Julep: the saga continues

First, I'd like y'all to know that by dint of getting up very early Saturday morning, I was able to procure some balloons and streamers for the birthday girl. Her little party felt festive and of a very manageable size. Next year will be soon enough to include her future best friends, including of course Tiny Twinks.

Now for something we all should have seen coming: the update on the fashion front. Pumpkin's grandmothers bought her new outfits for her birthday. I should begin by saying that I don't actually like the dresses my mom bought for her, either -- they have cross-stitched necklines and pockets, and while they sound cute in description and probably looked good online (I know these were mail order, I inherited my dislike of shopping), in person they look a little too much like 1970s housedresses.

As for my MIL, Mr. J accused me of being overly critical of his mother, and I see his point. I know she means well - and I don't want to say, "just stop buying her things" - and I have to give her props. She scrupulously abided by the three rules I gave her for little girl's clothing. Not a sequin or an animal print in sight. And yet I do not want my child to wear any one of these three ensembles.

You can't tell very well in this photo, but that white fabric is textured - sort of a nubby inverse-eyelet. Plus the three ruffles on the sleeves (two in a pattern not appearing elsewhere in the ensemble), plus the bow,* plus the ladybug applique, plus the rick-rack. Oh, and the leggings.

 If the bottom of this dress were in only two fabrics instead of three, I'd be OK with it. But prairie floral plus eyelet plus gingham? Overkill.

Again, strip off the skirt appliques (not that you can - I looked) and this would be acceptable even if navy-on-navy seersucker is a little dark for a toddler. But red-and-white ruffled hem and straps plus white waist (in a different fabric) plus star-spangled bow plus polka-dot star and heart appliques is just a bridge too far.

 

Mr-Mama's choices can best be described as "bright" and "busy." I am more of a "simple" and "muted" kind of person. This extends to our personal clothing choices as well - I suspect she thinks my wardrobe is a little dull, but you know, there is less room for big bright prints and statement jewelry on a person of my size than on someone her size. And I may add, even less room on a toddler. My personal rule of thumb would be: If you can't describe the dress fully in a maximum of three descriptive clauses, there's too much happening. But I can't go back to the well with that one - how many rules can I set out? And whatever I come up with, she's going to get around. Who knew there was so much dreck out there?

After discussion with Mr. J, one of these outfits will go back to the store - but only one (while the other two will be worn as infrequently as I can manage). Which will it be? I put it to you, Daddy Rabbit Girls. Vote in the comments, please!

P.S. As a palate cleanser, I offer you the dress Pumpkin received from Nanny. (1) Green gingham (2) with smocked yoke.

Adorable. Pumpkin is wearing it today, in fact. God bless Nanny.

* For voting purposes, be aware that I think I can get the bow off.

Twinkle: On Religious Holidays and Fun

Well, it was a joyful Easter in the Twinkle household, which began when Tik Tok by Ke$ha* came on the radio in the car, and E exclaimed, "I love this song!" So we cranked it up and rolled down the highway to Holy Trinity in Georgetown. It ended with E getting into some craft paint and painting her Easter dress and her baby sister's head, before promptly wetting and discarding her underpants, which Baby B immediately picked up and wore as a bracelet. And there was lots of candy-fueled fun in between.

I've spent a lot of time with Mr. Twinks' family this week, and there is a remarkable difference between his family and mine, and I think it stems from the way each family celebrates their own holidays. A trip to the zoo with my inlaws was a sad lesson in healthy Passover snack foods. My sister-in-law brought plenty of raisins and matzo for all, and when we passed the ice cream stand she said, "Good thing it's Passover, because I really want some ice cream." I mean come on--if you really want some ice cream (and you have no religious objection to it on that day), you should just have some ice cream. She was actually glad that Passover was there to keep her in line, and that is just sad. Compare that to my cousin today, who said of her 20-month-old daughter, "She pretty much just had chocolate for breakfast, and I really don't care. As long as her belly is full for church..."

