Lola: The Return of Mad Men

Darling girls - I have absolutely nothing of any substance to contribute on this beautiful morning, other than in about 5 minutes I am going to bust out for a lovely walk to the sweet tunes of Grace Potter and the Nocturnals on my i-pod. But before I go, I wanted to note the fact that Mad Men will be returning to TV on August 16. So go Mad Men yourselves as I have!

Julep: Just noticed -

... the Twitter feed. Did someone get in a bus accident?

Dibbs: I Don't Care if A. Got a Keyboard

My grandfather called tonight. My parents are out of town, and he needed to chat, so I got the honors. (I know. I truly am grateful to have grandparents who can still call me. Its' just...)

He asked when I would be home next and what time I went to bed and told me all about his sore arm and my grandmother's "puniness." Then the conversation went where it always goes: my cousin A. I think I've sufficiently complained about my cousin A. and my grandparents' obvious favoritism toward her. (I'm pretty sure the other residents at The Ridge think I'm disabled. So inferior I am to A.) Here's the latest: A. got a keyboard. Have I told you this already? It's possible. I've heard it at least six times.

You see, A. wasn't feeling well. She went to the doctor, who told her she might be depressed. You know, because "It's hard to finish school and go into the work world." I agree that it is hard---when you're twenty-two. I hated leaving that sorority dorm and instead getting up for work in the morning all alone. Sucked. However, A. has experience in this matter. She has three Bachelor's degrees. She just never works. The thought just came to me that she really should have gotten a PhD in one area so she can teach. So suited to the life of academia she is that she can't function outside the university walls. Silly A. Next time she goes back to get another degree, I'll mention this idea.

My grandfather often mentions how glad he is that A. has a husband to take care of her. Me, too! If not, he'd be doing it. He already bought the damn keyboard, because, apparently, it's a good treatment for depression. Whatever. I don't want him using his fixed income to take care of a girl who's fully able to get up and work. If she's that depressed, she needs to apply for disability. Ooh, I'm pulling that one out next time he brags about her.

Julep: On the Home Front

So Mr. J and I are going to spend Saturday and Sunday at Kentucky Lake with the in-laws. And BOTH dogs. That's right, she caved. Now everyone please say a little prayer that The Twins behave beautifully all weekend!

Can I switch gears and fuss about my own family? My younger sister Sissy, to be specific. I'm about to head to J-Mama's for our weekly dinner which means I am about to hash through the topic below for about the 800th time. And I need to vent.

Although they both earned bachelor's degrees years ago, for the last six years, either Sissy or her husband (The Saint) have been in school ... Sissy was getting an education certification and master's, and The Saint went back for training in graphic design. But just around the time that Sissy went back to school, the house of her dreams went up for sale -- her best friend once lived there, it's a cute little place right across the street from our high school (and two blocks from my house not that that was a consideration).

J-Mama had been contemplating an investment in rental property, so she bought the Dream House and rented it to Sissy and The Saint -- at a rate far below market due to the ongoing education. But J-Mama thought and I wholly concur that a cute little property in the Highlands is a great place to stash some cash regardless of whether it is currently generating income. (Heck, even in the recent housing market slowdown the properties there have held their own nicely.) And you can't imagine a better tenant than Sissy -- the OCD sure does come in handy for keeping a place tidy.

OK, fast forward to 2009. Poor little J-Mama is getting very anxious about retirement and her 401(k) and the damage done by the economic collapse and what if there's another mass layoff at her place of employment and she can't find another job at her age. I keep telling her not to worry, but you know, she's got a point. Meanwhile, Sissy is fully employed in the public school system. The Saint has graduated from his program, but is still holding down his old job while looking for a graphic design gig. And Sissy is preggers. Yay for them and all that, but she has started making noises about how maybe she won't go back to work after she has the baby.

