Twinkle: Fun Sink Needs to Let My Children Be Themselves

Well Fun Sink and I have been in a good place lately, and I haven't logged into the blog for awhile. I see there's been lots of activity. Looking forward to catching up with everyone's airing of grievances.

Fun Sink did annoy me a little tonight. She was just a little bit hard on E, and I don't think that's fair.

The girls and I were at the zoo all afternoon, wandering around, eating bananas and peanut butter and crackers as we made our way through the zoo the opposite way from where we usually start. We saw King Louie the endangered white alligator, we saw vampire bats, we stayed on the playground as long as they wanted because we were all just so happy to be out in the sunshine. The only disappointment of the day was that the carousel was closed. E in particular was sad about it but she kept it together. We left the zoo and chalked the day up to a success.

Mr. Twinks is out of town, so Fun Sink and Mr. Fun Sink graciously took the girls to dinner while I went to PB. During the drop-off I handed Fun Sink a change of clothes for E and explained that E's got a new thing where she will only go to the potty at home or school.

Fun Sink looked appalled.

Now, this new phase is absolutely an inconvenience, but it is not the disaster that Fun Sink seems to think it is. E is not yet three; she was trained early because she was interested (unlike AM, who resisted at every turn until she finally decided for herself that it was the cool thing to do, and Fun Sink criticized that plenty, too). Now that E's getting a little older, she's noticing the size of some of the potties out there in the world and she's afraid she's going to fall in. I'm hoping this phase is short-lived, but I'm not that concerned about it. No one takes a Monsters University potty seat to college.

Fun Sink had to turn it into a lecture about E's diet and whether or not she's getting enough fiber. And, honestly, I do the best I can with trying to give everyone vegetables and fruits and healthy grains, but this issue can be traced to the exact moment when E saw a particularly behemoth toilet at the Macy's. She's a little kid and she's noticing that some of the potties out there are much bigger than she is. Fun Sink should have just taken the change of clothes and laughed about it. I'm sure she was thinking if given the chance, she could make E go on any potty anywhere, but I beg to differ. Girlfriend goes completely stiff and thrashes around screaming; my strategy is to just take a change of clothes along until she figures out that being able to go on any old potty is preferable to being uncomfortable and peeing yourself all the time.

Then E was all tired and sad about the carousel, and almost started crying when it came up that we went to the zoo. She reacts to things differently than AM, who would have demanded that we talk to the manager of the carousel and his/her boss and his/her boss and all the way up through the ranks of employees until she convinced the president of the zoo to open the carousel. When E really cares about something, she reacts with real, heartbreaking tears. And I can see when they're coming, and the best thing to do is just hug her and make her feel better.

I feel like Fun Sink doesn't know this. Fun Sink ruled her own children and countless elementary students with an iron fist, and she really believes that all children are alike and all children react the same way, and they shouldn't challenge authority (what AM does) and they shouldn't break down over something as seemingly insignificant as a carousel (what E does).

She still took my children to dinner and I still appreciate it, and I'm still cool with her. But I don't like her coming down hard on my sweet, sensitive E. Or my strong, fearless AM, for that matter. In all Fun Sink's years of parenting and teaching, I really don't think she has learned to let children be themselves. And that explains a lot about Mr. Twinks' people-pleasing neuroses--he tries to please her but he never will. No one will, not easygoing E and not strong-willed AM, and not even baby B, who will surely will fall short somehow to Fun Sink. How sad to be that person who's never going to be happy. How sad not to be able to accept your own children and grandchildren for who they are--especially when who one of those grandchildren is is a two-year-old.

Julep: yuck

Yesterday I heard a speaker at the Women Lawyers Association talk about gettting more women to run for office here in our state, and she was very pumped about the possibility of having our first woman senator. After such enthusiasm, I find this deeply depressing. Eight minutes of nothing but platitudes and dodging the question.

Now clearly, I will vote for her. I would vote for pretty much anyone who could remove Senator Droopy Dawg from office and fill out the Senate majority to keep the lunatics* from running the asylum. But will I give her money? Put up a yard sign? Knock on doors? No, I will not. I am distinctly unexcited.