I believe this stems from the way Jews and Christians celebrate their holidays. Compare Easter and Passover. Children are expected to sit quietly and still in seder meals, just like they are in a church service. But after the church service, there is an Easter egg hunt and a day of candy and running around in the sunshine, and games and cookies and cake and everything that kids love. After the Passover meal, you might get a dry cookie made from matzo if you're lucky, and then you have to sit there for even longer. Then you go home and go to bed, and you can't eat bread or chocolate or anything fun for a week. I don't think the Jews are particularly great at gearing their holidays toward the kids, and I think that attitude that you need to buck up, sit still, and deal with how much it all sucks sort of seeps into everything they do.

At the family zoo outing there were three grandparents and one mom (not me) who were straight-up b!tching out all the kids for running around and doing what kids do--and the zoo is a perfectly appropriate place for kids to run around and do what kids do. At the Easter party, there were lots of sets of parents and grandparents encouraging the joyful madness. There was actually an impromptu egg toss (raw, naturally) with all the children in their Easter finery. Can you imagine that happening with the Fun Sink family? It never would. (And no one's outfit was harmed in the fun).

I think Jews actually think it's character-building to have to sit through all those sucky holidays. They think, "I was able to sit through a two-hour seder and behave myself, and you should, too. And, by the way, the Easter bunny is for pussies**." They don't realize that they are missing out on the joy of creating something magical for their children, even if the magic is sort of extra, and doesn't really have anything to do with the holiday from a religious standpoint. I'm sure some creative Jew could come up with some whimsical Passover tradition that kids would like, but everyone would frown on it because it would make the holiday impure, and there would be a big scuffle about whether the rabbis approved, and no rabbi ever would, and the whole thing would just make everyone more downtrodden and exhausted than before.

These people expect children to fit into their boring adult holidays, instead of making some aspects of the holidays ones that children will have fun with and want to embrace. I think it affects how they treat children in all situations. They expect them to be perfectly-behaved little adults, at the seder or at the zoo or wherever. And don't get me wrong--I want my children to have good manners, but I don't think good manners and fun are mutually exclusive.

And, by the way, I like Passover. But I do think it could benefit from a little bit of whimsy.

*Disclaimer: My children do not normally listen to Ke$ha.

**Sorry, y'all. I hate that word, too.

Julep: Second child blues

Poor Pumpkin. Her brother had a big Hallowwen themed blow-out for his first birthday - but her first birthday is Saturday and we are essentially doing nothing. Well, not entirely nothing: we've invited her grandparents and her godparents and her aunt, uncles and cousins to come over on Saturday mornning for lunch and cake. That's it. No invitations, no balloons. I just can't manage to get my $h!t together for anything more elaborate.

In my defense, Mr. J threw me off because he wanted to have her birthday party at a park, like at the Big Rock picnic shelter. But (1) she will hardly be running in the creek or on the playground herself, nor would any children her age, so this seemed a little inhospitable to me, and (2) weather is always a concern especially at this time of year. I told him if he wanted to arrange it himself, that was fine but I did not have time to be calling Metro Parks to reserve a picnic shelter. To my complete surprise (not at all), he never did anything.

So our baby girl's first birthday is tomorrow and we are, essentially, punting.

Twinkle: Escort or Trust Beneficiary?

There's a certain trust company in town that Mr. Twinks does business with, and they recently invited us to hear the Israel Philharmonic. There was a reception before the concert, and it was filled with exactly the demographic you'd expect: lots of olds, and a couple of younger types in ascots.

There was one notable exception. 

The first thing I noticed about her was her professional and severely over-sprayed up-do. Her dress was a little too cocktail-y and it had sparkles. She clearly is not someone who understands fashion nuance, because if any of us went to the orchestra on a Tuesday night, we would know how to dress on point. We'd wear a casual cocktail dress (not the sparkly kind) or a nice suit if we were coming from work. Normal hair, because we wouldn't want it to look like we went to the trouble of getting a professional up-do for this. The event is special, so we'd want to look like we put a little thought or effort into an outfit, but not too much thought or effort, because after all the orchestra on a Tuesday night is not the Speed ball. We'd be dressy, yes. But not too dressy, because too dressy means we'd be trying too hard. And this person was.

