Hanukkah Dramakkah

So Mr. Twinkle's cousin is a little intense and she gets offended at the slightest little thing, and I just don't have time to deal with her. She's the type who will call me to ask what my children want for Hanukkah, but then when I say, "What do yours want?" she will want me to call her back later on that night. Sorry, b*tch. You get one phone conversation at a time. I texted her (yesterday) to see what they wanted, but didn't hear back until last night (she wanted me to have to track her down instead of the other way around, probably). She finally called last night, desperately looking for me once again to respond to the text message. Too late--her kids are getting gift cards.

Well, tonight she passive-aggressively b*tched me out over some coupon books that were Twinklette's school fundraiser last fall. Yeah, I forgot to get them to her, because honestly the damn things are not my top priority (it's not like she'd paid for them, either...we had a strictly verbal agreement over them). We wrote a check to the school for them in September, and if family members want to buy them that's cool, but I don't have the time, energy, or inclination to hit up family and friends to sell them. I have two children, one of whom is rather high maintenance, and a husband who belongs on the show Hoarders; my day is spent wiping *ss and trying to tame clutter...not to mention all the Christmukkah magic I'm responsible for this time of year. I couldn't care less about some damn coupon books.

So tonight she came up to me with a huge, intense, maniacal smile.

Her: Do you ever check your messages?

Me: Oh, sometimes. But...not today.

Her: You know, with all the social things that you do, I'd think you would check your messages.

Me: Yes, it's one of my many shortcomings.

Her: Well, did you bring the coupon books?

Me: Oh, I forgot. I'm sorry.

Her: If you'd checked your messages you would have known that I wanted a coupon book.

Me: Yes, I know. I'm not perfect. I forgot.

Her: I really need the coupon book.

Me: I'm sorry. I don't have it.

Her: Because, if I can't get it from you, I'm going to get it somewhere else.

Me: That's fine. If you need to do that, I totally understand.

Her: I really want to get it from you, but I can get it at Kroger if I need to.

Me: Well, if you need it right now, maybe you should just get it at Kroger, then.

Her: Because, the thing is, I've already needed the coupon book.

Me: OK, well if you need it, you should just go ahead and get it somewhere else.

Her: See, the old books expired December 1.

Me: Well, do what you need to do. I understand.

Her: I mean, if you could just give it to David, then we could get it from him.

Me: OK. I can do that.

Her: Because we see him a lot, so you don't even need to bring it to me. Just give it to him and he will get it to us.

Me: OK. That's fine.

Anyway it went on and on with her pushing the issue and me agreeing with her/not caring until she finally turned and walked off in a huff. It was the most bizarre thing I have ever seen, because the maniacal smile did not leave her face the entire time, and I just wanted the conversation to be over. Then she didn't talk to me again the rest of the night until the very end, when she thrust $40 in my face and put her order in for 2 coupon books.

(P.S. Do you love value? Coupon books still available!)

Twinkle: Fancy Here's Your One Chance Don't Let Me Down

So, today was the sad, sad Thanksgiving luncheon, and the situation is so dire with Mr. Twinkle's uncle that I was actually glad I wasn't the one in charge of the Thanksgiving meal. The insurance company will only pay for ICU for so long, which has forced the family to make some very awful decisions on Thanksgiving Eve/Thanksgiving Day.

So in the midst of all this, I am trying to make Thanksgiving memories for my children. Which is why I planned a nice Thanksgiving dinner for tomorrow--how could I know he'd be removed from the ventilator then? No one could have.

I'm not worried about the turkey and all the fixings that I bought. I just don't want to do the wrong thing, and if I fix everything and it goes uneaten that'll be OK. I'm doing what Mr. Twinkle wants, and Mr. Twinkle said to go ahead and fix everything. He said his parents probably won't want to cook, so maybe they could come over. And of course they can. His mom is a b*tch to me, but I'm not so heartless as to deny her a nice meal and family time with the grandchildren who will surely cheer her up at least a little, as her brother is dying. If she wants to come, she is welcome. If the meal doesn't happen at all because of how the day goes, that's OK too.

But...y'all know me. I planned a nice meal for my family. Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, corn pudding, green bean casserole, a big, decadent chocolate cake that Mr. Twinkle requested from the pages of this month's Southern Living. We will use our nicest dishes and silver; we always do because enjoying our nice things is part of my whole worldview. Someone might find this meal to be feast-like and--dare I say it--fancy.

