girlfiend

Boyfiend and I had one of our usual fights this morning. We were planning on going out for coffee and breakfast at our favorite bakery to pick up some stuff for Christmas Eve/Christmas morning. He was doing some other stuff so I was straightening up the family room. He (while doing other things) told me to hurry up. I got annoyed and told him that I was just cleaning up because his family was coming over and someone has to do it and I do all the cleaning and blah blah blah. He, in typical fight fashion, got annoyed and told me he does plenty to help and doesn’t cleaning the boiler count and I said yes, but when we have a semi-working heat system, space heaters and wood stove that gets the house up to 90 degrees if we’re not careful, more practical cleaning when people are coming to the house is necessary. Blah blah blah. Then he tells me that he cleans lots of things like the cat litter and I respond that he only does the cat litter because I’m not allowed to so it’s not like he does it just to be helpful. He yells, I yell, he tells me to stop and I don’t, he kicks something, we yell some more and the Fiendling and I go out for coffee and breakfast without him because I ruin everything. End scene.

When we get back with bread for dinner tonight and sticky buns for tomorrow morning and eclairs for Boyfiend just to be sort of nice after our fight, Boyfiend had recently gotten off of the phone with his sister. I asked him what she wanted. He said that he didn’t want to get into it and that she just called to irritate him. That only piqued my interest so I asked again. He told me that she called to let him know she felt sorry for their father because he has to bring his own soup to dinner.

Fucking hell.

Last night at a family party Boyfiend’s father said he wanted to bring his own soup to dinner. I was insulted that he dislikes my soup so much he has to bring his own and I was kind of pissed off about it. The soup, Pasta e Fagioli, aka Pasta Fazool, is a Boyfiend family Christmas Eve tradition. His family recipe (which I’ve seen) calls for a can of tomato sauce a couple of cans of water, spaghetti and garlic salt. I think the recipe also calls for beans, but I’ve only seen a bean in my soup once so I think his parents just omit that part of the pasta and bean soup.

Last year I made Pasta Fazool using a more authentic recipe that calls for beans, tomatoes, herbs and pasta you don’t need to cut with a knife and fork. Boyfiend’s dad ate three bowls. But I guess he didn’t like it, so this year he’s bringing his own fucking pot of soup for dinner and Boyfiend’s sister feels sorry for him even though she didn’t even hear the conversation where in front of a room full of people he said he’d rather bring his own soup than eat mine.

If he’d asked to bring his own, traditional family soup months ago when we planned on being at my house for Christmas Eve I probably still would have been insulted, but a lot less insulted than I am now. If he gave us the recipe and asked us to make it his way I probably would have been insulted, but a lot less insulted than I am now. I understand tradition and comfort but I’m sensitive when it comes to my cooking. But instead, the night before Christmas Eve, he tells us he’s bringing his own damn soup and his daughter feels sorry for him. Well what about me? This isn’t even my tradition. My Jewish tradition is to be in Florida, or some other beachy climate enjoying the weather and having someone cook dinner for me. If I wanted soup for dinner I’d make ribollita, or Italian wedding soup, or something I like more than pasta and beans.

So Boyfiend, who’s annoyed at his sister, calls his dad and offers to make the soup himself using the crappy family recipe. His father says no and says he’s bringing bread too. Well he could have fucking told me that last night before I went out and bought freshly baked bread this morning. His parents do that all the time. They never offer to bring anything until the last minute when everything’s done and then they bring something I already have or have already made and I have to serve theirs to be nice.

I told Boyfiend we’re not serving their bread. We’ll serve their soup with my bread and if we run out of bread we’ll serve theirs but we’re serving ours first. Boyfiend says no, we’ll serve both. I said, no. It’s a fucking loaf of bread. If they’d told me they were bringing it I wouldn’t have bought it, but they didn’t and I did. We’re serving the bread I bought from the bakery I like and that’s it. And if his parents want their own bread they can go into the kitchen and get it themselves.

Now I’m going to finish cleaning the house and try to get over my irritation before Boyfiend’s mom, dad, brother, sister-in-law, niece and sister’s fiance come over for dinner.

Every year my in-laws buy me Christmas crap. The first year I was offended. I received a Mikasa candy dish with a little girl decorating a Christmas tree. I smiled and said thank you and later asked Boyfiend, “Don’t your parents know that I’m Jewish?” He told me yes, but his mother didn’t think Christmas trees were religious. Christmas trees, never mind the Christ in the name, are for everyone. Sure enough, year after year his theory has been proven correct.

