I know how much my mom loves me, and I know you know how much Mr. Twinkle loves you. You just can't get blood from a stone.

Twinkle; Monster-In-Law Rears Her Passive-Aggressive Head

It seems that keeping a Zen attitude toward my MIL is going to take serious mental fortitude, but just because I'm a self-declared pacifist in the MIL realm doesn't mean I can't come on here and talk some trash. (No fear, Julep...it never meant that I'd stop blogging. I'm just trying to find a way to reconcile my MIL's bad behavior with my own irrepressible desire to b*tch about her, while still staying sane).

Here is the source of the drama. My parents are returning from vacation today (it's my dad's last weekday off before returning to work after the holiday weekend) and they would like to see Twinklette. MIL has been taking Twinklette to a class at the zoo most Friday mornings this month, followed by swimming and lunch, so she's all miffed because I asked her to bring Twinklette back immediately after the zoo class today. Letting the grandparents share the morning is the only solution I can think of that will give all of them the time they think they rightfully deserve, and I think it's pretty d*mn fair. (And, indeed, my parents deserve it more than anyone, as they have not seen her in more than a week). My MIL got to play with Twinklette for most of the morning yesterday, and she is spending the night with them tonight, which means that MIL can once again openly defy me by showing Twinklette Sesame Street tomorrow morning. I'm sure that'll give her an extra boost of joy, but it's not enough to keep her from acting out her passive-aggressive angst on me for the past two days and the next two weeks.

And I almost fell for it this morning when she picked up Twinklette. I forgot my epiphany and b*tched about both sets of parents with Mr. Twinkle. We were laughing about moving away from the whole lot of them, eagerly anticipating the day when he will take the Florida bar and we will at least get some breaks from all their ridiculous expectations. (And, after talking to a friend about this very issue, I'm told that this is not an uncommon issue with grandparents). There was a note of seriousness to the conversation, too, an undercurrent of pleading for him to please make your mother be nice to me and understand that it's perfectly fair for my parents to want to see her today.

He will never stand up to her, or my FIL, as everybody knows. They have had him by the cajones since the day he was born (pardon my Cervantes). And that's his problem, and it's my choice as to whether or not it's going to be my problem. And I choose not to let it. The best I can do is continue living my life and doing what I think is best for my child. If I let her antics bother me--or drive a wedge between Mr. Twinkle and me--then she has me by by the cajones, too.

So I apologized to him. And when MIL brings back Twinklette in 15 minutes, I will not to let the bad attitude get to me, and I will not call Mr. Twinkle and complain about what a b*tch she was, because I cannot continue making so many of our family dynamics about her. She is a manipulator and a troublemaker, all wrapped up in a smiling matron who knits and sends my friends nice wedding gifts. But we have our own family life to get on with--Mr. Twinkle, Twinklette, and me. And I'm not going to let her come between us because it's a complete waste of time and energy.

I'm not saying it's not going to take some serious effort on my part, and I may need to return to yoga class with Lola for this one. I also may need to go with Dibbs for an old-fashioned aura-cleansing.

Julep is not a particularly nice person.

Mr. J has been super-busy lately with working for the Family - plus the beautiful weather means people want to take those sailing lessons they've paid for already - plus that Hippie Music Festival is coming up and that means Mr. J is running around attending to every little detail because the Festival's guru (a very talented promoter and seeker of sponsorship dollars) is so unorganized as to the practicalities that he can't find his @$$ with two hands and a flashlight.

So Mr. J is working too hard, and it's making him short-tempered. That only underlines the fundamental truth of our relationship: I am married to a much nicer person than I am myself. When I am overworked and stressed and impatient, and I snap at Mr. J about things that aren't really his fault, he makes allowances. He's patient, and loving, and he doesn't snap back.

When he snaps at me (a far rarer occurrence), I snap back. And even then the real reason it doens't mature into a full-fledged fight about nothing is because he is usually smart enough to leave the room.

Every time I feel bad about it, and promise myself that I will do better in the future. And then I don't. Sigh.

Julep: Ay caramba

Just read this article. Last lines say it all: "Women of the Gilded Age were very poor compared to women today. But from a libertarian standpoint, they were freer than they are on Sex and the City." I think my head just exploded.

Twinks, congrats on your newfound placid attitude re the inlaws. But please, keep blogging about whatever else inspires your ire, awe or frustration! I need the reading material.

I got an email today from J-Mama, attaching photos of my sister's baby and reporting that my sister would really like it if I stopped by to see him sometime soon because she is just so ga-ga over the baby that she can't understand why I haven't dropped in to see how big he's getting. OK, it just so happens that I called my sister on Sunday and she hasn't bothered to call me back yet, so obviously my presence is not that vital to her. It's great that she loves her kid and all, but I have never been someone who just leaps at any opportunity to fawn over a baby. And seriously? For serious? She can't understand why I am not dropping in?

Exhibit A, fifteen years of nastiness from her which yes, has improved a lot in recent years, but Exhibit B, hey, I'm kind of having a hard time with visiting other people's kids lately. It takes a lot of mental effort to set aside my own increasing frustration and disappointment and focus on being happy for someone else. It is one thing to gird myself for a joyful visit to my buddy P whose wife just home-birthed their third child. P really wanted me to come by and meet the baby, and I was glad to do it. P doesn't just want an audience for his miracle spawn - he loves ME. My sister? Not so much.

