If I were put on a pedestal for my thoughts, you would constantly be looking at my ass.

My last entry (about Rachel screaming for milk) was my 300th.  The last 100 entries have been very hard fought.  My first 100, I wrote in 103 days.  My next 100, I wrote in 129 days.  But writing 201 to 300, took 230 days.  There were several days that I didn't think I had a meaningful, funny thought in me.  I took a break for awhile and even ignored (the blog).  But I got back on the horse and slowly started writing one entry after another.  I did slow down when I needed to--if I was too tired, I didn't write.  If I was not making sense, I didn't write.  Slow and steady got me to 300.  So with that, I am pretty excited and thought I would take some "me time" and answer some questions that I frequently get.  (I will avoid acting weird and making pretend that I am being interviewed by someone kicky with a gummy grin.)

I write this blog as a hobby.  I write it to make people laugh, share my story and perhaps get another parent or spouse to say, "Hey that sounds familiar!"  I am not advocating a certain parenting style or trying to make what I do seem easy, fun or glamorous.  God forbid. If I were put on a pedestal for my thoughts, you would constantly be looking at my ass.  It's not rocket science, just some levity with a good eye roll.

This is not fiction.  This is my life.  If I have a day that I can't necessarily laugh, perhaps I take the day off from writing.  But then there are evenings like last night that I are given to me like a gift.  I told Ching that I was cooking an Asian chicken dish.  He questioned how Asian it would be and then asked if I was going to rub the chicken on his chest (to make it Asian).

Speaking of Ching, he does know of this blog.  He doesn't read it because he knows that I am writing about him.  His viewpoint is why read it if he has all ready lived it?  Honestly, him not reading it gives me a certain privacy.  Laurel calls my blog, "that blog" and I am sure one day, Rachel will sue me.

I do have certain rules on my site.  I don't use the F-word because my mom asked me not to.  While I love the word, I have been told that if my funny thought has to have that word in it than perhaps my thought isn't funny.  I don't put pictures of my family on the site.  While I can't control who sees my blog, I can control someone unsavory looking at my children.  I don't write about people at work.  This isn't about them...this is about me.

I can see how many people have read my entries...some days I am obsessed with the "counter."  The entry that got the most reads was the one about Rachel chomping on Ching's manhood.  (And I did write that with his permission.)  I have never had an entry that was not read.  Thankfully my mom and sister with read it every day.  

Currently, I don't have an end goal in sight.  The time that I do have to devote to this project is enough to get at least four entries a week.  Currently that is all I have time for.  But perhaps one day, it will result in me being Amy Pohler's new best friend.  Or as the best journal of the girls in their formative years.

As always, thank you for reading.

"Whoa, whoa, old lady...need my fix. Where the hell is my calcium?"

I hope Rachel doesn't hold a grudge.  It is really (Ching and my) fault that she is in this predicament.  (Hanging my head low)...Before each nap or bedtime, we let her have a small bottle of milk as part of the nighty-night routine.  You may scoff at my usage of "nighty night" until  you find out that we call the bottle a "ba-ba."  Since she is closer to 3 than 2, we need to ween her from this habit.

I feel unbearably cruel taking this form of comfort away.  I can't imagine how she understands why we are doing this.  (Jesus, she doesn't see Ching giving up his Sunday night sweet.  This isn't code for anything.  Every Sunday night he has something sweet from Whole Foods--his favorite is this parfait of crumbled pie layered in whipped cream.)  We keep telling her she is a big girl and giving up her bottle is the next step.

Today, before her nap, I thought I could reason with her and she understood.  She could have a sippy cup while she finished playing but no ba-ba watching Calliou right before nap.  The snapping out of the Calliou routine was easy---like me, she seems tired of the whiny bald headed freak.  She said that she would get into her crib with Baby Bear and a book.  As she was cuddled in and I walked out of her room, she clearly started looking at me with a "Whoa, whoa, old lady...need my fix.  Where the hell is my calcium?"  I didn't give in and tried the reasoning again.  But when I think she has given me the finger, I walk out of her room, calmly.