The next thing I noticed about her was her elaborate leg tattoos. At first I thought they were those awful coloful-patterned leggings, but I was right next to her in the buffet line and they were definitely tats.

The third thing I noticed was that she was returning to the buffet line for seconds or thirds and lingering a little too long in front of the meatball chafing dish (not that I wasn't discreetly sneaking a meatball every now and then, too...so no judgment there). But she was a little too excited about the food and didn't know how to be cool about it.

I think we can all agree that the above evidence points to one obvious fact: this was a Pretty Woman situation.

I discreetly pointed her out to Mr. Twinks, who immediately said with disgust, "That's what happens to trust beneficiaries," and I was like, "No way." Mr. Twinks insisted that the older man she was with was her grandfather and not her most generous client (as he so clearly was). The main reason Mr. Twinkle was wrong on this is that she was trying way too hard. If it were her grandfather, she'd be in normal street clothes with normal hair. No one gets a professional up-do and puts on a too-sparkly cocktail dress to go to the orchestra with her grandfather on a Tuesday. I'm sorry. And if she were really the spoiled trust beneficiary that Mr. Twinks was trying to make her out to be, she probably wouldn't have cared enough to show up at all, much less get an up-do.

Am I reading way too much into this up-do? What do y'all think? 

Eff: Dibbs

That's what you say when you realize the Bourbon Magnate is staying one condo down.

Twinkle: Blame It All On My Roots, I Showed Up In Boots, and Ruined Your Erev Pesach Affair

You've all met my dour yankee SIL and her husband, the Smug Vegans. Well they're making their annual Passover visit in just a few short weeks. This always makes the already-draconian Passover restrictions even more unfun--who would have imagined it was possible?

So the deal with Passover is that you're supposed to go for eight days without eating any bread and lots of other stuff, too. Even fruits and veggies are restricted (no corn or legumes, and everything theoretically has to be able to be grown in Israel, or something) and any processed food has to be marked "Kosher for Passover." It's a big, expensive undertaking, and I suspect it's a racket perpetuated by the Manischewitz food company to sell their disgusting chocolate or potato chips or whatever that most people wouldn't eat throughout the rest of the year, but will buy for this one week just to have a little variety. (Just so y'all know; I never make it to the end of this and I don't even try). 

Anyway, you can imagine that if you had to go all that time without eating normal foods, you'd want your last meal before Passover to be a decadent blowout with all your favorite foods. (I'm totally on board for this meal, by the way). So I was happy to get an email from my SIL's lovely mother-in-law this morning, saying that she and her husband and a few other family members want to treat the whole family to a fun Erev Pesach (the night before Passover) meal, to thank the Louisville crew for our generosity throughout Passover. It was a kind gesture--my SIL's inlaws are lovely Southern Jews with good manners and a fun outlook on life that is so refreshing since Fun Sunk is usually running the show around here. They all come to town once a year at Passover and make the whole thing more bearable, and actually joyful. They drink and laugh and bring aunts and uncles and little kids. They even bring out the best side of Fun Sink, who cuts loose a little bit around them. I like when they're around.

So, yay, Erev Pesach meal--it's a Sunday night so it's not going to interfere with anything else fun that'll be going on; it'll be a big family meal with kids and grandparents and everyone. I was fine with it. And then I read the crucial sentence: "The Smug Vegans have suggested Roots." So, thanks to the Smug Vegans, we get to blow it out on Erev Pesach with bean sprouts and steamed banana leaves.

