Julep: I really can't.

Are y'all on Pinterest? I can't bring myself to go there. I am not a crafter. I love to cook, but that's about as far as I csn go. And all the crafty people wear me out.

On that note, yesterday I clicked through a facebook friend's link about strawberry picking. I like fresh berries and wondered where she went. It turned out to be a link to her blog, where she posts about her crafting ventures, and in the description field, she wrote: "I craft to find the balance."

If there were ever a more pretentious sentence written by someone I once considered one of my best friends, I feel relieved that I never read it. To my memory, the closest runner-up was by the same girl, who once captioned a photo of her kids as "My life's work." Look, I get it. A lot of us feel that way. But certain things that we feel deeply sound so asinine when you say them out loud that really, you just shouldn't.

Bless her heart. I believe she is 100% sincere. But ... I just can't.

On a related note, it occurred to me this weekend that there has to be a word for yuppy people like me (us) who want all our produce to be organic and locally grown but don't want to stop showering or go vegan. What is that word?

Julep: A Jury of My Peers

Was I overreacting? Let me lay this out for y'all.

Thursday is one of our regular sitter days - ordinarily we have a Service girl named M who comes from 2 to 6 pm. Mr. J and I had discussed moving those times back by half an hour, as 6 pm can be tricky for me on days that I take the bus. But as of yesterday, Mr. J had not yet called the Service to change our times. M is usually pretty flexible, but she wasn't coming yesterday - we had a new girl coming, whom I had not yet met although I think she came one time before.

Yesterday Mr. J scheduled his first sailing lesson of the season. If the wind picked up and he took the students out on the water, he would not be home by 6 pm. We discussed this on Wednesday evening and he said he could ask the sitter if she would mind staying a little later. I said, "If I don't know tonight, it doesn't help me. I'll have to drive tomorrow so I can get home by 6 in case she can't stay." And I drove to work on Thursday.

I spoke with Mr. J by phone at about 2 pm, and the sitter had not yet arrived but he was racing to get himself ready to leave. I hustled home and arrived at 5:55 pm. When I parked in the garage, Mr. J's truck was not there - and my child was nowhere in my house. There was no car parked in front of my house that might have been the sitter's.

Well, I thought, maybe the wind died and the lesson is already over and Mr. J has the baby with him somewhere. Or maybe the sitter didn't show up and Mr. J took the baby to his mom's since he was in such a hurry to get out the door. Wait - his mom is out of town, maybe he took the baby to his sister. Called Mr-Sis, but she hadn't talked to Mr. J all day. Okay, maybe he dropped the baby off with my cousin. Texted Cuz, but no dice.

I called and texted Mr. J repeatedly with no answer - a good indication that he was out on the river without cell service, and by extension, without the baby. There were no signs that anyone had been recently in the house. And the scheduled sitter was not our familiar M, but some chick I had never met.

At this point, I started to panic just a bit. Surely, surely, the baby was fine. But what if he wasn't? What was I supposed to do, wait three hours for Mr. J to get my messages? "Oh well, officer, I figured the baby would turn up eventually so I made dinner and watched some TV."

At 6:17, the sitter waltzed in with the baby. She had taken him for a walk - without leaving any kind of note - because Mr. J had told her that I would probably not arrive home until closer to 6:30. Now Mr. J gets dinged for that part ... I had told him the night before that I would drive so I could get home by 6, and he should know as well as you girls do that if I say that I am going to be home by 6 pm, I am not going to roll in 30 minutes later. The sitter gets a little ding too - regardless of what time she thought I would get home, probably not a great idea to leave the house with the child and leave no note at all. What if I came home an hour early?

But I recognize that these two small missteps only became a major concern when combined. I didn't really get ticked off until Mr. J came home and said that he was sorry I got upset, but really, it was my own fault because I had overreacted. I believe his exact words were, "You are a little too quick to push the panic button."

So I ask you girls: do you think that I was unreasonable to be scared and upset?

Julep: Characters Welcome

Twinks, to answer your question: yes, we read this thing. And occasionally even write on it = ) I've been in a lull but I can feel my need to blog building up a good head of steam.

So yesterday was another Easter celebration with the Mr-Family. Y'all know that I am dearly fond of Mr. J's immediate family, even though I have my issues with them from time to time. But the extended Mr. Clan wears me out. Good entertainment, though. Is it USA that has the "Characters Welcome" slogan? They should hang out with Mr. J's family.