I stay close even though she is screaming for me.  After 10 seconds, she has given up on me and starts crying for her daddy.  After 5 long minutes, she is asleep.

As she is sleeping I hoped that she would wake up not hating me.  Rachel was full of joy when she woke up, like nothing had happened.  This process still isn't over but we are another step closer.  If we are lucky, this "un-routine" may just last until Thursday.  But it's going to be a long few nights.

God, what is going to happen when I tell her that she can't shit in her pants AND has to wipe herself?

And he says..."This was probably the closest I would ever come to giving birth."

Cutting to the chase, Ching had a colonoscopy on Friday.  With all the heartburn issues of late and his spotty family medical history, they didn't want to take any chances hence the thorough work up.  My worry came from how this was going to work 24 prior to the test since he couldn't eat anything.  This is the same man that doesn't believe one should ever be hungry even when he diets.  Crap...oh, and that, he did too.

Everything is fine and after the fact, I was amused that he didn't remember me actually coming to get him.  I knew he looked like he was a couple of seconds away from a slack jawed drool!  But as he is (kind of) sharing this experience with me later in the day, he comes up with this doozy.

CCW:  "As I was lying there, I did think of you giving birth.  This was probably the closest I would ever come to giving birth."
JCW:  He has seemed to forgotten that giving birth, in my situation, involved something the size of a small chicken coming out of another orifice rather than a tube being stuck up my butt.  "What do you mean?"  This is too easy.  I feel like a wolf that has been gifted a chicken coop.
CCW: "You know, lying there on my side waiting for the (drugs) procedure to start."
JCW: "First of all I wouldn't call giving birth a procedure.  Were you writhing in pain prior to getting the drugs?"
CCW: "Well, no."
JCW: "Did you think you were going to poop on the table?"
CCW: "No".
JCW:  "Did you poop on the table?"
CCW: "No."
JCW:  "Were there two people holding your legs as you were trying to gather every ounce of strength?"
CCW:  "No."
JCW: "Were you able to cross your legs right after?"
CCW: "Yes, but Jude, I was kind of dazed just like you were?"
JCW: "I don't know where you were when Laurel and Rachel were born but I was sharp as a tack.  Very aware of what was going on and the responsibility that was just bestowed on me.  No offense but I don't think what happened to you today is any where close to giving birth.  What did you leave the hospital with besides a little packet that said you needed more fiber?"
CCW: "Whatever..."
JCW:  "My bad Ching, I don't want to take away from your amazing experience.  Do you want to show me the picture of your colon?"
CCW:  "Sure do!"

Yup, Ching and his colon.  Right up there on the mantle next to the girls' birthdays.

And how do you bring this up and then, casually say, "Hey did you get that?"

Have you ever looked at your mate and wondered, "Have you been paying attention at all?"  I know this entry may sound like I am a raging bitch (quite the opposite of my waxing poetic of Mr Ching Wang last night).  My tone isn't to be overly critical but more a curious brow puckering bewilderment.

I thought about this last Friday.  Ching was going to CVS and asked if I needed anything.  I asked for a small bag of chocolate candy.  I gave examples of Hershey Kisses, Hershey's Miniatures and it should be Valentine themed because it would discounted by 50%.  It may seem like an odd request but I like to keep a couple of chocolate candies in my bag so I can eat that instead of overindulging in something that I shouldn't have...like a whole cake or a dozen donuts.  Ching came home with a bag of Kisses but they were chocolate and raspberry flavored.  I quickly said thank you (and meant it..really).  But then I thought of all the times over the past 13 years when I turned down any dessert that had a chocolate fruit combo.  Or the times when I shivered, looking at a chocolate fountain with all sorts of luke warm fruit ready to dip..or double dip for some.  Or the time when we picked out our wedding cake and I specifically asked if we could have a fruit center but no chocolate on the cake.  Dude..was he even there?  And how do you bring this up and then, casually say, "Hey did you get that?"