Mr. Twinks and I are appalled. Appalled. And it's not just because of the last-meal-before-Passover aspect of it. It's just so rude and presumptuous. At my count, there will be 18 people at this dinner, and three of them--three--are vegans. (Two are Smug Vegans and one, Mr. Fun Sink, is the much less common kind of vegan: the Nice Vegan Who Enjoys A Good Steak Every Now And Again). So three people out of the 18 want to eat bean sprouts, and now we're all going to Roots. Roots. How am I supposed to get drunk at Roots?

Also, what the hell are my children supposed to eat at Roots? We've taken them there before with the Nice Vegan Who Likes Steak, and here's the answer: nothing. They hate everything at Roots, as any normal redblooded Americans would. This will only make my children look worse, as I'm sure Sophie will be stuffing her face with the braised beets while my children rightly demand to know where the fuck they can get a bowl of mac and cheese. Similarly, I can't imagine that the inlaws' 90-year-old grandmother, Bubbie, is going to enjoy Roots. Bubbie owned a catering company in Memphis; Bubbie knew Elvis, OK? Bubbie is not down with bean sprouts. Even Fun Sink likes a fat chicken thigh every now and then.

The choice shows a complete disregard of other people's tastes or preferences. It's so typical of the Smug Vegans to try to force their aberrant lifestyle on the rest of us. It's the very worst kind of bad manners. It's the equivalent of me holding them down while Mr. Twinkle sprays a can of whipped cream into their mouths.

Twinkle: The Mitzvah of Mishloach Manot

Well, it's Purim, and y'all know what that means: Fun Sink is doing her annual duty of delivering little Purim gift baskets to family and friends.

This is good news for me, not only because I am a recipient of one of these coveted baskets, but also because she employs my children in the baking, stuffing, and delivering of the mishloach manot. Just so y'all know, I just learned how to spell that and I still can't pronounce it, but here's a translation: it means that I got two afternoons off this week. One while they baked, one while they delivered. So you won't hear me complaining about that. Yay, Purim!

I actually do like Purim, because it's the one holiday that actually seems happy. I mean, sure the evil king was going to kill all the Jews; that's a bit of a downer. But then the lovely Queen Esther comes along and uses her feminine charms to convince him not to. Or something. (Wait--was Queen Esther's husband really a bad guy? Did she actually bone with some murderous anti-Semite who wanted to kill everybody? That doesn't sound right. Did someone say "use your imagination, wink wink" when describing how Queen Esther convinced him not kill everyone, or was that my French professor talking about the study sessions between Heloise and Abelard? I have no idea). Anyway, it's the one holiday where Jews are supposed to cut loose and have a little fun--Mr. Twinks claims you're commanded to get so drunk you can't tell the evil King Haman's name from anybody else's--so naturally it's a holiday I can get behind.

Of course, Fun Sink has to take the Mardi Gras of Judiasm and turn it into another depressing and joyless obligation. And, I swear I don't mean this bitchy, but here is a picture of the basket:

And here are the contents: some dried bananas and apricots, hamantaschen (not all they're cracked up to be), trail mix, some fruit bars, and kosher grape juice. I'm sorry, what? Did someone say grape juice? Am I supposed to get excited about grape juice? Who the fuck is even going to drink that? I mean, I know we have little kids so obviously they could drink it, but is Fun Sink actually delivering grape juice to adults, in the name of celebration and excess? I know those dried apricots are decadent and all; I wouldn't want anyone to go overboard. 

I told Mr. Twinks that if it were me, I'd deliver a split of Veuve Clicquot to my friends and family (same size, infinitely more exciting). He said we should do it next year. But getting into a big fat mishloach manot contest with Fun Sink is not my goal. How about I just buy some Veuve and drink it myself? Or y'all could come over and help me. All in the name of Purim, of course.

Also, can we talk about the plate that all this was delivered on?

Where do you even get a Purim plate? Obviously they're not that common (if they were, who would choose this monstrosity?). I think if it were between this plate and something plain, or just a generic Mardi Gras themed plate with masks on it or something, or any plate other than this, I would go with the alternative. Here are some close-up highlights. I'm not even sure I want this plate in my house. Good luck not having nightmares tonight.