Exhibit 1: Mr-Grand. Early last week, Mr. J's grandfather got hammered at the country club, drove himself home, and tripped heading up the steps into his old-people condo building. He has stitches in his head and a hand that is so swollen I literally could not look at it while eating.

Exhibit 2: Mr-Aunt (not the one who got drunk at the rehearsal dinner or the one who lives in New Zealand - the other one). I'm pretty sure y'all have heard me before about Mr-Aunt and her obsessive cheesecake production. Every family gathering, whatever the occasion, has to be graced with her plain cheesecake. It is very good cheesecake, it's just, you know, boring for the 800th time, never any flavor or topping, even.

Well, yesterday Mr-Aunt finally made a dessert that was not cheesecake. She made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and dyed-green coconut flake "grass" with little duck candies sitting on the top. Full points for presentation, although the cake was on the dry side. Oh, and I was the person supposed to bring dessert (as apparently everyone was getting a little tired of cheesecake). So now I have two-thirds of a lemon curd pound cake sitting on my kitchen counter - and you know I had nothing else to do with my time on Saturday but whip that up. She just HAS to one-up.

Exhibit 3: Stripper Boots Cousin. Now Stripper Boots is a really sweet girl, and I like her very much but for her unfortunate predilection to dress like a streetwalker. "At least she has the figure for it," I've often said. She is a little bigger than I am - a few inches taller, probably a size 6 and well-proportioned although not much in the chest department. I would have put her at a small B, pre-op.

Well, not anymore. She's been surgically enhanced. The rack she is carrying now may not be quite the size of mine, but it's close - at least a double D. And she has refrained from purchasing any new clothes. I will let your imaginations fill in the contours.

Oh, did I mention that her 40-year-old boyfriend paid for the new rack? Niiiiiiice.

Exhibit 4: Baby Mama Cousin. Is it socially acceptable to tell someone to back the hell off your kid because she is creeping you out? I have never cared for Baby Mama Cousin, and now she is weirdly fixated on Babycakes. For whatever weird family drama she's playing out in her head, she's determined to make him and her two-year-old son BEST FRIENDS.

As I've said to Mr. J, I'm sure it will be nice for her son and ours to have a cousin fairly close in age to play with at these biannual extended family gatherings. But they are second cousins. I don't know how many second cousins her son has, but Babycakes already has 9. And since Mr. J and I have 19 first cousins, only 4 of whom have started procreating, that number is set to go through the roof over his first decade of life. Added to which, my own sister has two boys, one two years older and one six weeks younger than Babycakes - and she lives two blocks away. His "close cousin" need is filled.

Baby Mama Cousin was not invited to Babycakes's baptism for unrelated Mr-family drama reasons. She pitched a fit and insisted on attending (then showed up late and in her jeans); she also thrust herself into the photos when we were trying to get a picture of Babycakes with Mr-Sister, actually announcing, "I'm getting in your picture." At Christmas when Baby Mama Cousin dragged her son to meet the baby, she assured me, "He knows all about Babycakes, we say prayers for him every night!" (I heroically refrained from saying, "Please stop.") Yesterday she brought Babycakes an Easter basket. (He's starting eating solids, but candy is still a little beyond him.) She tried to force her son to kiss Babycakes hello. (I fended it off by announcing that Babycakes is fighting a cold.) And she brought me photos, plural, of her son.

I've met her kid five times, literally. I don't need a photo. I brought them to work and threw them away.

Twinkle: Random Thoughts From Nola

So we're in Nola and we're having a big huge time. Here are a few snippets and observations. (Does anyone ever read this thing?)

On My MIL's Decision Not To Join Us: So the Twinkle family caravaned down here with a van containing my FIL and two other couples, all of whom are actually really fun and cool. When we all met up at my inlaws' house to roll out at 5 a.m. Friday morning, the atmosphere was festive. MIL was already up, in her schoolmarm glasses, clutching a cup of coffee. That's right. She was up for the day. Shocked at the fun her friends were having (especially given the time), I asked her why she wasn't going. She has "too much to do for Passover," long suffering martyr that she is. This is the same woman who will accept no offers of help with the preparation and set-up. Her martyrdom is just exhausting. She would have been a buzz kill anyway, but it's still annoying. I know she does a lot, but if it were I, I'd find a way to do both. (I also wouldn't have been awake at all for the 5 a.m. send-off). I say if you're not going to let anyone help you, you have no right to complain about being overwhelmed.