I then hope there is nothing that I am missing about Ching.  I know it is never a good idea to enter a room when I hear both a televised sporting event and swearing.  I know that he will always suggest Stove Top as a side dish and I need to be ready with something else (or we are eating that add-water-to-instant-pillow-filler).  I know to always have both Texas Toast and dumplings in the freezer...if dinner isn't a masterpiece, either one will make it better.  I never put more than a small mound of veggies on his plate.  Anything else will be left--because "he will be full."  And in regards to dirty clothes:  on the floor, they are dinner.  If they are on the bed or hope chest, crumpled, there is at least one more wear.

After the past couple of days, I kept asking myself if I should point things out? Like avoiding trying to start a conversation during the last five minutes of any show (right before the preview!)...But then I came to the conclusion that there are more important things and the positive intention is always there.  And he knows good things about me too--like knowing that I like full fat sour cream and guac on my burrito and that my love of Beverly Hills 90210 re-runs should not be mocked.  I am sure with every one thing that I have memorized about Ching, there is something else that I don't...but I try.

Hear that? No? I know, it's called silence.

Hear that?  No?  I know, it's called silence. The last time I "didn't hear anything", it was 2002.  This is when I lived alone in a small apartment in the South End of Boston, just as a JC, not even JCW yet.  But back then I didn't even realize what quiet was or how much time I had.  Such naivete.

Ching out did himself this weekend.  This was the weekend when he took the girls to Ohio and left me alone for a much needed break.  I had so much time for myself.

By myself, I discovered some oddities like I am dreadfully slow during my morning routine if I don't have to leave at a certain time.  Pokey slow...like Laurel.  I was astonished how I moved at a sloth's pace and kept hitting snooze.

I didn't rush out of the salon when getting my hair cut.  I didn't rush when trying to find the right pair of boots.  I meandered.  Probably the person walking behind me was probably cursing under their breath but I didn't care.  I wasn't going to rush.  I rush all the time but not this weekend.

I thought I would gorge myself on fatty foods or have odd feasts of ice cream sandwiches or cupcakes.  I didn't..I made myself get something that I wouldn't normally get because I would kick myself later.  I ended up getting bagels and lox--odd replacement over ice cream or cake.  But, I really wasn't that hungry.  Without having a child tell me how continuously hungry they were and couldn't make it another second without a snack, I really didn't think about food that much.

I really appreciated the quiet.  I didn't fill the air with music or t.v.--I let it be quiet.  (Of course, my talking to myself probably constituted as noise but whatever.)

I was surprisingly productive by cleaning closets and taking a trash bag to Laurel's room.  (I didn't throw it all away; that would have been too obvious.) But all my cleaning stayed put for a few days.  I put thing away and they stayed away!

I didn't feel guilty about being away from the girls.  They were with their dad and they were perfectly safe.  They were also with Ching's aunt and uncle who were probably trying to undo a lot of my mothering in the best sort of way---with bribes and sweets.

This was a wonderful gift that Ching gave me.  I am sure I will hear of some sort of difficulty but that is to be expected--it's just a mild war story.  I don't know how I can thorougly repay him for this wonderful gift.   But I know where to start and you know what I am suggesting.  Tomorrow night will be meatloaf night at the Wangs!

Jesus jumped up Christ, JCW...at least leave the room.

On Saturday night, I sent out a question on Facebook.  I needed to know if anyone put a Pillow Pet in the washing machine.  Can you believe it?  First of all it was a Saturday night and I am asking about "the Wang family washing".  Secondly, my question gives out the perception that I dreadfully afraid of the consequences about washing....a stuffed animal. 

Most of the answers that I got were from mothers like myself.  Not knowing what to do and so cautious about the outcome that they left that smelly puff of a critter just fester.  A couple of mom's said that it was okay.  So I was willing to try it to--I felt like I was taking one for the team. 