Now I love a cute little house in the Highlands as much as the next girl. And y'all know that I fully support a woman who chooses to stay home with her child ... IF she can afford to do so. The sad fact is, sometimes people don't have a choice about working. Bills gotta get paid. And I do not think Sissy should be making plans based on the idea that our mother will continue to subsidize her housing arrangements. J-Mama has not raised the rent over there in SIX YEARS. That little house could be generating some positive cash flow for her instead of soaking her every month for a large portion of the mortgage payment.

If The Saint lands a well-paying job, and they can afford to pay market rate rent on the house using his salary alone, then I applaud Sissy if she chooses to stay home. But otherwise, maybe someone who has hit age 30 and is about to birth a child should start thinking of what other people need for a change ... and that includes her parent as well as her pending child.

Twinkle: A Free Exchange of Love and Germs

So, for the third time in my tenure as a mother, Twinklette has caught something unpleasant and passed it directly to me. It obviously can't be avoided, as babies are unfamiliar with quarantine procedures and think nothing of drooling, sneezing, or barfing on others. Most of the time, the willing recipients of these germs are their moms, who notice the same symptoms a few days later.

So I've got a nasty little summer head cold, which I actually seem to be getting over. Mr. Twinkle insisted that I take some Benadryl Allergy Sinus last night, even though he knows I only believe in the effectiveness of controlled narcotics. To my surprise, the Benadryl actually seemed to work. I woke up with my symptoms alleviated, but still exhausted from the meds, so Mr. Twinkle very graciously called his mom to come get Twinklette this morning. And I kind of wish he hadn't because I'm not that tired, but it's sweet that he wants me to get better, so I thanked him and acted appreciative. And it is sort of nice to have a break.

So when my MIL came to the door this morning, Twinklette ran to the door to greet her and MIL picked her up and said, "Say bye to Mommy." I leaned in to kiss Twinklette and MIL turned her head so that I could kiss the back of it. I took her little face in my hands and turned it around to give her two firm kisses on the cheek. I mean, Twinklette is the one who made me sick! She has immunity! And who is my MIL to determine what is and isn't safe between Twinklette and me? I've been the one wiping her nose for a week; I'm the one who knows about the schedule for her medicine. It's infuriating.

The worst was last winter, around Superbowl time when I had a horrible cold (much worse than now), caught from one Miss Twinklette. We were going to watch the Superbowl at a friend's house (even though I was in terrible shape), and MIL was watching Twinklette. When I went to say goodbye to my daughter, MIL exclaimed, "Don't kiss her!!!!!" I said, "She made me sick--I think she's immune," and kissed her repeatedly. That display by my MIL was much more blatant than the one today, but the sentiment was the same.

It's to be expected, and it's indicative of a larger issue: MIL thinks she has to protect the babies of the world from their inexperienced and irresponsible (or just plain selfish) mothers. No one is more concerned than I am about preserving the health and happiness of Twinklette, and the fact that MIL doesn't believe that is just so typical.

Dibbs: Weekend Notes

Hi, girls. Happy Sunday. I drank too much wine last night, my back and hips hurt, I took two Lortab, and now I'm chatty. So...I thought you all might want to know about my weekend. Call me if you want entertainment. I'm funny right now, if I do say so myself.

Last night I went to a tapas and sangria party, courtesy of a mutual friend of ours. You simply must come to the next one. Those people go all out.
Because it was this particular party, the man-who-changes-moods was there. If anyone got my late- night twitter about kicking someone in the shins, he is the culprit. TMWCM was nice as could be when I got there. He helped me set out my food, he opened my chips so I wouldn't spill them, and he found the missing brandy so I could finish the sangria. We were telling stories and having a grand old time. Then the singer did her little set. TMWCM was making the noise we share. He can roll his "r's." I can't. So once we established a signal that I could give and he would roll "r's" for me. Cute. After the songs were over, I asked if he remembered our signal. He said, and I quote, "Keep groovin', babe." Then he walked away.
I realize this may sound petty, but I was furious. I felt so stupid for reminding him of our signal, when he obviously doesn't even remember and feels no need to try.
When I left he complimented me on my fabulous guacamole. (It was fabulous; I bought it at Seviche.) He was at that time chatting up a girl who posts skanky things on his facebook. A friend of mine calls her a crack-whore. I don't know about that, but she sure does like botox. He usually ignores this girl (at least when I'm around.) Who knows. I told him I was sure he would find a way to have a good night and made my exit. I did not have a tantrum--until I got home. That doesn't count.