I have Christmas themed dishtowels shoved in a drawer. There’s a hand-painted bar of Christmas soap that obviously can’t be used since it’s painted for Christ’s sake. Snowman and Santa spreaders to go with flimsy plastic serving dishes made for and purchased at drugstores hide in cabinets. I’ve got a hideous candle holder in the shape of a house decorated for Christmas that glows warmly when the stinky candles are lit.

These items have never seen the light of day. I’m not against decorating for Christmas. We get a tree and put up white lights on our house, but I see no need to clutter every surface with do-dads and knickknacks. Perhaps if the gifts were nice, crafty instead of crappy, I’d display them. But most of the shit, save for the candy dish, was purchased at Eckerd (now Rite Aid).

At this point I don’t know how to approach it. What I’d like to do is ask them not to buy me anything from a drugstore unless it’s a useful item like soap you can actually use. But I know that would just be rude. I’ve also considered selling it all as a lot on Craigslist. It’s a little late now, but I could add the shit I get this year and put it up right after Thanksgiving next year. They’ll all be here for Christmas and I’m wondering if I should just suck it up, bust out the crap and use it for a day. I’m afraid that would just encourage them to buy me more, but I know it’s the right thing to do. So a poll, dear readers. What should Girlfiend do?

I hope I didn’t make it seem like I don’t like receiving Christmas cards. I do. I just don’t want to get into sending them every year for all of the reasons I described. We don’t even have a tree yet, so if I wanted a cute picture of the Fiendling in front of it, maybe sitting with all of the cats in matching Santa hats I’d have to photoshop one in. And our annual letter would pretty much be me complaining about my boobs and lack of sleep with some updates about our brilliant, still-nursing, never-sleeping toddler who was accidentally broken by his mother. I’m still feeling pretty guilty about that leg. Anyway, I like getting them. I just don’t want to get into the mailing of them every year for the rest of my life.

As I mentioned yesterday we received a couple of doozies this year. The first photo card we received pictured Boyfiend’s cousin, his wife, two kids and the dog posed outside. All of them except the dog were wearing blue jeans and white turtlenecks. The background of the card was green with a generic holiday greeting. The wife, ordinarily an attractive woman, looked pretty bad in the picture. Almost angry. The next day when the mail arrived we learned why she looked so angry.

The next Christmas card, on a red background with generic holiday greeting, pictured Boyfiend’s cousin, wife and two kids (no do) pictured outside along with Boyfiend’s aunt, uncle, other cousin, her husband and two kids. Yes, they were all wearing jeans and white turtlenecks or white button-down shirts. Everyone in the picture except for Boyfiend’s aunt and uncle and two of the kids looks miserable.
To make it worse, two days later we got the third card in the series. This one was Boyfiend’s other cousin, her husband and two kids pictured in the same exact spot outdoors. The green background and generic holiday greeting was identical to the other cousin’s card. Awesome.

But these cards weren’t even bad compared to the one we got on Monday. The mail came late and I opened a photo card from some family friends. The card pictured their one-year-old baby. The picture wasn’t that great, which is surprising in a Christmas card and surprising from the couple who sent it. The last photos we received from them, in the form of a birthday party invitation, were adorable. Their daughter was well dressed, smily and all-around adorable in the series of three pictures chosen. Their Christmas card was just lame. The daughter isn’t wearing anything particularly cute and the picture is sort of far away and out of focus. Then I noticed that she was holding something.

My first reaction was, no she isn’t. I looked again. No fucking way. Mix was over and I confirmed my suspicions with him. Then I called my sister-in-law and asked if she’d gotten their card. She said, “You see it too? I wasn’t sure if that’s what it was.” She said she’d wait for her husband to get home to see if he saw it too and that I should call my other sister-in-law. My other sister-in-law hadn’t yet received the card but her interest was piqued and she and her fiance came over to see it. Her fiance asked, “Is that an epi-pen? A toothbrush? What is that?”

My SIL was on the phone with my FIL at the time and asked him if they’d gotten the card yet. They did. His response to the question of what the little girl was holding was, “Is that one of those things women pee on before they go to the doctor to find out if they’re pregnant?” Ding ding ding! She was holding a home pregnancy test, which may or may not have been peed on just prior to the photo shoot.

What a totally inappropriate pregnancy announcement! It may be cheesy, but I far prefer the classic “big sister” or “big brother” t-shirt or sign to the pee stick.

Have you gotten any good ones?