Pandie is a Pillow Pet Panda that Laurel got when she was 4.  It was a gift from the "Move Fairy".  (The Move Fairy is a distant cousin of the Tooth Fairy.  MF leaves a small gift for the child that needs to acclimate to a new house.  Usually the parents that use MF are big suckers.)  Laurel has loved Pandie for 2.5 years but he stinks.  His fur is matted with dried drool.  No wonder Laurel wakes up in the middle of the night not being able to get back to sleep.  The label suggests surface cleaning only.  Surface cleaning?  That is like rinsing your hair rather than giving it a good sudsy scrub.  Or using a cloth napkin to wipe your front teeth of any grossness.  The person who wrote that instruction label clearly wasn't a parent.

So I held my breath and threw him in the wash.  My first mistake was throwing him in butt first because as soon as the cycle started spinning, his face was pressed up on the glass.  My second mistake was standing there watching, giving him encouragement that everything was okay.  Jesus jumped up Christ, JCW...at least leave the room.

Pandie looked okay when I took him out of the wash.  I threw him in the dryer without talking to him.  I avoided eye contact too. 

When I took him out of the dryer, he looked like the Pet that I unwrapped for Laurel back in 2010.  He looked great but more importantly he smelled clean.  I feel like I dodged a bullet...I didn't climb a mountain, I didn't speed down the Pike, but washed a stuffed animal and all is right with the world.

JCW's Instruction of Washing a Pillow Pet...(It's a Pillow, It's a Pet...It's a Pain in the Ass.)
Unfold it like a pillow.
Wash alone, delicate cycle, warm/cold water setting.
Normal detergent (I use Wisk--Economy size from Costco.)
Dry for 40 minutes on low setting.  If it is slightly damp, let it air dry.  Once dry, take a deep sniff of the freshness.  I am sure this has been a long time coming.
(My washing machine is a front load.  I can't assume the same results with an agitating machine.)

This is not about cheap teddy bears or crappy jewelry..

I want my girls to think of Valentine's Day as they will experience it tomorrow:

Rachel has a small party with cupcakes and juice boxes.  She is giving out valentines that I wrote out.  I find this appropriate foreshadowing.  I have a feeling that Rachel will roll her eyes at future Valentine's Days--I will guess at age 8.

Laurel has a small party of exchanging valentines that she meticulously wrote out. Phineas and Ferb valentines for the boys and Brave valentines for the girls.  She has a dance during her after school program where she has a special outfit of a black tulle skirt, a shirt with sparkly stars and those pink shiny leggings.  She is beyond excited just to have fun with her friends.

I never want either girl to feel like a have or have not on February 14th.  I don't want them to worry about having a boyfriend, getting carnations in high school, that mixed tape (little dated on my part) with daisies or something from Victoria's Secret (perhaps dated too--not sure if this is cool or skanky.)

I want them to have a higher standard of themselves and how they are treated.  Not just for this one day but for everyday.  This is not about cheap teddy bears or crappy jewelry...it is just a commercialized day in mid-February, just a few days before winter break.

But if they do have a sugar fix, I hope they at least wait until 2/15--there is a lot of candy 50% off.

This small square of a blanket and teddy bear have me by the balls...if I had balls.

This morning  Laurel looked at me in a panic.  The first question out of her mouth, "Where is Pal?"  The irony of her question is that it was asked as I was trying to find "Baby Bear" for Rachel.  The day starts and ends with Pal and Bear Bear--this small square of a blanket and teddy bear have me by the balls...if I had balls.

Laurel's "Pal" is a small light fleece blanket.  It was given to me when I was pregnant with her.  We didn't know if she was a girl or a boy so Pal is a gentle mix of yellow, light blue and green.  I am not sure when he was named but he is a constant sleep companion that has just gotten softer over time.

