It's Fathers Day, and Mr. Twinkle and his dad wanted to go to Holiday World with the girls, so I was a good sport and went along with it. At 5 months pregnant, this involves a lot of walking around in the sweltering heat and waiting while others ride the rides. Good thing MIL was there to keep me company--there was no good reason why she couldn't have ridden a few of the more conservative rides, but she didn't want to risk tarnishing her spotless reputation as a fun sink. It was fine. Whatever. Fathers Day.
I just have a few grievances to air, actually, and they're small. MIL spent much of the day with her granny panties all in a wad about the fact that Mr. Twinkle and my FIL were wearing socks and shoes on rides where they might happen to get splashed (this wasn't even in the water park, this was just on the regular rides where a little water might be involved). The dryness of someone else's socks is the sort of thing that I put into the "not my problem" category, and I don't waste time worrying about things that are not my problem. FIL is 66 and Mr. Twinkle is 36, so I sort of expect them to know the preventive measures to take to keep their socks dry, and I guess they'll be OK even if they choose not to take those measures. It's not a topic I care to discuss repeatedly throughout the day, or at all.
Another thing was the damn suntan lotion. I put suntan lotion on my girls, like any halfway decent mom. I don't want anyone to be miserable with a sunburn (least of all myself, when people start to whine about their sunburns). But I don't feel the need to reapply every hour on the hour. I like my girls to be a little bit brown in the summer. If they were pale and prone to burns, I might slather them up more, but they get all golden and tropical and look adorable. A little brown looks healthy. It looks like they've been swimming and playing in the sunshine, which they have--and that's what kids should be doing in the summer. If I applied sunscreen to my girls as much as MIL wanted me to, they'd be as white and pasty as, well, my MIL. And my sister-in-law. And, I'm sure, her kid. And, for the record, neither of my children has ever had a sunburn, so that tells me that my sunscreen application process is working just fine for everyone involved, and others need not worry about it. Put it in the "not my problem" category, and move on.
One last thing: a difference between my MIL and me. Mr. Twinkle was always asking for and misplacing a map of the park. She b*tched at him about it ("I keep giving it to you--what do you want from me?"); I just handed it to him nicely, at exactly the same time. Two totally different reactions to a simple request.
Thank goodness for me or his life would be joyless, his children would be pasty, and the only thing he'd have to be happy about would be dry socks. Happy Fathers Day to him, indeed.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Twinklette: A Delayed Dinner and Tempting the Sleep Gods
Contrary to my in-laws' belief, I actually do cook more for my children than mac and cheese. I know I'm not as good a mom as my SIL, whose kid goes to a parade and joylessly snacks on mixed veggies instead of cotton candy, but I do the best I can. Lean protein and fruit--that's the focus, because they won't touch a vegetable. They don't eat fast food, which is more than most moms can say, and I never--I mean never--fix them mac and cheese. But they do get sweets on certain special occasions, so see my above statement about being the lesser mom.
So today my in-laws took A swimming. They picked her up from ballet camp and so I called them at some point to see when they'd be bringing her home. We agreed that they could drop her off at 5:30, right before they had to be at a religious service. I talked to both of them about this. Not once did either of them mention that they wanted us at the service, nor did they say, "Do you all want to come?" or "We'd like you to be there."
So I went on with my day, making a delicious dinner of salmon burgers, sweet potato fries, salad, and mixed fruit ( a surprisingly healthy meal for someone whose kids have only ever been exposed to mac and cheese). They brought her home at the allotted time, when all this was hot off the grill and delicious. Oh, and by the way--they're going to this memorial for MIl's dad and would you all like to go, and then go to dinner? Of course Mr. Twinkle wants to go! So I had to preserve dinner for an extra hour and take the kids to the service hungry. I think that's disrespectful. I worked hard on that dinner. If you want me to come to a service, just say so. Don't mention it in passing and then let me get on with my day, springing it on me 10 minutes before the thing starts and after I've worked hard on a meal.
