LifePundit

Turkey Holds Her Ground

I have so much to be thankful for that it seems ungracious to make such a stink about hosting Thanksgiving. Or rather, about NOT hosting Thanksgiving.

For those who have been following the saga with my MiL, I've held my ground. Paul worked until 11:30 Monday night and will be working late again tonight. I still have plumbing fixtures in my den though the toilet is gone. I hauled some lumber outside because  I couldn't stand tripping over it anymore, and besides, I couldn't vacuum and heaven knows I need to vacuum at least twice a year or I'll go crazy.

So, my MiL, bless her heart, sent out an e-mail to everyone that since I couldn't host Thanksgiving she will have it at her SMALL house and even though we will all be CRAMPED and she doesn't know what the children will do in her SMALL house or where she will put everyone and that she doesn't have room for the food in her SMALL refrigerator, we would just make do.

She wrote that she was overwhelmed by it all and really needed my help (this was on an e-mail sent to multiple people in multiple states). I had already told her that I would bring some of the dishes and all of the desserts. So I sent her an e-mail repeating myself and she responded to all people in all states that she felt like the cavalry had arrived.

Then she (in an e-mail to all) asked to borrow my turkey platter since all of her platters are too SMALL. She wanted me to send it to Paul's job site and they would pick up from there. I told her I didn't want to do that because the platter has sentimental and monetary value. So she wrote back to all of us in all states that she didn't want to use that platter because her sink is too SMALL to wash it. I told her that my sink is too small to wash it, too, and that I have to wash each end separately. I think her sink is bigger than mine, but hey! Who's measuring?

Paul offered to bring a fried turkey. My MiL said that she would have to make do with a breast because her refrigerator is too SMALL so he's not to bring it.

She lives in a two-bedroom, two-bath freestanding house in a luxury retirement community. She has a full-sized kitchen only slightly smaller than mine. She has closets galore, some of them EMPTY. My refrigerator is normal sized, not giant. This is all hooey.

Back to the platter. So she rejects my turkey platter and wants me to bring another, smaller platter. I'm not a store or a platter collector. I've got one turkey platter. So I suggest to her that perhaps she should carve the turkey and put it on her two smaller platters. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Then she writes (to all) for me to be sure to keep all my dishes and desserts small and simple because her refrigerator and house is so SMALL.

And she also writes (to all) that she has no idea how to entertain all these people she's invited for the weekend so she's leaving what we do on Friday completely up to me. Oh no she's not!

I wrote back (to all) that there is nothing worse than having somebody plan your life and your time for you, and I would not be doing that to her guests. I gave her a list of things they could do and told her to let them choose how they wanted to spend their day. I may even be home writing which is what I planned to be doing back before my MiL invited everyone for Thanksgiving. Not that I'm not glad to see them but don't I get to say how I spend my holiday? Apparently not. I probably won't be home writing because that would be rude, plus I'm thinking my house is too SMALL for me to actually be able to write in or do anything so I'd better go sit in the car and possibly drive it somewhere far away.

In the meantime, Saintly Brother has invited me over. I'm thinking of sending the food to MiL's since it's too SMALL for me to fit in there and go to Saintly Brother's. Don't know where or if I'll eat (I've lost my appetite for all this) but I will be visiting at both places. Saintly Brother has some wonderful relatives coming whom I never see so I'm looking forward to stopping by there. I haven't spent a holiday with any of my side of the family in several years.

I do look forward to seeing Paul's brothers and his family. There's just such a high cost.

Am I being SMALL minded?

And I've got so much to be grateful for. I hate that it's so difficult to keep that focus in the middle of these SMALL concerns.

Happy Thanksgiving to you!

Sick Kids and Field Trips

The bus taking the eighth graders on their much anticipated field trip to Washington, D.C., just left. Lily's not on it. She caught a bad cold on the church retreat over the weekend.

She's a healthy girl who rarely gets sick. But she gets sick every time she goes on a field trip. It's partly a matter of not enough sleep (there's not even eight hours scheduled for sleep on these trips), getting run down and getting exposed to the sick kids on the trip. Because there are always sick kids on the trip.

I agonized all yesterday and last night over whether or not to send Lily. If sh'es just got a cold, she could power through. But what if it's the early stage of something else, and she gets worse?

And whatever it is, who else might catch it?

