Twinkle: My China Narrowly Avoided Being Tainted with Non Kosher Meat

It has truly been forever since Daddy Rabbit has been active, and we all need to contribute to make it a relevant place to post our ideas. I realize I've been posting less because of my more Zen relationship with Fun Sink, but last night she made me mad, so here I am.

She had this big idea to do a Shabbat dinner picnic at the JCC. She wanted to pick up Momma's BBQ and have us all picnic poolside and swim after dinner. She had a whole vision, but Mr. Twinkle needed to work and I needed to check out after a week of carting my eldest to and from camp and swim team practice, and entertaining the rest of the crew. The last thing we wanted was a late pool night--we just wanted to get them in bed and be done with it--but we decided to roll with it because she had her vision of a picnic.

Well, the storms came right about the time we were supposed to meet up at the J, and the rain plan was to "picnic" at our house. I'd checked the forecast and had already set the table, just in case: linen tablecloth (only because I had to add a leaf to my table to accommodate eight people, and that was the tablecloth that fit), but I made it more casual with flamingo placemats and napkins from Pomegranate. I also set the table with my white Herend china (the "meat" china, since they insisted on me getting two sets), and my "meat" sterling. I knew they were bringing Momma's, and they don't eat carryout on their real dishes, because carryout would taint the purity of the kosher Twinkle family dishes and flatware. They always use paper and plastic for carryout. But, I thought misguidedly, this is my house, and this is how I do things.

I like setting a pretty table. I don't mind washing everything by hand. I want my children to appreciate nice things and to know what to do when they're invited to someone's house and confronted with a formal table setting. I'm not saying every meal is formal, but we use our nice things on the regular, and my children are used to them. And if I'm serving dinner for eight people, and it's Shabbat (when you're supposed to use your nicest things--one thing I really like about the concept), you'd better damn well believe I'm going to set a beautiful table. None of that actually matters, though--the bottom line is that it's my house, and that's how I like to do things.

Mr. Twinkle and I actually had a conversation about it on the way back from the J (where we had all tried to meet, sticking to Fun Sink's original vision until it was storming brutally, and only then admitting the picnic was probably not going to happen). Mr. Twinkle explained that he didn't want to use our china for non-kosher meat, and he knew his parents weren't going to like it, and he didn't like it either. I reminded him that we've used our plates for carryout before when we've entertained other times our almost nine years of marriage, and I reminded him of his sister's house (back when they used to eat more than raw nuts and twigs), and how they'd put Chinese carryout on their dishes. He said they don't even keep kosher, and I was like, "That's your answer? How is it OK for them not to keep kosher and use whatever plates they want, but we do but we're going to get in trouble for using our plates with carryout tonight?" And my point, really, was that it's our house and we can serve dinner on whatever plates we want, as can my SIL. At the end, he agreed with me (and suggested we get some dishes that we only eat carryout on; I'm thinking these). But he said it would probably help him to just let his parents use whatever plates they wanted. Since so much of our lives is tamping down the crazy in our parents, I was graciously going to put away the plates, in the spirit of supporting my husband, because I know he would do the same for me.

We made it home before Fun Sink, and I told him I was going to put the plates and flatware away, and he said, "No, it's ok. I want you to leave them out." I protested a minute but he protested back, so I left the plates.

Enter Fun Sink in a flurry of bags and coolers. I was putting ice in the julep cups when Fun Sink's mom came into my kitchen saying, "The meat's traiff! The meat's traiff! You don't want to put that on your dishes!" Fuck you, lady--you eat shrimp, so don't talk to me about traiff. Also, don't use the word traiff in my house. This is America, not the old country, and I don't speak shtetl and neither do you. 

Fun Sink was at the door saying something to Mr. Twinkle about traiff, but when she came into my kitchen, she was all, "Oh, I just don't want you to have a big mess to clean up! Oh! I just didn't want you to do any work." At least she knew better than to say the word traiff to me. The next thing I know, she's clearing away my dishes, and my sterling flatware is in a big, unorganized pile on the kitchen counter. First rule of sterling flatware ownership: don't put it in a big pile--stack it neatly and count it so nothing gets lost, you fucking cretin.