I planned the meal for just us, but now they're coming and I can try to tone it down all I want, but I know she will only see that I'm trying to be fancy. And I wish that I could just explain myself to her. I like to use my nice dishes on normal days and holidays, not because I'm trying to be all uppity and fancy, but because I believe in making occasions special. My desire for our own Thanksgiving isn't about me trying to take over, but about me trying to make memories for my children. She just takes everything I do the wrong way, and I know this will be more proof to her that I'm just a big snob with no sense of how to act when tragedy strikes. Never mind that I planned this meal weeks ago and she was never invited to it in the first place and is only coming now because I want to help alleviate a little of her pain in this small way. I'm sure she'll take it all wrong, and I wish I could just get it out in the open that I'm actually a good person with good intentions.

Twinkle: I'm done trying

So Mr. Twinkle's uncle had a stroke, and it's very sad for the family, but my blog posting deals with the fallout from the Thanksgiving plans. This uncle always hosted, but this year's dinner will clearly be kind of sad. There was talk of going to a restaurant, or bringing food in, which I think sounds even sadder, so I offered to host it. I knew my MIL would never let that happen, but I offered anyway.

What happened? She won't let it happen, and I knew she wouldn't. But I still hoped. And I still think having it at my house is preferable to having it at a damn restaurant. And here was how Mr. Twinkle pitched it: it would be a low-key version of the traditional feast, and all the usual guests would be welcome to bring whatever they always do. If they didn't feel like making their usual dish, I said I'd make it. I thought it was a lovely and appropriate gesture, and I meant it. I think that in trying times sometimes it's the traditions that make people feel a little better, especially Thanksgiving since it's so tied up with the same comfort foods year after year.

Yeah, not going to happen.

MIL shot that down and was all, "We don't need to be doing anything fancy." Now I KNOW that everything I touch turns to fabulous--it's what she hates most about me-- but I have nothing if not a sense of decorum. I would never have let this Thanksgiving lunch turn into one of my usual fun family parties (and make no mistake about it--my family parties are more fun than anyone's on that side, which is not saying a whole lot). There would be no mimosas (tacky, under the circumstances), there would be no over-the-top seasonal decor. Just the traditional Thanksgiving meal and maybe a sense of comfort in the chaos and sadness. But, no. Her "fancy" comment is at the heart of her misunderstanding of me and my ability to make occasions special and appropriate.

And I am done. I am done offering to help with every holiday only to be turned away, when everyone else in the family pitches in. I am done offering to prepare a dish only to be told that she has it all under control. I am done saying I will arrange the flowers for one of MIL's dinners (after she ASKS me) only to have her do it herself anyway (which has happened more than once). I don't need a power struggle with this woman, and I don't want one, because I HOLD the power. I have Mr. Twinkle, and my two daughters, and I can make family traditions on my own, with or without her.

We do our own Thanksgiving dinner, just for us, on the Friday after. She has no control there, and she has no control over our day-to-day lives. This prejudice she has against me is officially her problem, because I am done trying and done caring, done expecting ever to be truly included, and done having my feelings hurt when I am not. Her son obviously finds something redeeming about me, and my daughters think I'm pretty fabulous. And I'm the person who gets to teach them everything about family and traditions and how to throw a party and when and when not to have a champagne toast. The day she finally learns that will be a sad day for her, because she alienated me long ago, and the tragedy for her is that she also alienated herself.

Julep: Some kind of help is the kind of help we all can do without.

I hope none of you will think I'm a bad mother when I say that I am currently concocting ways to torture my child. He refused to sleep during the dark hours last night, and I am determined to get him straightened out today. If anyone has suggestions on how to keep a sleepy baby awake all day (other than a walk, running errands, and a bath - which he hates) please pass them along.

But that is not what I came here to say. I must vent. Y'all know we did not have much time to prepare for the arrival of Babycakes. The nursery walls were already cream and the carpet blue, and there is a cozy yellow chair in there, so I bought yellow gingham crib sheets and skirt and curtains. Blue, cream, yellow. Very sunny, not cutesy or babyfied but I was OK with that. I prefer a minimalist style of decor.