* Now, "lunatics" does not refer to all members of the opposing party. There used to be lots of sane conservatives, but unfortunately the other party doesn't seem to elect them any more and there are many fewer than there used to be.

Julep: hearts, blessed

When I discovered that Bear would need a "creative, decorated Valentines box," I had a pretty full weekend already. There was about a 90-minute window that I figured I could use to help him on this project. This would be a process. Keep in mind, we don't have a lot of craft supplies sitting around - though we did have some heart stickers that came with the Valentines cards we bought for him to distribute.

For reasons I won't go into, Mr. J burned through that 90-minute window this weekend. And I told him then, "This is the only time I have for his Valentines box. If you keep me from using this time, you will have to be responsible for the box." I had to travel for work on Tuesday, getting home on Wednesday after Mr. J had left for his own trip. On Monday night I set out the shoe box and the stickers, and I told him, "You and Bear will have to make that box while he is home with you on Tuesday morning. If I get home on Wednesday night and there is no creative decorated box, it will be ugly for you, capisce?"

So last night, I staggered downstairs after putting the kids to bed (absolutely knackered), and went looking for the box. Here's what I found.

My first reaction, of course, was: Sonuvabitch, I have to make another f%^&ing box. I can't send him to school with this on Friday. Mr. J couldn't even have wrapped the box in tissue paper? Hell, wrap it in printer paper! How am I going to remove and reapply those stickers?

But then I thought twice. You know what? Screw it. So the other moms will sneer at his box. Screw them. Bear won't care - he had fun making the box with Daddy, and he doesn't need to feel like the box he made wasn't good enough.

And when I tell the teachers Bear made his box specially with Daddy, they will love it, because if Mama helped make this box it would be a shameful embarrassment, but Daddy? Wow! What a Super Involved Father!

Mr. J gets kudos just for showing up. He makes a crappy half-a$$ed box, he's Father Of The Year! I'm riding that double standard as far as it will take me.

Julep: Flag on the play

I just got an email from the sweet, sweet ladies who teach Bear at preschool. It starts off:

Valentine's Day is just around the corner. As a home project we would like your child to make a creative, decorated Valentine box for their Valentine's [sic]. Please make sure to open the box so the children can deliver their cards. The children will also need 17 Valentine cards to share with their friends....

 

"Home project"? WTF is a "home project"? He is two years old and he has homework? We don't have time for homework. I pick him up from school at 5:30, we get home at 6, we eat dinner, he takes a bath, he goes to bed, that's it. When is he supposed to make a creative, decorated box?

 

More importantly, I am paying these good people hundreds of dollars every month so that I don't have to do crafts with my toddler, or to feel guilty about how much I hate crafts, or to feel embarrassed around other parents at how bad my attempts at crafts turn out to be. This is a violation of my contract.

 

 [Sidebar: I was completely confused by the bit about "make sure to open the box" until I was typing it in here. The creative, decorated box has to have an opening so the other kids can put his cards in it. Check.]

Julep ... I forgot about this

While I'm here, let me fill y'all in on the St [Somebody] School Centennial that Mr. J and I went to earlier this month. It was a giant dinner function at the [Riverfront] Hotel, and let me just say: Can we get some Junior Leaguers up in here please?

If you are throwing a giant dinner for a Catholic parish, particularly the Catholic parish with our city's largest summer picnic, what is the number one thing you must supply? Booze. This is not rocket science. That first bar right past the check-in table needs to be fully stocked with everything, and then add a couple extra cases to be on the safe side. There is no excuse for that bar to shut down while people are still getting their name tags. And then the next bar shut down too! They made everyone in line go get drinks from the bars in the ballroom. And this was the big ballroom - there were only two bars open during the dinner, and it had to be close to a thousand people in there. A thousand thirsty people - who were paying cash for their drinks.