I was fuming, and I know that perhaps Mr. Twinkle could have stood up for me, or I could have stood up for myself, but it's just not worth it over some dishes. Meanwhile she was buzzing around my kitchen as if she owned the whole place, asking everyone if they needed anything. I just opened two bottles of Prosecco, one for everybody else and one for me. They didn't even drink theirs; what a waste. And I knew they wouldn't, but just like using real china, I also believe in giving people a full pour of wine. At their house you get paper plates and napkins and a thimbleful of wine. At mine you get china and linen and a full pour, and that's what matters--hospitality, and the little bit of extra work that makes things nice--and that's what my daughters will see.

I look at it as bigger than Fun Sink, but actually a lesson in marriage. I took the path of least resistance to avoid trouble for Mr. Twinkle, and he's done the same for me on other occasions. Our parents, who put so many demands and requirements on us, will never see how their tyranny makes us a team, but it does.

Julep: and another thing --

I've got my crankypants on today, so I might as well come here to write up what I meant to post on Saturday:

Saturday was a gorgeous day and the first weekend of the summer (i.e. post-Memorial Day). Literally everyone in our entire neighborhood was outside, either walking a dog or headed to or from the pool. So who turned on her sprinkler, and carefully arranged it so that it was, at every moment, spraying some portion of the sidewalk in front of her house?  And not a little quick spritz that you could run past and just get hit by a few drops; no, she had it set so that no matter which way the water was falling, a pedestrian passing her house would get the full force.

Crazy Neighbor Bunky strikes again.

Julep: too long gone

Ladies, where have we been? I want to see a new post each from Twinks and Dibbs and Lola hit up the Twitter within the week. I'll start this off with some fun from Mr. J's crazy aunts on the Facebook.

Aunt #1 recently posted the following as a Facebook status update - and I am re-typing this word for word, with unedited grammar and punctuation (note the final omitted period): "You can give and give. You can be there for support but you would think that the friends you do that for would be kind back. Maybe they just never were your friend"

To be clear, this was posted by a 58-year-old woman at 9:45 p.m. on a Sunday ... not by a drunken 20-year-old back in the dorm at 2 a.m., after the Sigma Chi Derby Days Skit Night where her sorority little sister spent the whole night flirting with the guy she's been hooking up with herself. If this were posted by the 20-year-old ... say, own of my sweet cousins ... I would PM her and to remind her that using social media while drunk and pissed off is never a good idea. Then I would call her to say, "Listen, honey, passive aggression is no way to live. If you've got issues with someone, be a big girl and talk them out in person, don't use the Facebook. You don't need everyone talking about your dirty laundry." But this was an adult woman, presumably one who was sober at the time. What is wrong with this picture?

The second fun post featured all three of the crazy aunts. Mr. J's sister is on vacation - she and the Highly Regrettable Boyfriend went to Florida, and started off at Judgy Grandma's condo in Fort Lauderdale. Mr.-Sis posted a photo from a ball game their first night away... and Aunt #1 commented, "Take good care of my condo." I was a little confused. I asked Mr. J: "Does Aunt #1 have a place in Florida too?" No, he said, she's talking about Judgy Grands' place. Hmmm, I thought, I bet that won't go over well.

Sure enough, Aunt #2 promptly replied: "Your condo?" and Aunt #3's daughter chimed in on behalf of her mother. Next thing you know all three of the Judgy Grands' daughters are back and forth about ownership rights in the condo, with multiple comments from each of them. You might think this was all light-hearted if you hadn't previously heard them sniping at each other over how to divide their mother's jewelry when she dies. The one who lives in New Zealand told Mr. Mama in my hearing that she would need Mr. Mama to get over there right away and grab certain things for her because the other sisters would snatch all the good stuff before she was able to fly in.

Ah, sisterly love!

Julep: false sense of cuteness

That's what I've been suffering from all day, and it's no one's fault but my own. I have got to stop letting Mr-Mama fill my wardrobe with lovely items that are simply not flattering on a small frame ... or at least, I've got to stop convincing myself that they will look good with the right pieces from my wardrobe. 

I think it's time for another closet purge, friends.

Julep: armchair philosophizing

Since I'm back in the blogging neighborhood I figure it's a good place for me to raise this next topic - because this is awful and tragic, y'all, and I don't in any way mean to discount that with my philosophizing about the life choices of people I do not know in the slightest.