I was surprised to find myself rationalizing all the reasons that Lily should go anyway. I was surprised because every time she comes home sick from a field trip and tells me that so-and-so was on the trip and was sick from the moment she got on the bus and sneezed on everybody, I feel like calling so-and-so's mama and asking her just what was she thinking to send a sick kid on a trip? It can't have been fun for the kid, and it's sure not fun for the rest of the  now sick kids.

When Lily was in private school she went on a field trip to Williamsburg, Virginia, that was nearly a week long. A doctor's daughter got on the bus sick. And by the end of the field trip, one-quarter of the children were sick. At least one-quarter. And one-quarter of these kids missed the next full week of school. I know this is unusual, but one of the children developed lung-scarring and missed part of the next year of school as well!

Lily is still talking about how awful it was to be sick and to be marched all over Williamsburg. Not the memory we were hoping for.

But even with those experiences behind me, I tried to rationalize a way it would be all right to send Lily. Oh, she's probably not contagious. Probably all of them have colds. She'll feel fine by tomorrow and can just rest on the bus. We don't want her to miss anything. And for goodness sakes, we've paid our money which we probably can't get back!

But Lily was so droopy this morning. No fever but not well. I didn't have the heart.

I called the lead teacher to tell her that Lily wouldn't be going. And although I heard disappointment in the teacher's voice, I heard something else: Relief! She said that two other sick girls were going and she was worried about them. They've been sick with something and had been running fevers. I could tell the teacher was concerned that they weren't as well as their mothers thought or claimed.

The group is going to be walking a lot in what we consider cold weather. They're going to be walking all day. That's not how you get over being sick. The lead teacher said that Lily would be miserable, and I'm sure that's true. Unless she suddenly gets well tomorrow. Oh well. That is life.

I'm surprised that the two other sick girls are going. And I'm even more surprised with what mental gyrations I was willing to perform in order to justify sending Lily, too. I was going to use the time alone this week to power through NaNaWriMo.

And I'm glad that the child is in bed, getting better (I hope). That's where she needs to be.

Even though I'm not happy about an Obama administration coming in, I do expect that Washington will still be there later and available for exploration.

How to Get in Trouble While Minding Your Own Business

I just wrote a nice post about how some men go "dear hunting" when they say they're out "deer hunting," (in other words, they are out cheating on their wives instead of hunting) but I accidentally deleted the thing and don't feel like writing it again. If you want to read the news story, it's here. I especially liked the part where one man had a whole pack of coon dogs but didn't go hunting. On the way home from being up to no good he would pull over to the side of the road and roll in the mud so he'd look like he'd been hunting.

As for me, I'm here minding my own business and I continue to get fall-out from that. As I've already whined, my mother-in-law invited a bunch of relatives down from up North for Thanksgiving. We didn't know these folks were coming and had plans to have a low-key Thanksgiving at home while I worked on my novel and Paul finished (I hope) his renovations for his new office. We were even going out for dinner that day -- not cooking for the three of us. Our lives are already out of balance. Paul sometimes gets home after I'm already asleep.

But my mother-in-law isn't interested in what's going on with us; she's interested in getting me to put on a show, a Martha Stewart Thanksgiving at our house for her to brag about to her friends. Apparently, in her social set (middle school) at the retirement community, there's a big competition going on about what your children and DILs do for you. I don't know who else is keeping score, but she is. 

In fact, she has completely recreated herself. She's an English lady (she's lived in this country over fifty years and never been an English lady before) who has tea in the afternoons. She's never had tea in her American life until she moved to this community. And she's got magazines all about The Manors of England all over her coffee table. Nobody has ever seen her subscribe to these before or have any interest in doing things the English way. In fact, when I met her she was all about Danish Modern. Maybe one day when I'm feeling mean I'll do a whole post about how one can recreate oneself to a higher social status in the retirement community. It's just the same as middle school. Honest. Only with afternoon tea and a few props.

Back to Thanksgiving. I told her that maybe we could do that, but only if Paul's office is finished so that the building supplies that are stored in our den and living room will be out of the house. I didn't say no. I said I didn't know. And she blasted me and said to forget it.

Now it's clear that my hesitation has been conveyed to others and we've offended the relatives from up North, who thought that we would be glad to see them (we always are) and, to use their words, "would jump at the chance to host Thanksgiving."