Well, while we were stranded Across The River waiting for the paperwork to come through to bring Babycakes home, Mr-Sister was staying at our house with the pets. (So sweet of her, truly - a huge help.) She asked if I would like for her to paint a sailboat mural on the wall. One of her friends did something similar for her own baby a few months back and Mr-Sis loved it. And yes, the walls were bland. So I said that would be great, Mr-Sis accepted direction on which wall to paint on, and it is indeed really cute.

But it didn't stop there. Oh no, not the Mr-Family. Mr-Mama got in on the act, and by the time we got home from Across The River, the nursery had acquired two sailboat picture frames, two anchor-shaped wall pegs, a model boat, a stool with a compass rose on the top, and a full-sized oar with sea-themed appliques stuck to it and painted letters spelling out Babycakes dangling from it. OK, the nautical theme is established.

"Tell me if it's too much," said Mr-Sis, "I know how we can be." It's cute, I said, but we're done now. Well, she said, her mother was looking for a sailboat-themed lamp. I like the lamp that's in here, I said - it's a pretty little crystal lamp with low light and it's perfect for a baby's room. In case telling Mr-Sis were not enough, I told Mr. J: you had better tell your mom not to hunt for a lamp. I do not want any more themed articles in this room. We could use a night light, or perhaps a yellow throw rug, and I'd love to have some yellow cushions for the rocking chair. If she wants to shop for something, tell her to look for those things.

For three days, I reminded Mr. J: tell your mom not to buy a sailboat lamp. Tell her. I know his mother. I said: no lamp, and if she brings it here, I will tell her to her face that I do not want it and she can take it home. Finally, after copious nagging, Mr. J called his mother yesterday. Well, of COURSE she had already bought a sailboat lamp. She spent two days hunting for it and it is darling. Mr. J refused the lamp, hung up the phone, and accused me of hurting her feelings over something that is "no big deal."

Well excuse the h-ll out of me, but it's a big deal to me. I have accepted the seven useless articles already foisted upon me with good grace, but I am not going to remove an object which I chose and which I like in order to enable Mr-Mama to fill the whole g-dd-mn room with sailboats. That woman goes crazy with a theme. Every single inch of the room where we sleep on her boat has a lighthouse stitched, painted, sculpted, or appliqued on it and although I think it's ridiculous, it's her boat. This is MY g-dd-mn house, and MY g-dd-mn baby, and I will not be compelled to allow my in-laws to decorate his room to their taste. I draw the line here.

I am sorry her feelings were hurt, but IF before she spent two days shopping she had bothered to ASK "would you like a lamp?" I would have said, "no thank you, I like the lamp that is in there now." She could have spent her two days looking for something we actually need, like the rocker cushions.

My mother wanted to buy us things for the baby. My mother took me to Target, let me fill the whole cart with things I needed, and paid for it all. THAT is the kind of help that helping's all about. Mr-Mama doesn't want to help, she just wants to shop. She can do that on her own time.

Twinkle: Swapping Germs

The Familia Twinkle has all had this ragged TB-esque cough for the past two months, and guess what: families pass sh*t around. They also build up immunities to each others' infections. That's just the way it works, and it's why I never worry about sharing germs with my peeps. (Unless of course it involves vomiting and fever, in which case I will break out the Clorox wipes like nobody's business).

So tonight we were all over at my in-laws' for dinner and Mr. Twinkle and I were going to share a Diet Coke. This is normal for us. We always share Diet Cokes and desserts. It's our thing. So MIL was all, "You all do NOT need to be sharing drinks." Um, MIL, I hate to remind you of this and I know you'd rather not think about it, but I have given birth to your son's two children and I snuggle up with him every night and make out with him (and Lord knows we like to keep things hot and spicy), so I assure you a Diet Coke will not be the only thing we're sharing tonight. Seriously? She should not be telling us not to share a Coke. It is not her business, and does she really want to go there? I doubt it.

At dinner I told a story about how Mr. Twinkle and Twinklette like to negotiate over every little thing (because it's funny how much like him she is--you'd think my MIL would like the theme of that story). Basically one night at dinner the two of them had a philosophical discussion about whether Twinklette had to eat "some" or "a lot." Our child is smart and precocious and I love her for it, and it was cute. MIL goes "And WHY are you negotiating with a three-year-old?" She totally missed the point because she just couldn't resist making it all about our parenting shortfalls. You know what? F*ck that. I like that my kid is precocious, and I like that she can negotiate the sh*t out of her lawyer father. Also, Mr. Twinkle and I do the best we can with her. That's really all anyone does, even self-righteous b*tches like my MIL.