MIL is really on my sh*t list now, however, because, after being warned repeatedly not to ever, ever, under any circumstances, refer to the fact that my children are "going to sleep well tonight!" she said, "I don't want to say it, but I think you all are going to have a very good night tonight." She put it out there; she tempted fate, and now who is not having a good night at all, standing outside A's door at 1:25 a.m. while she falls back asleep after waking up crying at 1? Where are you now with your damn sleep wisdom, MiL? Asleep in your own bed, after you've brought down the wrath of the sleep gods on my house? I don't care if you watched my kid run a fucking triathalon that day, you do not presume to say she will sleep well. Because she will not. Just Leave. It. Alone. Think it if you want, say it to someone else so I'll never know, but do not say it to me, you stupid bitch. How many times has she been warned? So many.
I was going to sneak back into my bed now, but now the other one's awake.
So today my in-laws took A swimming. They picked her up from ballet camp and so I called them at some point to see when they'd be bringing her home. We agreed that they could drop her off at 5:30, right before they had to be at a religious service. I talked to both of them about this. Not once did either of them mention that they wanted us at the service, nor did they say, "Do you all want to come?" or "We'd like you to be there."
So I went on with my day, making a delicious dinner of salmon burgers, sweet potato fries, salad, and mixed fruit ( a surprisingly healthy meal for someone whose kids have only ever been exposed to mac and cheese). They brought her home at the allotted time, when all this was hot off the grill and delicious. Oh, and by the way--they're going to this memorial for MIl's dad and would you all like to go, and then go to dinner? Of course Mr. Twinkle wants to go! So I had to preserve dinner for an extra hour and take the kids to the service hungry. I think that's disrespectful. I worked hard on that dinner. If you want me to come to a service, just say so. Don't mention it in passing and then let me get on with my day, springing it on me 10 minutes before the thing starts and after I've worked hard on a meal.
MIL is really on my sh*t list now, however, because, after being warned repeatedly not to ever, ever, under any circumstances, refer to the fact that my children are "going to sleep well tonight!" she said, "I don't want to say it, but I think you all are going to have a very good night tonight." She put it out there; she tempted fate, and now who is not having a good night at all, standing outside A's door at 1:25 a.m. while she falls back asleep after waking up crying at 1? Where are you now with your damn sleep wisdom, MiL? Asleep in your own bed, after you've brought down the wrath of the sleep gods on my house? I don't care if you watched my kid run a fucking triathalon that day, you do not presume to say she will sleep well. Because she will not. Just Leave. It. Alone. Think it if you want, say it to someone else so I'll never know, but do not say it to me, you stupid bitch. How many times has she been warned? So many.
I was going to sneak back into my bed now, but now the other one's awake.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Julep: Marriage as negotiation
So y'all know that Mr. J typically spends a good portion of his summer in other parts of the country, sailing. This is both for fun and as what we attorneys call "business development" - meaning, nobody is paying him to do this, but he makes connections and builds relationships with people who are either his customers or his suppliers. Mr. J has said for the past few years that he was trying to squeeze in as much big-water sailing as he could because he knew he'd have to cut back once children came along. Well and good.
This summer, of course, is our first as parents. Mr. J took his first sailing trip of the summer last weekend. We put all of his anticipated trips on the calendar several months back, and now I'm looking down the barrel of the next two months. Starting with last weekend, it looks like this: wk 1 - gone, wk 2 - home, wk 3 - home, wk 4- gone, wk 5 - together (but we are all three going on vacation with Mr. J's parents and sister, and based on past experience it won't be all that relaxing), wk 6 - home, wk 7 - gone (he's in town, but busy all weekend and won't be at the house much if at all), wk 8 - gone, wk 9 - home, wk 10 - gone. If you're counting, that means I am on my own for five out of ten consecutive weeks.