On Cajun Cooking: Mr. Twinkle has long since accepted my habit of eating whatever non-kosher foods I damn well please. I don't even do it that much, because a lot of times I really prefer vegetarian options, but this is New Orleans. His dad's presence throws a bit of a wrench in things, because I do like his dad and I feel like he accepts me as a member of the family, and I don't want to disappoint him. So last night we met a family friend in the Garden District and she took us to Frankie and Johnny's, an authentic and fairly non-touristy restaurant. And you should have seen the members of our party (who, as I said, are super-fun) scarfing down the shrimp, crawfish, oysters, sausage, and boudin balls. Jews all of them. Mr. Twinkle and his dad almost broke my heart when they ordered their sad little grilled chicken sandwiches, but I found myself in a bind because I feel that my FIL is an ally and plus I really like him. I don't want to disappoint him by sucking a crawfish head in front of him and then flinging some of the discarded shell onto his shirt. I was in a kosher pickle.

In the end I went with the red beans and rice--a classic New Orleans staple, and when the waitress asked me if I wanted a little smoked sausage on there, I said, "Sure, as long as you don't tell that guy," gesturing to my FIL. One of the friends laughed and slipped me some of her boudin, and I thought what I said made it clear that I wanted her to tone it down or hide the sausage in the sauce or something. I guess I should have remembered that New Orleans is not a city known for its discretion, because when my entree came out it was topped with the Dirk Diggler of smoked sausage. It was obscene. So now I guess my FIL knows I'm a heathen. I should have just gotten the crawfish, but that sausage was doggone good.

On Contemporary Judiaca: Y'all probably don't pay a whole lot of attention to contemporary Judiaca, but let me tell you this: if you've seen one piece of it, you've seen it all. It's all the same and 99% of it is tacky as hell. So when Mr. Twinkle saw the Dashka Roth Contemporary Judiaca Gallery in the French Quarter, I knew exactly what it was going to be: geometric shards of purple and blue glass with silver squiggles, and I wrote that description without having even walked inside the Dashka Roth Gallery, or having yet Googled her site. That's about the extent of contemporary Judiaca. (Antique Judaica is actually pretty).

Now, I don't know about you girls, but when my mother wanted me to teach me about good taste, there were two ultimate and seemingly opposite destinations: New Orleans and Williamsburg, Virginia. Mr. Twinkle and I have discussed how these aren't cultural Meccas for Jewish families, and I think the lack of exposure leads to monstrosities such as this one. We actually have interesting philosophical conversations about the origins of Jewish taste, or lack thereof. (Mr. Twinkle recognizes it and likes to ponder it, too. I am not being mean behind his back or saying anything I haven't said to him a hundred times). I just find it really interesting that an entire ethnic group of people embraces this as their own defining style, and that style is so plain ugly. Earlier Judaica is pretty, as I said--lots of ornate silver carvings. Why isn't that their style? I never get tired of talking about it...hope y'all aren't too bored.

Anyway, just because he knows it's tacky doesn't mean Mr. Twinks could ever resist going into a Judaica store. And when he came out he readily admitted that the Judaica was exactly like the rest of the Judaica everywhere. But we also discussed how if his family were to come upon that gallery, they would spend hours in there choosing the perfect bits of Judaica to take home, wasting precious time that could be better spent cultivating good taste on Royal Street or even just absorbing the Nola atmosphere. And they would buy it just because it's Judaica, not because they like it. I think that's a huge cultural difference, too. There is a sense of obligation to buy some Judaica and stick it on the shelf with all the other Judaica, just as there is a sense of obligation about everything else. With my family and others without a real ethnic identity, we buy what we like because we like it, not because we have to because our ethnicity dictates what we should like and buy.

At least I am passing on good taste to my children. They don't even have to like what I like; I want them to like what they like, and know why they like it. To me, that's what matters most in someone's taste, and I don't think Jews have the chance to develop their tastes because the contemporary Judaica artists keep telling them what to like, and they all buy it because guilt is a part of their cultural identity. I'm sorry, but guilt should not determine one's interior design scheme.

Don't be surprised if I ever get a doctorate in the aesthetic tastes of the Jews. I find the subject endlessly fascinating.