Yesterday a friend of Mr. J's (and mine, but primarily she's his friend) posted a GoFundMe link for a family she knows - a mom, dad, and two small children. I'm not sure which of the parents our friend went to high school with, but the father is 33 and was just diagnosed with mesothelioma - he had a routine surgery for hernia repair and the doctor discovered his abdomen was full of cancer. I'm somewhat familiar with meso because it mostly comes up in people who are exposed to asbestos - but sometimes (as in this case) it's purely random and ideopathic. Either way, it's nasty and it won't be cured. The family has gotten several opinions, but the long and short of it is, he's got 3-4 months to live untreated. With an aggressive campaign of chemotherapy, he might live 8-10 months. According to the GoFundMe page, they will start treatment tomorrow.

After only about 24 hours of setting up the page, they had already raised nearly $20,000. The page was vague about what the money was needed for, other than a reference to the man's fear for his family "not being taken care of." Presumably this well-educated and -employed man has health insurance to cover his medical expenses, and disability insurance to cover his family's living expenses for the duration of time he is no longer working, and life insurance for when he passes. So while I fully appreciate the desire to do something to help in this very unfortunate situation, I have a hard time seeing why people are giving them money. I mean ... they can give money to whoever they want. But setting up a care page for meals, child-tending, and hospital visits seems like it would be a lot more productive and useful.

Now here's the part that will really make me sound like a giant b!tch. I do not understand why this man has signed on for "aggressive chemotherapy" that will, at best, buy him an additional 4-6 months of life. Chemotherapy is literally torturous. You are pouring poison into your body - and I can absolutely see doing it if there were a chance it might cure him, but it won't. He's dying. And evidently he'd rather spend his last few months of life in a hospital, puking his guts out and losing his hair, than coming to terms with his impending departure from this life and making the most of the time he has left.

I don't judge this man. I am endlessly sorry for him and thankful that I am not in his shoes. But if it were me, I think and hope I would choose differently. His children are small, but they are old enough to remember him, and to remember how he faced death. I guess he wants them to know that he fought it. I think I would rather teach them that death is something we will all face someday, and it's nothing to be afraid of. If it were me, I would be booking a long family trip to someplace beautiful, and traveling around the country to say goodbye to my friends and loved ones while I still had the strength to go.

If the GoFundMe page were raising money for that, I'd be happy to pitch in.

Julep: Surely you jest.

I don't know if you girls even read this blog any more, but I tried calling my mama and she's evidently working, and Mr. J was terse with me as he is apparently knee-deep in paperwork, and I need to get this off my chest. So here goes.

My bitchy Lil Sis had another baby two weeks ago today. I was not all that interested in seeing said baby (y'all know I don't really get excited by infants) but I was trying to be a good sport so I called and texted her a couple of times to say I hoped everyone was well and we'd love to come by whenever she was ready for company. (Normally I would take a meal, but I can't cater to her smorgasbord of eating restrictions. She won't even eat Thanksgiving dinner at my house, so forget that idea.)

Anyway, Sunday morning she actually answered the phone - my mom and stepdad were over anyway so I think she figured she could get us all out of the way at once. The Bear was at the circus but Bits and I walked over. After 30 minutes we had to leave because I could feel myself about to go Hulk. She is so nasty to J-Mama, a woman who (a) would not harm a fly, (b) is sensitive by nature, and (c) bought Lil Sis the very house in which we sat while Lil Sis mouthed off to her.

But this was the richest part. Lil Sis - who is not Catholic, never baptized her kids, has no religious affiliation whatsoever and is the classic incarnation of a modern secularist - has decided that she wants to send her oldest child to St Spanish Tile next year for kindergarten. She tells me that they really think it's the right continuation of the good foundation they've laid at Hipster Prep preschool down the street. (Translation: lots of the other parents at Hipster Prep - presumably the Catholic ones - are going on to St Spanish Tile.) Lil Sis's kids are on scholarship at Hipster Prep, and while parochial schools are way cheaper than the private schools, St Spanish Tile is running about $7500 for non-parishioners. Not to worry, Lil Sis says - they've applied for financial aid and are hoping for a large grant from the local archdiocese to cover the tuition. Record scratch....