Rachel's "Baby Bear" was originally a small teddy bear that was Laurel's.  It was named Honey and one day as Laurel put him down and moved on to another stuffy, Rachel decided that it was her's.  She named him Baby Bear and Laurel didn't balk at the taking of her bear.  (Rachel has this way of just taking things and then giving you this look of command.  Obviously Laurel sometimes is scared shitless of it as am I.)  In the past year, Baby Bear has been very loved..he is quite scruffy and covered in band-aids.  His left ear is kind of torn and he has a smell of funk that I just can't get out.

These items keep me on my toes.  If they are left anywhere, I can usually come up with a good lie on the sly:  Baby Bear is being taken care of by the sitter or Pal is in the wash.  I hope there is never a day when they are permanently lost.  There have been many a trip when we are trying to teach, mainly Laurel, responsibility and keeping an eye on her things.  Usually she leaves her Pal lying around and I happen to catch it.  But there are times when he is packed up because she swears that he is a bag and she did it. I then spend the whole trip praying that he is actually in that bag.  Luckily I have never had to call a Marriot Courtyard begging them to Fed Ex it to Newton.


While these items will get us to look in every nook and cranny, Ching and I really can't judge the attachment of these items.  First of all, they are children.  Secondly, Ching and I treat our phones like they are "Pal" and "Baby Bear".


This upcoming trip with Ching and the girls is making me nervous---on trips I check to make sure everything is in packed up and ready to go regardless if it's the plane, hotel, at a family member's house, etc.  While I can't double check, at least I know exactly where they are staying.  I know who to call as I suck up and beg to have anything crucial shipped overnight.  I will have to hear the standard, "oh you should have come with them."  I can laugh that off as I grit my teeth, anything to avoid facing Rachel's wrath about that bear.

The Wangs consist of an ox, rat, dog and tiger.

Happy Chinese New Year!  It is the year of the snake!  Sounds as good as being born during the year of the rat.  The Wangs consist of an ox, rat, dog and tiger.  Ching feels that he exudes that ox-ly toughness...I just think of it more as stubbornness and just knocking everything over.  Laurel is a dog--very easy going, always a friend and looking to stay close.  Rachel is that tiger..cunning, tenacious, ready to pounce.  That would make yours truly, the rat...the person that tells all the Wang family secrets on a blog.  Yeah, that's about right.

Every year, I wish Ching a Happy New Year.  Not only for the wish, but I am letting him know that it is the New Year and he should probably call his family.  The first dinner that I shared with Ching's family was a New Year's dinner.  I was toasted and welcomed with champagne.  At the beginning of the toast, Ching assured his family there was "no (engagement) news" and they reminded Ching that it was New Year's and they weren't expecting news (yet).  Traditional dishes were made and for Ching, they made sure there was an American version of pork fried rice on the table too.  (Dude--Are you really Chinese or what?)

This time of year is just a sign that the only quality about Ching that is actually Chinese is his name.  Unlike his cousins, he can't read Chinese characters, his ability to speak the language is dreadfully slipping and our daughters do not have Chinese versions of their name.  Ching certainly doesn't shun being Chinese but he certainly doesn't embrace it (unless he is trying to describe a certain type of noodle that he wants in his wonton soup).  I don't understand this at all.  My background is too diverse to even focus on one culture.  Ching has just one with traditions, foods and learned language--like a pedigree.  I would want this to last for generations if I were him.

He will push Laurel with math and tennis but never had an interest for her to start Chinese classes. Maybe I could do this.  Putting Ni-Hao Kai-Lan aside, I could show her how to make beef and broccoli (the only Asian dish that I really know).  Perhaps I could tell her that serving a whole fish at New Year's dinner is a wish of prosperity in the new year for those who are being served.  I should look up how to write her name in Chinese characters.  Yeah...leave it to the white woman of the house to teach my girls Chinese.

There are two words that will illicit polar opposite reactions between Laurel and me.