When we talked about his summer schedule, I didn't commit to the entire summer: I said we'd have to take it one trip at a time. I reminded Mr. J as much last night - not that he needed to start cancelling things, but I wanted him to know that I am exhausted this week after heading back to the office after four days on my own with Babycakes and the still-not-independently-walking Brown Dog. He said, "Well, on the weekends I'm gone, we'll have to line up a sitter for a few hours so you can go get a pedicure or something." I said, "A few hours of baby-sitting is really not the same as having two parents around for the weekend." He got pissy. I don't know what I was hoping for.
When issues come up in our marriage, I try to think about how to get both of us what we need, and develop a reasonable compromise. But that just ends up with me getting screwed, because Mr. J takes that compromise position as his starting point to demand concessions. I'm President Obama and he's the House GOP.
If I negotiated at home like I do at the office, I would take a hard line from the beginning: hell no, you can't take any trips at all, now that we are parents you need to be at home all the time. Then he can beg and plead for one or two trips a year, and I will make him pay every time in blood, sweat, and tears. But I don't want to be that person in my home life. Ergo, I get the short end of the stick and bags under my eyes that could pack for a transatlantic cruise.
This summer, of course, is our first as parents. Mr. J took his first sailing trip of the summer last weekend. We put all of his anticipated trips on the calendar several months back, and now I'm looking down the barrel of the next two months. Starting with last weekend, it looks like this: wk 1 - gone, wk 2 - home, wk 3 - home, wk 4- gone, wk 5 - together (but we are all three going on vacation with Mr. J's parents and sister, and based on past experience it won't be all that relaxing), wk 6 - home, wk 7 - gone (he's in town, but busy all weekend and won't be at the house much if at all), wk 8 - gone, wk 9 - home, wk 10 - gone. If you're counting, that means I am on my own for five out of ten consecutive weeks.
When we talked about his summer schedule, I didn't commit to the entire summer: I said we'd have to take it one trip at a time. I reminded Mr. J as much last night - not that he needed to start cancelling things, but I wanted him to know that I am exhausted this week after heading back to the office after four days on my own with Babycakes and the still-not-independently-walking Brown Dog. He said, "Well, on the weekends I'm gone, we'll have to line up a sitter for a few hours so you can go get a pedicure or something." I said, "A few hours of baby-sitting is really not the same as having two parents around for the weekend." He got pissy. I don't know what I was hoping for.
When issues come up in our marriage, I try to think about how to get both of us what we need, and develop a reasonable compromise. But that just ends up with me getting screwed, because Mr. J takes that compromise position as his starting point to demand concessions. I'm President Obama and he's the House GOP.
If I negotiated at home like I do at the office, I would take a hard line from the beginning: hell no, you can't take any trips at all, now that we are parents you need to be at home all the time. Then he can beg and plead for one or two trips a year, and I will make him pay every time in blood, sweat, and tears. But I don't want to be that person in my home life. Ergo, I get the short end of the stick and bags under my eyes that could pack for a transatlantic cruise.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Bringing the Poynter Out: Dibbs
The brother's girlfriend called crying today. She's not sure she can go on our trip. Her parents told her, among other things, that she would go to Hell for dating my brother. Apparently they don't like Canada.
You can imagine the response at our respective houses. Dad took her to talk to our preachers. Mom worked on a new bathroom so she could move in. I practiced my speech and googled her daddy's phone number. The Poynter genes were rising up.
I haven't called...yet. I did just take a Lortab. All bets are off. I wrote down one line so I wouldn't forget. Ready? "I'm glad I already know [gf.] I'm not sure I would want [brother] dating someone you raised." Burn.
You can imagine the response at our respective houses. Dad took her to talk to our preachers. Mom worked on a new bathroom so she could move in. I practiced my speech and googled her daddy's phone number. The Poynter genes were rising up.
I haven't called...yet. I did just take a Lortab. All bets are off. I wrote down one line so I wouldn't forget. Ready? "I'm glad I already know [gf.] I'm not sure I would want [brother] dating someone you raised." Burn.
Twinkle: So...It's Another Girl!