Twinkle: Yo Mama's Junyaleague

Have you all seen this gem, posted on Facebook by our friendly local Junyaleague chapter? I swear if I have to hear the phrase "it's not your mother's Junyaleague" one more time, there is going to be big trouble. You probably know that I also loathe "we're no longer a white glove organization."

For the record, I have no problem with the Junior League's attempts to schedule events around working women's lives, and clearly I am glad that it's possible for working women to be in the League. This is not breaking news, as we all know. If the League hadn't accommodated my work schedule when I joined as a provisional 11 years ago, I would not be the lapsed sustainer I am today. And it was nothing new then. So thank you, League--really. I am glad I got to participate with you girls for at least a little while.

Here is my issue. You want working women. I get it. But do you still want me? Because, like most mothers (employed or otherwise), I have to take great care in choosing my evening events. There's a heirarchy: close friends (including their political campaigns), super-fab events, YWC, Actors nights, acquaintances. And, quite frankly, most Junior League meetings and events just don't have much draw for me. I would love to participate in the League more, but they just don't make their evening events worth my while, and all the talk about "we're not your mother's Junyaleague" makes me feel like they don't even care that I don't participate. Bottom line: I'm busy (as we all are), the Junyaleague meetings are inconvenient for me and not super-fun, so I don't ever go.

(Small caveat: I think their recent fashion show sounded really fun and fabulous, and I would have gone had it been any other night besides Tiny Twinklette's first birthday. I was surprised and thrilled to see that sort of event coming from the League--that is exactly what they should be doing, and I was proud of them for it. And then came this article, once again dashing my hopes for their improvement).

Now, since Tiny T is not yet in school, daytime events aren't super-easy for me either. If I found a second of free time with my two little ones, I would most likely devote it to a nap and not to the League. But that's just my phase of life. In a few years, I fully intend to get more involved with everything again--even by just attending sustainer events--but if the League doesn't accommodate my schedule, how can I participate? I just wish there could be a mix of times for meetings and events so that everyone could go. Wasn't that the initial purpose of putting meetings at night? I really think that we have all gotten past the whole working/non-working rivalry (at least I hope so) but articles like this one just disaffect people like me, who devoted a lot of time and energy to the League in our working years. You're welcome. Also, League, shut up about how accommodating you are. Because you're alienating some of us.

Here's another tip: maybe it's not the best idea to be bragging about how much your organization has changed since Jackie Kennedy was in it. Our membership once included a First Lady, timeless fashion icon, and one of the most influential women of her century--but we're totally different now! Yes you are, League. Yes you are.

Twinkle: Here's a Weird One

This is just bizarre.

So tonight we had two parties: a family cocktail party to celebrate the upcoming wedding of a distant cousin from California, and Twinklette's school fundraiser.

We went to the family cocktail party first, and MIL was just full of questions and commentary about the school fundraiser. Where was it? What time did it start? The silent auction items she heard about looked amazing! She was sure to mention that she would have loved to have been invited.

First of all, it's a fundraiser, so anyone who wants to pay the price of admission can go. It wasn't some big exclusive private party that we didn't invite them to. I'm pretty sure I didn't "invite" any of you girls, either...but if you'd wanted to you certainly could have paid at the door and gone. Second of all, it was the same night as the family cocktail party, which was attended by FIL's California cousins that he never sees. So we didn't make a big deal about them going to the school fundraiser, because we knew they had other plans. (Although, frankly if I'm going to be socializing with other parents, I don't need my MIL around salting my game). We somewhat wearily explained that grandparents are welcome but we knew they had a family commitment that night (can't she figure this sh*t out for herself?), which obviously was why we didn't issue them the formal engraved invitation they were expecting. Also, who can have fun with them around? But that's beside the point.

We left the one party and moved on to the next. We were browsing the silent auction items and ran into some friends of my in-laws, who informed us that my in-laws had been there!

So basically my MIL acted all miffed about not being invited--all the while having gone to the damn thing anyway--and then proceeded to ask us a lot of questions about it as if she had never been there. I don't care if she wants to go to the school fundraiser, but why not be up-front about it? Why act like she didn't go when she did? And then act all slighted that we didn't "invite" her when she had already disregarded the lack of an "invitation" and gone anyway!

So who knows how that sh*t went down when my in-laws showed up at the fundraiser as the doors opened at 6:30, before anyone except the hosts and volunteers had probably even gotten there. Where was the school fundraiser, you might wonder? Why, it was at the childhood home of...you guessed it...Bella's mom.