Yes, but not this year, this month, this time.

When I tried to explain that I have two editors interested in my book and I need to work on that instead of moving building supplies (to where I don't know) and getting ready for company (more company than our dining room will hold, by the way), it was clear that no one understood why I couldn't do that later. That's what happens when you're a writer. People figure that you can always do it later. What they don't understand is that later was a long, long time ago. I need to do this now.

I checked again with Paul to be sure that he, too, wasn't mad at me. He said absolutely not, that "time kills a deal." What if the editors who are interested move on to other publishers, change jobs, leave the industry? Now is the time. Now is my time. And even so, it will be a few months before my manuscript is ready to send.

But the relatives are saying, what's a few days? A week?

It's the possibility of losing my story. My momentum. My confidence. I am one day away from writer's block. I've had writer's block last for years. But now, I'm writing. And that's what I'm called to do and that's what I'm going to do.

And it's not that I'm being inhospitable. I've offered as many relatives as would like to stay in our guest room and other nooks and crannies. I do welcome them and would love to see them. I'd try to get in my writing hours before they're awake. I just haven't agreed to cook a feast and empty the house of all the things that are supposed to go into the building. (And I assume people will know better than to use the toilet and sinks piled up in the middle of the den.)

I also understand that this is a tough time for some of the visitors, who are connected to Wall Street financial companies and other businesses under enormous stress. They are now talking about canceling their visit down here because of the "atmosphere" around Thanksgiving.

They are hurt and offended. I'm afraid this has damaged our relationships! They have always been kind and generous with us and we are overdue in reciprocating. That's one thing that really hurts me about this, but I'm not the one who did the inviting and started the manipulations. We can't really reciprocate when we are snowed under.

If you're going to invite people down and invite them to somebody's house for Thanksgiving, shouldn't you at least talk to the "designated" host and hostess first?

I don't understand how having healthy boundaries and minding my own business could create such a ruckus.

Buying the Poor, Keeping them Poor

Even though Obama won last night, I woke this morning to find that all my problems have not been solved.

While he is redistributing wealth, I wonder if he could also redistribute health and weight? If I endanger my health through bad habits, shouldn't I benefit from another citizen's fortitude to get up and jog every morning and eat healthy all day? Why should they get all the benefit when I need it as much as they do? I deserve it.

If I need to lose weight, isn't there surely he can redistribute my excess over to somebody who has worked hard to stay fit. This is a country where we should share success. I heard him say it.

You'll have to excuse me, if you're still reading. My husband is on his third business. We have never declared bankrupt but we have been through so many years of hard times, which we chose because we had a dream. After two business failures, he is finally succeeding in his third attempt. We put a second mortgage on our house to finance this start-up. Nobody assumed this risk but us. Nobody went through these hard times but us. We are not flush with money, but we are starting to rebuild our nest egg and hope to one day be able to retire before we reach extreme old age. And this third business has created jobs for other people.

We paid a boatload in taxes last year. Add much more burden to that tax load, and not only have you spread our "success," but you also just might kill it. But that's all right. Obama's going to pay for our gas and mortgage.

Right now, I'm sitting in Books-A-Million. I came here to work on my novel (Nanowrimo) but instead I'm seeing and hearing a whole bunch of people who need slapping. People are pouring in to buy the newspaper, which sold out hours ago. I guess these people are mad that they didn't get their share of dead tree news, even though they had made no provisions for it and don't appear to know how to get their hands on one.

I guess that means that they voted yesterday based on information they got from ????? what news source? Why aren't they getting their election results from the same news source today?

The day after the election is a little bit late to start reading the paper.

Our newspaper arrived before dawn this morning and is already taking its place of honor under the catbox.

Maybe Obama Should Win

If Obama wins, none of us will have to worry about anything anymore. Maybe I should have voted for him. If McCain wins, he'll be responsible for our unhappiness. If Obama wins, maybe people will learn that their unhappiness, or rather, their happiness, isn't the responsibility of the government.

The Turkey Grows a Backbone

After I wrote my last post, I realized once again that this was a case of my strength becoming my weakness -- I am reasonably hospitable and will sacrifice myself for the expectations of others (in this case, my dear sister-in-law and brother-in-law and their family, whom I would love to show a Martha Stewart Thanksgiving), but that this was just plain silly. Even if my mother-in-law has arranged it all, I just can't do it with the building project going on AND my determination to get my novel in shape.