And y'all know I'm thrilled to welcome another member into the family sorority. I know it's a major disappointment to the Mr. Twinkle family--my inlaws came to pick up the girls to take them swimming this afternoon, and my MIL did not even bother to say, "Congratulations." It's OK. I don't need her congratulations--the prospect of being the mother-of-the-bride at not one, not two, but three weddings and not having to worry about some b*tch coming along to steal my baby boy away is congratulations enough. (Just teasing on that...y'all know I was excited at the prospect of welcoming a new daughter-in-law into the fold and treating her with the kindness I have never received from my own MIL). But it was not to be. Instead I get fashion advice (wanted or otherwise), great presents, spa weekends, and cocktail hours when everyone comes home from college. Y'all are invited.
So anyway, MIL couldn't bring herself to congratulate me (FIL did, which I appreciated, even though it is his ancestral name that won't be passed down to the next generation). I'm sure if she could, she'd have me beheaded, but whatever. I'm over it.
All she could talk about was my sister-in-law's old trundle bed from the '80s. It's a white, block-shaped, soul-sucking, pressed plastic monstrosity, about 2 feet off the ground with a trundle under it. I think I blocked out the details on it, but whenever it was in SIL's room (before she got married and they put a double bed in there) it was so ugly I did not even want to be in there with it. It was sad. Pathetic. Sinful. The memory of [it] is grievous unto me; the burden of [it] is intolerable. (There's a little Episcopal liturgy for you).
So she is trying to push this sad '80s trundle bed off on me. Has she been to my house? Has she seen that I have this wallpaper in my girls' bathroom? Has she noticed that I'm raising my daughters to have good taste? Well, it starts with cute bedroom furniture, and while I love antiques and family heirlooms, I do have standards and I approve and edit all furniture and accessories that come through this door. As someone who ordered this bed for Twinklette, and then painted it a darling shade of pink, I am not about to put some tacky '80s trundle bed in my house. I mean, it wouldn't be quite fair to Tiny T to give her an ugly bed, and I feel confident that Twinklette would know the bed was ugly and wouldn't want it anywhere near her bedroom.
Here's the plan: I'm ordering the same bed Twinklette has for Tiny T, painting it pink, and ordering the coordinating trundles for both beds so that new baby sister can camp out in there when she's older if she wants to, and there will still be room for the occasional friend. It's fair to both inhabitants of the room, the decor will remain adorable, and everyone's happy except my MIL. And if I cared about making her happy, I would have had a boy.
If someone has to take this damn trundle bed, why can't my SIL take it? She's shopping for a big girl bed for her daughter, and I don't hear anyone pushing off the ugly *ss bed on her. MIL actually went bed shopping with her while we were all up in New England a few weeks ago. I bet those two will pick the ugliest damn bed in Connecticut--and that'll be hard to do, because everything there is cute. They'll find a way, though; they always do.
Guess what: I've got a bunch of daughters and I'm bringing them up with good taste. The tackiness cycle stops with me!
So anyway, MIL couldn't bring herself to congratulate me (FIL did, which I appreciated, even though it is his ancestral name that won't be passed down to the next generation). I'm sure if she could, she'd have me beheaded, but whatever. I'm over it.
All she could talk about was my sister-in-law's old trundle bed from the '80s. It's a white, block-shaped, soul-sucking, pressed plastic monstrosity, about 2 feet off the ground with a trundle under it. I think I blocked out the details on it, but whenever it was in SIL's room (before she got married and they put a double bed in there) it was so ugly I did not even want to be in there with it. It was sad. Pathetic. Sinful. The memory of [it] is grievous unto me; the burden of [it] is intolerable. (There's a little Episcopal liturgy for you).
So she is trying to push this sad '80s trundle bed off on me. Has she been to my house? Has she seen that I have this wallpaper in my girls' bathroom? Has she noticed that I'm raising my daughters to have good taste? Well, it starts with cute bedroom furniture, and while I love antiques and family heirlooms, I do have standards and I approve and edit all furniture and accessories that come through this door. As someone who ordered this bed for Twinklette, and then painted it a darling shade of pink, I am not about to put some tacky '80s trundle bed in my house. I mean, it wouldn't be quite fair to Tiny T to give her an ugly bed, and I feel confident that Twinklette would know the bed was ugly and wouldn't want it anywhere near her bedroom.