And there's another thing. If you are charging $50 a head for a dinner -- no band, we are just talking facility rental and meal - you need to throw people a couple of drink tickets. I'm not saying you have to have an open bar: although Lord knows that is preferable, I understand that's not always economically feasible and plus there are liability issues. But come on, who doesn't feel happier at a party with a couple of drink tickets clutched in her hot little hand?

Then there was the food. It was all "stations" which is perfectly fine, but if you are going to make people run all over the damn ballroom for a full meal, you need to make sure that the stations are stocked. Nobody wants to stand in line for ten minutes only to discover that the prime rib is all gone and you've been waiting this whole time for turkey. And here's a tip: nobody in this crowd wanted the turkey. Refer back to paragraph 1 and consider your demographic.

Last but not least, if you have a program to put on, do a dry run to make sure your speakers can keep it in their assigned time frames, and start on time. When your little card says that the program will start at 7:30 and be over at 8:30, people tell the sitter they will be home around 10. When you start the program at closer to 8:00 and you're still rambling on up there at 9:36, people in the audience are texting each other things like "OMG GET THE HOOK." Not the note you meant to end on.

Oh, one more thing. Sing-alongs only work if everyone in the audience knew the song when they came in.

Sigh. With all of that, it was still a good night. The crowd was lots of fun, and I just felt like that crowd deserved better. You know St Somebody must have plenty of JL alums running their PTA. I really wish one of them had taken some time to whip the planning committee into shape.

Julep: Not again.

I just got a phone call from Mr. J: his Judgy Grandma is planning a family gathering to celebrate his dad's (non-milestone) birthday at their country club, for dinner. We were given date and time -- a full five days before the man's actual birthday -- and told to attend. On one week's notice!

 Judgy Grandma has never held a job, and her husband has been retired for eons. But some of us do work for a living. In fact, I had a business development cocktail function scheduled that evening: I was supposed to be mingling with my partners' clients and (the hope is) convincing them that I would do a great job of handling work we don't currently do for those clients.

It pisses me off that this woman is constantly arranging command performances. Never, not once, has she ever called to ask about our schedule before she plans something we must attend at the peril of incurring a whole round of We're Offended -- a favorite game among the Mr.-family womenfolk in which Judgy Grandma the Queen Bee, her daughters the Drama Queens, and their daughters Trashy BabyMama and Tits McGee get themselves all frothed up about how they aren't being paid enough attention. (Most recently, TBM got her knickers in a twist because Mr. J did not call her personally to extend an invitation to our daughter's baptism. Mind you, when he spoke to her mother TBM was on her way over there, and he asked that she be filled in. But that was not good enough. The whole branch of the family skipped the after-party to show how offended they were. What a shame.)

Have some respect! If I need to attend, check my availability before scheduling, or at least give me reasonable notice. Sometimes I have work things to do! Hell, some times I have fun things to do! -- and trust me, "fun things" does not extend to a family function with the extended Mr. clan. I'd a hundred times rather stand around drinking cocktails and talking business with strangers.

It's a Social Contract: Deal With It: Dibbs

Oh, the BC.  I'm dubbing it MW Munchausen Coalition.  They wear their designer Kohl's outfits, perhaps with a breast cancer ribbon, carry their 31 bags, talk about their above-ground swimming pools, and consider themselves high-rollers.  One of them had the temerity to tell me she considered a Master's Degree, but she couldn't give up Mary Kay.

Their latest trend is designer disabilities:  Non-Verbal Learning Disability, Ocular-Motor Dysfunction, blah, blah.  They come my office and cry for an hour because they fear their straight "A" student children can't read.  I don't even need an evaluation for that.  Also?  There is cancer in this world.  Shut it.

So, one of them is worried for my health and wants to sell me in-home vitamins, etc.  Melaleuca.  I took some.  They're fine.  Whatevs.  I will not be "scheduling my in-home party."  She cannot understand the domino effect that comes from said parties.  Schedule one vitamin party and you wake up broke with Partylites and Ahni and Zoey scrapbooks all over the floor.  It's sad, wrong, and not of the Lord.  I will not.

She's farmischt.  The coalition lives for this shit.  Probably so they can talk about how I hate their kids.

Oh, well.  More fodder.