On another note, I just heard that Sarah Palin is writing a book. I read her resignation speech. It was terrible--random capitalized WORDS, the use of words like "gotta" and "nah," and multiple ((parentheses.)) Her poor editor. I hope it isn't the one Billy Gillispie is using. That person will lose all faculties.
I know. I'm not supposed to talk about Sarah Palin. Or Max Gilpin. I offend people when I do. Sorry.

Speaking of crack-whores, little brother Dibb's mother just threatened to kill him and even went so far as to pull a knife. He had to call the po-po. She says she's moving to Johnson City, Tn. You know that makes me happy. I can sing about it! The party never ends around here.

Also, my work lesbian just said on facebook that she had to bath her dog. I hate it when people use the word "bath" as a verb. I think it's a mountain thing, but just as I don't say "fixin to," we all need to correct our natural grammar when we find it's incorrect. And she's supposed to be the intellectual...

Now I have to go. I need to write an entry about the chaos at the Country Club on my other blog. Check it out.

P.S. I forgot about anonymity and had to edit. Sorry.

Twinkle: Your Family Planning is My MIL's Business

The timeless struggle between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law is a fascinating one indeed, and one that I'm trying to reconcile as a mother. Granted, I don't have a son, and I think mothers influence their sons and daughters in different ways. Mothers of girls get to watch their daugthers grow up to have similar traits and characteristics, whereas mothers of boys have to watch their sons live lives with girls who were not raised by them. That's the central tragedy to moms of boys, I think--that their sons marry girls who were raised by different mothers, sharing some other mother's mannerisms and traits. If incest were legal and advisable, I'm sure my MIL would think there's no better match for Mr. Twinkle than his sister.

The thing I love about your attitude, Julep, is that you're respectful of her rules but are still making your own decision about how to handle the (rather arbitrary) two-dog mandate. It's the best kind of punishment, because she brought it all on herself. And if this woman shows such blatant favoritism to some dogs, I hate to think what will happen if one grandchild gets better grades than another one. Perhaps you all should take the smartest one on vacation with you.

This sort of reminds me of my own MIL, who is practical in all matters, especially family planning. This is a woman who wanted no more than 2 children so the adults in the house wouldn't be outnumbered. No one told her that she's bigger than kids and also the boss; she has no trouble wielding authority, so I really don't know why she thought more than 2 were out of the question. She also spaced them 5 years apart so she wouldn't have to pay for more than one college education at a time. These were her decisions, and they make a lot of sense from a practical standpoint, and it's not my place to judge them. Nor is it her place to judge Mr. Twinkle's and my desire for a large family, nor the fact that we want our children to be close enough in age that they can play together and have something in common. These things are important to us just as her reasons were important to her.

Just as she believes she's the only person who can take care of an infant, my MIL also thinks she knows what's best about everyone's family planning choices (not just people in her family). If she hears talk of some random having Irish twins, we all have to sit through a long soliloquy on the perils of having two in diapers. If someone has 5 kids, we have to hear her wonder how those parents will ever pay for everyone's college. At a bris, she'll marvel (and not in a good way) about the number of babies there. I mean, who does she expect the parents of this newly-minted Member of the Tribe to hang out with if not other parents of babies? (We can't all be in the 60-and-over mah jong group at the Glenview). The worst wrath was reserved for the octo-mom, and the fact that the octo-mom aroused such ire in my MIL actually made me want to defend the indefensible.

I do think there's a desire to influence our decisions in her endless ranting and raving about other people's family planning, but there's also a sincerity that makes me believe she thinks she really does know best.

And I've got news for her. We didn't consult her the first time around, and we won't be asking her advice next time, either. We're going to do things our own way, which is not necessarily her way. I can't help it that she didn't raise me.