We don’t send Christmas cards. It’s a holiday tradition I don’t want to get into for many reasons, aside the obvious reason that I’m Jewish. First of all, it’s expensive. My son is so cute I’d have to send out photo cards. Based on the photo invitations for Fiendling’s birthday we’re looking at 35 cards minimum but you generally have to buy 25 at a time so that’s fifty. Then there’s the postage. The whole thing costs a fortune. Even with discount codes and coupons it’s the equivalent of an electric bill.

Then there’s the the responsibility. Once you start sending them you can’t stop. People start to expect your cards and wonder when they’ll receive them. If you put in a letter then you’re stuck with that too. Every year I look forward to the trainwreck of a letter one of Boyfiend’s family friends sends out. The year her son got his girlfriend pregnant, dropped out of college and gained 20 lbs in pizza was a classic. I’m afraid of starting that tradition.

We can’t forget the pressure of actually taking a photo if you send photo greetings. If you just do your kids it’s one thing. You can often get away with using a recent snapshot. But most people aren’t content for a simple snapshot and want something holiday-themed. For those who take the pictures themselves there must be posing in front of a decorated tree. Children are often stuffed into their holiday finery and unless they’re girly girls who like dressing up they’re uncomfortable and would rather be playing someplace else. Parents must cajole and wheedle and beg (or yell and lecture and threaten) to get an in-focus picture of a smiling child. With each additional child the odds of them looking good get exponentially worse. If you’re throwing a pet into the mix you’re really screwed.

The studio photos are the worst. Unless a photographer who insists on photo-journalism takes the photos, studio photos inevitably look forced, posed and cheesy. Add matching or color-coordinating outfits to the mix and you’re really upping the cheese-factor. Why not just, as Boyfiend suggested, go to an Old Timey photo place on the boardwalk and take pictures dressed as whores and gunslingers? Or, as his father suggested, stand behind one of those cutouts often seen at amusement parks- stick your families faces in the holes and become Santa, Mrs. Claus and a couple of elves.

So now we’ve got a lineup of Christmas cards in our hallway. It’s been light this year and we’ve received less than ten- six photo cards and a few generic, one pre-printed generic so the sender didn’t even have to sign it herself. I plan on detailing my horror and amusement at one card in particular, but first I’d like to hear about your thoughts and experiences. Comments please.

After losing a cookie to the oven gods while taking a tray out, the oven has been setting off the smoke alarm every time I use it. Last night I brilliantly decided to run the cleaning cycle before putting the Fiendling to bed. The smoke alarm went off three times before Boyfiend stopped the cycle.  It’s never set the fire alarm off before. Boyfiend asked if I’ve ever run the cycle in the winter. I can’t remember but I’d rather not cause smoke damage so I won’t try again. Now I have to clean the stupid oven myself.

This morning the Fiendling woke up about 15 minutes before Boyfiend’s alarm was set to go off. I got out of bed to get him but he wanted nothing to do with me. Exhausted, and still have asleep, I closed the stair gates and got back into bed. Boyfiend got up a few minutes later- still 7 minutes before his alarm was set to go off- and I went back to sleep. He woke me up a few minutes before he left for work and brought me a cup of coffee. He left and I guess I dozed off again. When I awoke 2 or 3 minutes later to the sound of his car pulling out of the driveway I looked over and realized the Fiendling had dumped the coffee out in the bed. I leaped out of bed, pulled off the sheets and mattress pad and threw everything in the wash. The coffee had, of course, soaked through the supposedly stain proof, mattress protecting mattress pad and a huge coffee stain was on the pillow top. I tried to clean it with soap, water and a washcloth and it had no effect whatsoever. I moved on to oxyclean and a scrub brush and the stain got lighter, but not much. Then, since I’d had no coffee, I gave up.

Now we’re watching Curious George. He’s eating a waffle. I just finished my toast. The kitchen still reeks of smoke. I wanted to walk to get coffee before toddler gymnastics but it’s wintry mixing outside- I can’t tell from the window if it’s rain or ice.  Awesome.

While he’s in his room, screaming at the gate instead of napping (Today is operation nap indoors day one. It’s a miserable failure thus far.) I figured I’d fill you in the 21 month updates. When he’s not screaming and crying instead of sleeping, the Fiendling continues to be a great kid.

In the past few weeks he’s discovered singing. So far his repetoire includes Old Macdonald,  Head and shoulders, knees and toes (though he leaves the shoulders out every time), the alphabet song, The Wheels on the Bus along with the appropriate gestures, and Ring Around the Rosie. He’s pretty good at remembering most of the words and fills in the different actions and words for the Wheels on the Bus on his own. He can do three or four verses solo- the wheels, the doors, the wipers and the windows. He seems to have a lot more fun at story hour now that he can join in a little more.