Twinkle: Mr. Twinkle Saves the Day

So I have been meaning to post about this for about a week, but with all the birthday fun (and subsequent recovery) I am just now getting around to it.

Last week around this time I vented to Lola about my MIL. She invited Twinklette and me to see Mary Poppins last weekend. She takes Twinklette to all kinds of performances and I think it's great--I really have no problem with it. Why would I? The only reason she invited me, however, was because of a certain event last winter at Derby Dinner Playhouse. My MIL and Grandma-In-Law (GMIL) always take Twinklette to the children's plays at Derby Dinner. Twinklette loves it; MIL and GMIL have fun; I get a free Saturday morning. Everyone wins. Well last winter SIL was in town with her little girl. So they all went, and made a day of it, and it was everyone but me. I thought it was a little weird that it was this big mother/daughter/grandmother/granddaughter day, and the only person who wasn't invited was the mother of 2/3 of the grandchildren (me). Mr. Twinkle thought it was weird, too, and I guess he mentioned something about it to his dad, and the next thing you know, I'm invited to Mary Poppins, which was totally different because it wasn't everyone going. I certainly don't object to Twinklette having special and fun times with her Grams and Gigi; I just want to be included if it's some big mother/daughter occasion.

OK, so Mary Poppins. I didn't really want to go in the first place, because it was the day before Tiny Twinklette's birthday party, and also because I have better things to do than spend an afternoon with my MIL, and I was also annoyed that she didn't see the distinction between the mother/daughter day last winter and just any performance. So that was the jumping off point.

I got a call from MIL last Friday morning; apparently she came into a couple of extra tickets. She was calling me to get the phone number of Bella's mom so that she could call and invite Bella and her mom to the performance. Now, I don't really hang out with Bella's mom, and I've always felt that Bella's mom thinks I am a bit weird, probably because I have never fully recovered my coolness after our awkward and appalling initial meeting. I mean, can you imagine how that phone call would have gone? I don't even want to think about it. If MIL wants to force a friendship between Bella's mom and me, this is not the way to do it, because Bella's mom thinks I'm a freak. Because of MIL. So please don't ever call her, MIL. I mean, how would MIL even explain getting the number in the first place? Also, why not say to me, "Is there a friend of Twinklette's and her mom that you'd like to invite?", instead of insisting on Bella? Because there are mothers of Twinklette's friends that don't think I'm a complete weirdo (I get along quite well with all of them, actually, with the exception of Bella's mom...it's ironic that the one person MIL wishes I would hang out with is the one that she totally cockblocked me with). It goes back to her having to control everything, but she majorly botched this one.

And I can only imagine the conversation. "Hi, Bella's mom? This is Twinklette's grandma. We're distantly related and we met when my whole family and I circled you like sharks at the Spring Program two years ago. We haven't spoken since, but I'd love for you all to come to a performance of Mary Poppins with me!"

I was freaking out.

I called Mr. Twinkle, who agreed that it was bizarre as well as a suicide mission. He stated the obvious truths that I just could not see through my neuroses and desperation not to make the situation with Bella's mom worse. He had the perfect answer. It was so simple: he said I should call Bella's mom, and invite just Bella. That way, we would keep Bella's mom and my MIL from interacting, we would avoid a totally awkward afternoon, and maybe Twinklette would get to take her friend to Mary Poppins.

I did it, and it worked! Bella's mom had to be downtown with one of her other kids for a birthday party, so the drop-off worked perfectly and she couldn't have gone even if I had told her she was invited. I could tell MIL that the mom was already busy but that Bella could go, without ever having to mention that I didn't invite Bella's mom in the first place. Bella's mom really appreciated us taking Bella to lunch and the play, and Bella and Twinklette had a wonderful time together and were really good during the play. I felt like Bella's mom thought I was more normal and we actually got to know each other a little better during the drop-off and pick-up, in a setting that mercifully didn't include my MIL or the specter of her past faux pas. So Mr. Twinkle's sage advice saved the day. Crisis averted, and it was actually a fun day!

P.S. I wonder if MIL knows that Bella's dad is Iranian and Muslim. Sad to say, but maybe it would make MIL slightly less enthusiastic to know that Bella's parents are not the paragons of Jewish virtue she thinks they are. I'm not going to tell her, though. Watching MIL judge people is actually worse than watching her idolize them.