As a tithing, Catholic Service Appeal-donating member of the local Catholic community, I was pretty surprised to hear that the archdiocese was interested in sending Lil Sis's non-Catholic children to a Catholic school for free, particularly a Catholic school that is probably not struggling to keep the doors open, since it is in part of town where most of the neighbors can afford the tuition should they be interested. Surprised is one word. Really, really pissed is another. Why should I pay $9,000 a year to send my two Catholic kids to Catholic school while she sends her non-Catholic kids to Catholic school for free?

I know the archdiocese gives out financial aid, and I have read plenty about how they have a big push right now to increase that aid. But I always had the sense that the need was for families like one we know at our church: the dad went to grade school with Mr. J and he's now a plumber, and his wife worked at UPS. They have a daughter Bear's age and a newborn, and I won't be surprised if they add to the family eventually. They might be able to swing one tuition, but it will surely be a stretch for them to have multiple kids in grade school, or to send their kids to Catholic high school.

I talked with one of my partners who is on the board of the foundation that gives out the money for Catholic school aid. Apparently the greatest interests are in supporting schools in the southwest corridor of the city and increasing Hispanic enrollment. While the aid program is faith-blind, it also sounds like someone like Lil Sis -- who certainly isn't indigent, and isn't applying to a school in a poor neighborhood -- is probably going to get $500 or $1000 at best. The archdiocese has $1.5 million to give out and at least $5 million in demonstrated need.

So that is a silver lining ... she is almost certainly not going to get free tuition, and it's unlikely that any discount will even bring it to the level of what a parishioner pays. That takes the foundation back off my hit list, but even so, it infuriates me to think that underwriting Lil Sis's champagne tastes and beer budget could mean that some family like Plumber's might not get every nickel they need to educate their kids in the parish they were raised in. Where does she get off?

Furthermore, I can tell you from watching her utter lack of gratitude towards J-Mama: funding her is not going to inspire her to any tact or diplomacy when her kids are in second grade and it comes time for First Communion preparation. She will be perfectly willing and happy to bag on the Catholic Church's teachings while taking their (my) money, and lord alone knows what her kids will be telling the other kids in the class about what they hear at home.

Have mercy on the people of St. Spanish Tile, Lord. Don't let the archdiocese give her entitled free-riding bitchy ass a dime.

Julep: A classic MIL moment

In the past 48 hours, both of my kids have been down with a stomach bug: Bits was puking on Tuesday, and yesterday it was Bear's turn. Bits was fortunately at home with the bug hit, but Bear was at school - so someone had to go pick him up and spend the afternoon with him. That may be the subject of another, heavier post later ... right now I just need to tell someone about the interplay between the kids' illness and Mr. Mama.

All afternoon yesterday Mr. J was feverishly blowing up Mr. Mama's phone, hoping she could help out with the sick Bear so that he could get to Lexington for a work appointment rather than me having to leave work early. When she finally called him back - hours having passed - she was in the check-out line at Kohl's. She couldn't help, she was very busy shopping all afternoon - and I know Christmas is coming, but I also know that she has been stockpiling gifts since October. And she has two more weeks until Christmas, and no other obligations in her day time hours. Ahem. Anyway, she was unwilling to come help him out. Fair enough, she's got priorities.

So at 8:10 this morning she sent me an email asking how Bear was doing. I thought this was a very kind gesture since she knew he had been sick, and I wrote back promptly that although he was still upchucking at bedtime, he seemed to have made it through the night and was still sleeping when I left for work at 7:40, bless his little heart.

At 10:26, I got a call from Mr. J. He said, "I deliberately left my glasses in the truck so I could come back out and tell you about this. You will not believe it. She showed up at the house at 9:45 with her @$$ on fire telling me to get the kids out to the car, and she wanted me to drive since we were already going to be late. She made an appointment for them to get their Christmas pictures made."

Y'all. Two kids who have been puking everywhere for the past two days. And I know she did not have that appointment made before they got sick because she was just asking me on Tuesday if she could take them over the weekend. (And I said maybe, depending on what time she could get an appointment, so this wasn't her only chance.)

You know everyone who comes to that photography studio in the next week is picking up the bug. I would warn you off by name, but none of y'all would ever be tacky enough to take a child there in the first place. It's awful. Fake fireplace backdrops, fake pine cones. These photos are going to be a rich treasure trove some day when Bits and Bear encounter Awkward Family Photos.

As always, completely oblivious to the needs or interests of anyone other than herself.