He continues to name everything, everyone and what they’re doing. He narrates the day.  Dog running. Rabbit eating flower. Mama tired. Babies kissing. Cats sleeping. Mix’s hat. Buddy making mess. Oven mitt. The other day at Mix’s parents house he seemed perplexed in the kitchen when he couldn’t see an oven mitt anywhere.

He consistently surprises me with new vocabulary and memory. I accidentally referred to the movie neighborhood animals as baby farm and he’s called it baby farm ever since. He rolled pie crust once now says pie crust whenever he sees a rolling pin. Says chanukah candles when he sees the menorah or hears someone else say chanukah. He says catch it when he sees football on tv. He gets distraught with excitement when he sees the mixer or food processor because he thinks that pressing the buttons must be a rip-roaring good time and I won’t let him touch them.

He’s really into tv right now (mother of the year) and asks to watch certain shows. Specifically, he adores the aforementioned baby farm, Sesame Street, Clifford and Curious George. It’s a good thing we got rid of cable. I have a feeling we’d be watching a lot more TV if PBS wasn’t the only channel with children’s programming.

He’s learned how to roar like a lion (or tiger, or jaguar, or cheetah) and ribbit like a frog.

He somehow learned how to count to ten, a skill I’ve never actually worked on with him. Sure we count when we go up and down steps and read tons of counting books, but we’ve only ever tried to count three things at a time before because he tends to get stuck after two. So when he busted out the numbers up to seven the other day I was shocked. When he added eight, nine and ten (in that order!!) the next day I was thrilled.

He reads to himself and to others, either naming the objects on a page or remembering and repeating the story. He’s great with the Richard Scarry books and can read pages before losing interest. He can also tell you what happens on each page of books with plots.
He’s still a shitty sleeper. Now when he wakes up he’ll climb out of bed, put on his Phillies hat, grab his sippy cup and stand at the gate in his doorway calling for mama and dada.

He does not like to get dressed in the morning. He likes to stay in his sleep sack and pajamas for as long as possible.

He’s really getting hair now. He may even have a full head of hair by his second birthday, but he may not be quite there yet.

He likes to draw circles and asks me to draw pictures for him. His requests are usually mama, dada, baby fiendling with Phillies hat, and Clifford the dog.

He tries to do somersaults with moderate success.

He loves to walk on the beam and seeks out beam-like sidewalks and walls. When he sees a good sidewalk he’ll say “beam! beam!” And walk back and forth on it 30 or 40 times or until I lose interest.

He requests to go places. The playhouse, treehouse, grandmom’s house and his aunt’s house are his favorites.

He names his friends when you ask who his friends are and requests to look at their pictures.

He’s not good at sharing but he knows how to take turns. At gymnastics class he’ll anxiously wait for his turn to walk on the beam or be bounced on the parachute saying Fiendling’s turn every time another kid’s turn is over. He’s not very patient, but it’s adorable to hear him demand his turn repeatedly. He’s better about taking turns when he’s in charge of whose turn it is. When we play catch he like to decide who the person with the ball should throw it to by saying, “Dada’s turn” or “Mama’s turn.”

He’s a very sweet kid.

It’s snowing and the Fiendling’s asleep in the back seat of the car (just about the only place he’ll nap these days) and I’m inside watching October Road on abc.com.  I really thought that show was getting canceled. Since we got rid of cable and I won’t pay $12 a month for TiVo we (well mostly I) have been watching everything online.

Fox rules for online watching. No commercials. Family Guy is small- it won’t go fullscreen, but at least it’s uninterrupted.

ABC is okay. Hour long shows (Brothers and Sisters and October Road are the two I watch) only have a few 30 second commercials, mostly for other shows on ABC. I don’t mind an Ugly Betty or Desperate Housewives preview. Sometimes I’ll even keep watching after the 30 seconds are up.

NBC blows. The Office has a commercial more often than the actual show on TV and the commercials are hideous. Ever see the commercial where the guy sprays the rug with Febreeze just to sniff it? Creepy and weird. I hate it. And there’s this unbearable fucking Whitestrips commercial where this woman with a weirdly long neck and a huge, white smile and chicklet teeth plays with a dancing little girl. I hate that commercial. Hideous. And they both play during every commercial break. Deadly.

The CW isn’t bad. The commercials are louder than the commercials on the other network sites, but Gossip Girl’s commercials are only 30 seconds. I can’t wait for One Tree Hill to start up again.