So I wrote my mother-in-law (she can't hear -- she has yelled herself deaf -- so the phone is no good) and explained to her the situation, including how our house has stored building materials everywhere. It is tempting but not uplifting to cut-and-paste her response here, but that would be wrong.

However, I can't help divulging this one little detail from her response: "Since you haven't had us over to your house since February, how was I to know that you have building supplies stored in your house and therefore can't have everyone over for Thanksgiving?"

Every politely cast sentence she wrote had a dig. I have resisted the temptation to reply with, "Well, did you ever think there might be a reason you haven't been invited over? Like the fact that you criticize everything you see?" But that would be a waste of electrons, or whatever makes up e-mail.

And there was another dig about my novel.

As St. Paul said, inasmuch as it is possible, be at peace with all men.

What's possible is the question. But peace doesn't come from allowing those who would trample your boundaries to trample them.

Am I Being a Turkey About Thanksgiving?

I have a lot to be thankful for. I'm thankful that I'm staying home for Thanksgiving so I can work on my NaNoWriMo novel. (Did I tell you that I have two publishers who have requested that I send my novel to them, based on the ten pages they saw? My heart's greatest desire is to get it finished and I've set aside November for that. No freelance work. Just my heart's work.)

Since I'm cooking Christmas dinner and entertaining my in-laws at Christmas, I figured on a low-key Thanksgiving with just us (that would be Paul, Lily and me -- no Thanksgiving spectacle). But guess what! My in-laws have invited all their relatives down to S.C. for Thanksgiving. I am being guilted into cooking for and entertaining them all. Our dining room won't even hold them all.

Here's how it started: First I get an e-mail from my MIL telling me that relatives are coming and inviting us to have dinner with them on the Friday night after Thanksgiving at their retirement community dining room. Translation: They're coming, we're having dinner for them Friday night, so now you need to invite us all for Thanksgiving dinner at your house.

But I don't.

So last night we get a call from in-laws that they're all coming and my dear sister-in-law (she really is dear -- don't get me wrong) has offered to cook the turkey at their house since, well, you know, nobody has invited them, but they aren't really set up for Thanksgiving dinner and wanted to know what our plans are.

So, the good daughter-in-law is driving 800 miles and then cooking a turkey. What is the bad daughter-in-law (that would be me, at least for this week) doing?

Nuttin'. Trying to live my own life on my own schedule. For once.

Except I can't do nothing. Lily and Paul said that they would cook Thanksgiving dinner and I could just help out a little (like do all the shopping, planning, supervision and clean up) so I could work on my novel.

Don't forget, I have building supplies in my house. We cannot walk. We have three people living here and that's about all that fits right now. There is a toilet in the den, along with lumber, other plumbing fixtures and who knows what else. And tile in the living room. Paul says he will get it all out by Thanksgiving. He's already killing himself working on the building all the time. He's not going to get these construction supplies out and installed by Thanksgiving, though it's possible he could put them in the yard. Or maybe set the toilet up on the front porch. Maybe I'll plant pansies in it for a festive touch.

For my dear sister-in-law (who really is dear), I'm going to have to step in, capitulate to my mother-in-law's manipulations to have everybody down for Thanksgiving but push me into doing the entertaining, and do the &*#$@&()@* dinner.

For my part, I'll see if I can work this unpleasant person into my novel. Except I don't want her in my novel because I'm not writing a murder mystery.

I really do cherish some of these family members and would love to see them. I just wish I had been consulted on when would be a good time to invite them to my house for a feast. And because of the manipulations and pressure, I'll be an angry hostess instead of a gracious one.

I may think of something yet. Am I being a turkey?

Do You Have to Lie to Get Your Child in a Good School?

Sending Lily to the single-gender middle school was the best thing we ever did. So was switching churches to one where she felt more comfortable (can you have two best things you ever did?). Alas, her middle school only goes through eighth grade, so we've got to find a good high school to send her to next year.

Then we have to figure out a way to get her in.