Here's the plan: I'm ordering the same bed Twinklette has for Tiny T, painting it pink, and ordering the coordinating trundles for both beds so that new baby sister can camp out in there when she's older if she wants to, and there will still be room for the occasional friend. It's fair to both inhabitants of the room, the decor will remain adorable, and everyone's happy except my MIL. And if I cared about making her happy, I would have had a boy.
If someone has to take this damn trundle bed, why can't my SIL take it? She's shopping for a big girl bed for her daughter, and I don't hear anyone pushing off the ugly *ss bed on her. MIL actually went bed shopping with her while we were all up in New England a few weeks ago. I bet those two will pick the ugliest damn bed in Connecticut--and that'll be hard to do, because everything there is cute. They'll find a way, though; they always do.
Guess what: I've got a bunch of daughters and I'm bringing them up with good taste. The tackiness cycle stops with me!
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Twinkle: You Know What They Say About Girls With Bows In Their Hair...
...They have good mothers.
As long as we're discussing annoying Facebook friends, I have something to contribute. I have one whom I actually don't know--she's someone who sort of knows Mr. Twinkle and when she friended me I said, "Hey, Mr. Twinkle, who is this?" and then I accepted. One of those. She has twin babies; they're kind of cute. That's about all I knew about her, until today, when I learned that I do not like her at all. She posted a picture and this line of BS: "I never thought I'd be a bow-in-the-hair mom. I am totally a bow-in-the-hair mom."
Now, as a so-called "bow-in-the-hair mom," I never defined myself as such because being a bow-in-the-hair mom comes as naturally as breathing to me. I never thought I would be anything but a bow-in-the-hair mom. I mean, what other type of mom is there to be? The type who doesn't brush and style her girls' hair? The type who lets them choose their own outfits in the name of "creativity" and lets them run around looking like messy-haired little ragamuffins, all the while laughing about how they "just won't keep a bow in?" The hippie, Waldorf kind of mother who eschews hairbows and anything else pretty as trappings of the patriarchy? Let me tell you--that reality was never an option for me. Twinklette has known from the beginning that bows are non-negotiable. And, as we all know, that one's a negotiator.
But I have to ask, what is so wrong with being a "bow-in-the-hair mom?" And, if it's such a horrible thing to be, why the change of heart on the part of this random Facebook friend? (Let me venture a guess: is it because bows are adorable? Thought so.) Are there really people out there who see my children approaching, in their matching outfits and their coordinating bows, and say, "Oh, look at those poor children. They have one of those 'bow-in-the-hair' mothers"? I know everyone's judging everyone else's parenting at every turn, but it never occurred to me that bows were in the to-be-judged realm. Is nothing sacred? What's next? Smocking? Jon Jons? Anything not bearing the likeness of Elmo?
What's most offensive to me is the fact that she thought about bows at some point in her life prior to the birth of her children, and that she found something unpalatable about them. Like how we might say, "I'll never let my daughter be on a dance team/wear body glitter/walk around with bitchface." I know I shouldn't care about someone else's bad taste, but it bothers me that she has the same negative view toward bows, of all things, that I do to tramp stamps and vajazzling.
I have another Facebook friend--a former teacher at Twinklette's school, mother of small boys, and family friend. She kind of pokes fun at how my girls wear bows all the time--it's in a fun, loving way and I don't mind it at all. She tagged me in a post that said, "The bigger the bows, the better the mama." Perhaps I should leave that as a comment on the random girl's page, or maybe I should leave her with something much more sinister, like "Welcome to the dark side."
Actually I'll probably just ignore it, because, clearly, she's ignorant.
As long as we're discussing annoying Facebook friends, I have something to contribute. I have one whom I actually don't know--she's someone who sort of knows Mr. Twinkle and when she friended me I said, "Hey, Mr. Twinkle, who is this?" and then I accepted. One of those. She has twin babies; they're kind of cute. That's about all I knew about her, until today, when I learned that I do not like her at all. She posted a picture and this line of BS: "I never thought I'd be a bow-in-the-hair mom. I am totally a bow-in-the-hair mom."