It was the same old thing with Tiny Twinklette, too--she would scream her head off any time I left her sight or if someone else was holding her, and everyone was all, "What's wrong, baby? Don't they feed you?" I went to take her back, the screaming stopped, and it was still a big mystery to everyone why she'd been crying before. When my SIL's daughter said, "Mommy carry me," my MIL just thought that was the cutest and greatest thing ever. But when Tiny screams it's because I don't feed her.

So typical...I just had to vent.

Julep: still waiting....

They are going to induce on Wednesday if the baby hasn't come yet. Meanwhile, I am trying to be remotely useful at the office. Although I am sure we are still woefully unprepared,we have finally gotten everything in order at home. And a huge round of thanks to you darling DRGs for your part to get us set up with what we need!

I am starting to freak out a little bit about being in the extended-stay hotel with a newborn ... I hope the weather is good enough for long walks or I may develop claustrophobia ... what are we going to eat? ... what if he is a really loud fussy baby, will they kick us out?

I am secretly glad that the Mr-Parents are out of town this week. They are scheduled to fly home on Saturday and I think that should be just about right. I do not need Mr-Mama participating in, contributing to, or witnessing any drama that may go down while we are at the hospital. Between us, the birthmom, her parents, the agency social worker, the hospital social worker, and the nurses - we've already got a cast of thousands to deal with.

Last comment: We are fighting a losing battle to keep this news on the down low. We have told immediate family, close friends, and work people who need to know. The thing is, everyone we tell the exciting news now is one more call with the awful news if things don't go as planned. I have two aunts, three uncles, and nine first cousins myself, and none of them have been clued in. But no one in the Mr-Family can keep their d@mn mouths shut about anything.

I wouldn't even have told the Mr-Grands if it were up to me, but Mr. J thought we should. We stopped by to share the news last weekend, and they wanted to call everyone they know - we waved off three phone calls while we were there, stressing over and over that we are trying to keep this quiet until the actual baby leaves the hospital with us. Not 4 hours after we left the Mr-Grands' condo, Mr J's aunt called and left him an excited voicemail, wanting him to call and give her all the details. Really?

If you can't bear to keep your mouth shut as instructed, can't you at least tell the people you're blabbing to, "Now don't say anything until they tell you themselves"?

Twinkle: The Appropriate Response When Someone Makes You Breakfast

The men of Mr. Twinkle's family love to make breakfast. On many a weekend morning Mr. Twinkle will get up early with our girls and I'll wake an hour and a half later to the smell of pancakes. They will be hot on the table when my lazy ass finally decides to descend the stairs, and, you know, I've never once thought to complain about it. I don't even mind cleaning up the disastrous kitchen after the fact. The appropriate response when someone makes you breakfast is to smile and say thank-you, and talk about how delicious the breakfast was, and then insist that they go rest while you clean up.

That's in the normal world, of course. My MIL actually finds fault with my FIL's habit of making breakfast. He is retired, so his breakfast-making operation is a daily event, and he measures and freezes all his ingredients beforehand so it will be easy to grab the contents of, say, two egg white mushroom omelettes. He is also working on his technique for Waffle House hashbrowns (he likes them "scattered, smothered, and covered"...which for the non-initiated involves frying them in a skillet with cheese and onions). I all find the effort endearing, and if someone were making me breakfast every day before I went to a thankless damn job at the elementary school, you'd better believe I'd be grateful to that person. Also, you know that he doesn't dare leave that kitchen messy, so I don't really see what the problem is. When someone hands me an omelette with no strings attached I just say thank you.

Not my MIL. Instead, she just bitches and bitches about it and rolls her eyes when he seems proud about the effort he puts into it. It's unbelievable. Of course I try to make a big deal out of how nice I think it is, and how I admire the creativity, and how I know that's how Mr. Twinkle will be when he's retired. I mean really, how ungrateful can that bitch be? And then her mother is all, "Well, did you skip lunch?" to my FIL, and my MIL breaks in and says, "No! He went to lunch with a friend!" like that is the worst thing in the world. I have a word of advice for my all-knowing mother-in-law: if a man wants to make breakfast for you, let him, and if he then wants to go to lunch with a friend, be nice to him about it, and be glad he's not spending his retirement screwing someone nicer.

Whew. That woman gives me a case of the horribles.