The single-gender middle school she's attending is in another school district, Richland District 2. A good school district, run by professional, fair-minded people. They are very upfront about how somebody from outside of their district can get a child into the school of their choice. We had to:

1. Buy property in that district (we bought an empty lot from parents whose daughter was finishing up the single-gender program and returning to District 1);
2. Apply for the magnet single-gender program and be accepted;
3. Pay tuition every year. This year's tuition was $4,000. Yes, we pay tuition to go to public school. Don't that beat all?

We could stay in that district, keep paying tuition, and get her into a good high school by getting her in a good magnet program. But the schools keep getting farther and farther away from where we live. And why should we pay tuition and drive two hours a day (30 minutes there and 30 minutes back in the morning, same trip in the afternoon) when there are good high schools in the district we live in?

Trouble is, we aren't zoned for the good high schools. And District 1 is not run by fair-minded, professional people. The school we are zoned for is better known for the gangs it breeds and the occasional football player who goes on to be a star in college or beyond. A neighbor's daughter went there. If you asked her how school was, she would burst into tears. Her parents wouldn't allow her to talk about it. They moved to Florida.

Lily is not going to that school we are zoned for. Period. It is a failing school and not safe either.

But here's the thing. How do I get her into one of our district's two good high schools?

On April 15, I will need to go to the district office and plead my case to get her transferred to a decent school. I understand I need to treat this day like a rock concert where the tickets are quickly sold out, waiting in the darkness of the early morning, standing in a line with other hopeful, stressed parents for the district office to open and the bureaucrats to begin their bureaucratting.

Based on the experiences of my friends, this is a nearly useless exercise. One woman had all of her paperwork for the transfer typed up, notarized and included back-up documents. When she got to the front of the line, the bureaucrat dismissed her, saying her paperwork wasn't right! The person behind my friend had no paperwork at all. The bureaucrat filled it out for her and accepted it.

My friend is white. The bureaucrat and the person she helped were black. My friend called the district supervisor that afternoon. She said, "I think my problem is that I'm the wrong color." The supervisor did not like this at all.

Unfortunately, another white friend had a similar experience and came away saying that she, too, had been the victim of racism.

These are the things that happen and we whisper among ourselves, afraid that in our charges of racism we will be called racists.

I'm calling around, talking to other parents and teachers, trying to figure out how to get my daughter into a school where the challenges will be academic, not challenges for survival, and where she can get into a good college. I want her peers to be college bound, not bound to drop out before graduation. So far, the advice has been that I have to play the game. That means I have to lie.

Some people "borrow" addresses of relatives and friends who live in the right school zone. Some sublet rooms or pay people to use their addresses. And they teach their children to lie about where they live so they won't be thrown out of school.

There's another route. If I can find a course that is offered at one of the good schools that is not offered at the gangsta high school we're zoned for, we can get Lily in on that. So far, all I've found is Russian. I think you need a burning desire to learn Russian in order to succeed at Russian, so I'm still looking. I'd hate to do that to her. She loves French.

The district bureaucrats know that people do this, so they don't make the course roster easily accessible. I'm trying to get a listing of what the two good high schools and the one bad high school offer so I can compare. I did find the comprehensive roster for the whole district, and I have to say, it was disturbing. They had a special section on students who are going from the eighth grade to the ninth grade. They call these students "raising ninth graders." This error is repeated everywhere. They call themselves educators. It's rising. I guess I should be grateful that they're not planning on razing them.

What a world.

What Kind of Pants Would You Stab Someone For?

There's a strange local news story about a 36-year-old man who stabbed a teenager at a convenience store "over a pair of pants." The teenager is in the hospital and the grown man is in jail.

I think it should be illegal for a reporter to leave us hanging with a story like that. Read it yourself and see if you don't come away with the same question:

What kind of pants were they?

Where did the pants come from? Do they sell pants in convenience stores? What kind of pants are so desirable that you'd stab someone over them?

Is there a pants shortage? Are these pants that would make my butt look small? Can I stab somebody and get a pair?

I wrote the reporter asking for more info. on the pants. I explained to him that I need this information to try to make sense of the world.

I'll let you know if I find out.

Overheard in the Father's Day Card Section of Wal-Mart

I'm looking for a Father's Day card in Wal-Mart. There's a woman and her teenage daughter standing next to me doing the same thing. The daughter hands the mother a card. The mother looks at it.

"That card don't say nothing," the mother says.

"Well, he ain't nothing," says the daughter.

The mother makes her put it back. They leave without buying anything.