Mr. Twinkle: Able to Quote Junior League Gossip and History

So I've been absent from Daddy Rabbit recently, mostly because I have tried to turn over a new leaf with my in-laws and haven't had much to say. It was around Fathers Day when it happened. We were going over there to cook steaks for dinner, which neither Mr. Twinkle or I particularly wanted to spend our Fathers Day doing, but they said that's how it was going to go down. So let it be written, so let it be done.

After getting upset that Mr. Twinkle wasn't having a dream-come-true Fathers Day, I decided to be done with worrying about any of that whole crazy clan. If he doesn't want to stand up to them at the expense of his own Fathers Day, it's his problem. If they don't ever think I'm good enough, it's their problem. I have majorly relaxed around them in the past 2 weeks or so, and I can tell a real difference in my own sanity. To them I'm sure I'm still alternately considered an unfit mother and an uppity b*tch; the difference is that I don't care.

We went to pick blueberries on Fathers Day (something Mr. Twinkle did want to do), and it was his idea for me to make a homemade shortcake dessert with blueberries, peaches, and fresh whipped cream. He wanted me to take it there; I felt weird about taking a dessert when MIL's whole self-identity is wrapped up in baking better than anyone else on the face of the earth (or so she thinks), and FIL worships the ground her cakes cool on. Plus, I had to ask myself, "Why do I keep trying?" But we ended up going through with it, and it really made me feel like an adult to actually contribute something to a family dinner. No one in that family contributes...because MIL likes to be in charge of everything that everyone eats/does, and how they socialize. My shortcake sort of represented a little piece of delicious independence. Also, MIL found out that I do, in fact, eat whipped cream. Now she knows it's Cool Whip I shun, as any sane person living in today's food-conscious climate knows.

So things have gotten better there, and I haven't kept a tally of all the big and small ways MIL tries to make me feel inferior, and the biggest beneficiary of this new-found attitude is me. She actually texted me this weekend from Denver, to ask me if Twinklette has a upf-treated beach hat for our upcoming trip to Aruba. Old Twinkle would have screamed about it to anyone who would listen, "Hell no, Twinklette doesn't, and screw her!" New Twinkle forgot to mention it to anyone for a few days, and then laughed it off as typical. (Both old and new Twinkle would go shopping for just such a hat before MIL has the chance to ask me in person, which reminds me I need to get on that).

Anyway, I didn't even get on here to write about all that...I just felt my absence needed to be explained.

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I got on to say that Mr. Twinkle and I went to a late-night dinner at Steak And Shake after a dull party with no food on Sat. night, and we ran into a certain Junior League-lovin' sister-in-law of a certain Democratic candidate for U.S. Senate. And I said hi to her and we chatted for a little bit, because she has always been lovely to me even though our League cliques and philosophies have differed through the years. She mentioned her brother-in-law in the conversation (something about a power outage and a sprinkler system), so when she walked away, I started to explain who she was.

Me: I know her from Junior League. Her sister is married to [Senate Candidate]; that's who she was talking about with the sprinklers.

Mr. Twinkle: Oh, cool. You know the sister, too, right?

Me: Yes, she's nice.

Mr. Twinkle: Wait a minute--are they part of that family of sisters who tried to take over the entire Junior League through both the board and the nominating process?

I just beamed with pride.

Not For The Eyes of The Situation: Dibbs

Lola, cover The Situation's eyes, and everybody try to just decode what I'm saying the best you can. I'm way too prudish to even be telling this story, but I just can't keep it to myself.

Last night I went to hear a band and got home late. It took forever to fall asleep. At about three I heard the all-too-familiar squeak-squeak of the mattress from the skank-ho upstairs. "Strange," I thought, "her boyfriend's orange truck hasn't been outside in days." I tried to go back to sleep. Then I heard the high-pitched yip, yip, yip of the dog. Yes! I think skankalicious was using the old peanut butter trick!

Well, I couldn't sleep after that. I took two Ambien and got the broom. One more noise, and as God is my Witness, I'm hitting the ceiling. If she's going to be a trick, she loses her right to privacy, and I don't care.

I also know that I'm the bitter, dried up old lady downstairs. I don't care about that, either. The dog!

Won't You Take Me to...Crazytown?: Dibbs

She called tonight. My mother had enough, so she called me. It lasted an hour. By the way, she wants to visit next week and take Baby Shagari to the zoo, so if you want to see her up close and personal, it's your chance.

I digress. Last week one of my middle school classmates passed away. (His name was Rufus. It's okay to think that's funny.) Since I was already at the funeral home, I asked the funeral director about it. The services were delayed because the state medical examiner had to be involved. Rufus (the name is still funny) hung himself. Despite the name, it's very tragic. Tonight, cray-cray was telling me how she's pretty sure her baby daddy killed Rufus. I told her about my conversation with the funeral director. She is undeterred. I suppose the state medical director is mistaken and her baby daddy is a high-school drop-out/evil genius. Who knew?