Now, as a so-called "bow-in-the-hair mom," I never defined myself as such because being a bow-in-the-hair mom comes as naturally as breathing to me. I never thought I would be anything but a bow-in-the-hair mom. I mean, what other type of mom is there to be? The type who doesn't brush and style her girls' hair? The type who lets them choose their own outfits in the name of "creativity" and lets them run around looking like messy-haired little ragamuffins, all the while laughing about how they "just won't keep a bow in?" The hippie, Waldorf kind of mother who eschews hairbows and anything else pretty as trappings of the patriarchy? Let me tell you--that reality was never an option for me. Twinklette has known from the beginning that bows are non-negotiable. And, as we all know, that one's a negotiator.
But I have to ask, what is so wrong with being a "bow-in-the-hair mom?" And, if it's such a horrible thing to be, why the change of heart on the part of this random Facebook friend? (Let me venture a guess: is it because bows are adorable? Thought so.) Are there really people out there who see my children approaching, in their matching outfits and their coordinating bows, and say, "Oh, look at those poor children. They have one of those 'bow-in-the-hair' mothers"? I know everyone's judging everyone else's parenting at every turn, but it never occurred to me that bows were in the to-be-judged realm. Is nothing sacred? What's next? Smocking? Jon Jons? Anything not bearing the likeness of Elmo?
What's most offensive to me is the fact that she thought about bows at some point in her life prior to the birth of her children, and that she found something unpalatable about them. Like how we might say, "I'll never let my daughter be on a dance team/wear body glitter/walk around with bitchface." I know I shouldn't care about someone else's bad taste, but it bothers me that she has the same negative view toward bows, of all things, that I do to tramp stamps and vajazzling.
I have another Facebook friend--a former teacher at Twinklette's school, mother of small boys, and family friend. She kind of pokes fun at how my girls wear bows all the time--it's in a fun, loving way and I don't mind it at all. She tagged me in a post that said, "The bigger the bows, the better the mama." Perhaps I should leave that as a comment on the random girl's page, or maybe I should leave her with something much more sinister, like "Welcome to the dark side."
Actually I'll probably just ignore it, because, clearly, she's ignorant.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Julep: short notice
I think it was Tuesday this week when Mr. J's good friend was over at our house helping him move something heavy. I said to Friend, "What are you and Mrs. Friend up to this holiday weekend? Mr. J and I have been saying we'd love to have y'all come over for dinner." Friend agreed that would be nice, promised to consult with Mrs. Friend, and we all went on our way.
Mr. J informed me just about an hour ago that the Friends would be coming to dinner tonight. Now, Mr. J and Friend are terribly close, but I hardly know Mrs. Friend (she's fairly new). And usually if people are coming to my house for dinner, I like to know about it in time to clean the house up a bit - let alone the grocery shopping.
I'm pretty sure there's a Loretty song about this. Mr. J would be well-served by spending some time listening to the wisdom of Loretta Lynn. "Don't come home a drinking with loving on your mind" is another classic that offers him words to live by. If she'd only written something about putting dirty laundry in the hamper and dishes in the dishwasher, I could outsource all my nagging to a Greatest Hits compilation.
Mr. J informed me just about an hour ago that the Friends would be coming to dinner tonight. Now, Mr. J and Friend are terribly close, but I hardly know Mrs. Friend (she's fairly new). And usually if people are coming to my house for dinner, I like to know about it in time to clean the house up a bit - let alone the grocery shopping.
I'm pretty sure there's a Loretty song about this. Mr. J would be well-served by spending some time listening to the wisdom of Loretta Lynn. "Don't come home a drinking with loving on your mind" is another classic that offers him words to live by. If she'd only written something about putting dirty laundry in the hamper and dishes in the dishwasher, I could outsource all my nagging to a Greatest Hits compilation.
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