There are two words that will illicit polar opposite reactions between Laurel and me.  Laurel yells "Boo-yah!" and I yell "Fudge" (not really) when we hear "Snow Day!"

First of all, I am perplexed when she uses "Boo-yah!"  Where the hell are we...trapped in a stupid Disney sitcom?  But why is she so excited?  She isn't putting off an exam or a humiliating day in P.E.  This is the first grade...in a classroom with Ipads, chocolate milk and an afternoon program that rivals a summer fair.

Perhaps it is a little nugget of jealousy on my part.  When I was a kid, we didn't know if we had school until that day and usually around 6 a.m.  This could mean that I was up all ready.  The method of communication was radio--an a.m. station and you had to listen patiently for some smooth voiced old coot to go through an alphabetical listing of schools.  As a kid back then, you were really taking a chance "not doing" the homework with hope of the snow day--I think the gamble made me tougher.  As opposed to kids today who have parents that are notified via text, voice mail and e-mail all the while with an Internet listing available.  Laurel will never have to make the homework gamble--she knows the day before, not the day of.

Whenever there is a snow day, Ching and I usually split it so we can go into work at least for a portion (of that day.)  Unlike sickness, these days annoy the piss out of me.  With sickness, there is an element of pity on that tired parent taking care of a sick child.  But a snow day seems like nature just giving a parent the finger when (the parent) has settled too comfortably into a routine.  The schedule comes to a screeching halt.  I have absolutely no control...perhaps I could prevent sickness but I can prevent crappy weather.

Not only does tomorrow put a crimp in my schedule but this day off tomorrow is going to just prolong the school year.  And Laurel Wang is incredibly cranky during morning wake up...  Tomorrow's snow day is just a day that will keep on giving.

Last thing I want is one of his little man paws to be ripped off.

Yesterday I was telling my sister that I don't make this shit up.

As I was writing about Ching's issue of heartburn and not being able to decipher the difference between a mint and an antacid tablet, he comes into the family room with this statement:
CCW:  Hey, I think we should get a snow blower.
JCW:  Oh crap.

Here were my immediate issues that pop into my head:
1.  This proclamation is 36 hours before the biggest snowstorm since 1978 is going to hit.  Just seeing Ching Wang with his credit card looking at snow blowers would make any merchant salivate and jack up the price 200%.  (Christ, I would.)
2.  By the time it would be delivered and (hopefully) assembled, it will be Thursday evening.  It will be dark out and Ching will want to use it as soon as the snow starts falling the next day.  I wish he had more time to prepare and read the manual, etc.  I believe that I have said this before...Ching is wonderful with the girls, very smart, well read, and the man when it comes to the spreadsheet but handy is not his thing.  When Ching dabbles with anything mechanical, I tend to want to check the dismemberment portion of the life insurance.  Last thing I want is one of his little man paws to be ripped off.
3. The last purchase that I would deem similar currently sits in the garage.  A couple of years ago, as we needed a new lawn mower, Ching thought an electric mower would be a good idea.  This mower has a cord.  Mowing our lawn is like vacuuming a large carpet.  As you walk away to gather more cord, the mower, being very light, flips over.  The thing is a joke and looks like it should have bubbles coming out of it.  Currently we have a nice service that comes every other week to mow our lawn (with a real mower.)

My points were listened to but he bought it anyway. (Ballsy on his part.)  It came assembled and they even gave him a little tutorial.  We did have a little issue with the gas can.  Ching couldn't get the safety top off but I showed him how to do it (and stifled every bit smart ass that was dying to be said).  Before he went out to use it, I did tell him, not to reach into the machine if something is stuck.  I am not sure how much he appreciated the advice.  The girls loved seeing the snow fly.  And I prayed not to see any chunks of Ching in that flying snow.

But all is well (after the first try). But after the amount of snow that will need to be moved this weekend, I am sure the novelty is going to wear off.  I am pretty sure that this blower is going to find a home next to that plastic mower as Ching is finding a snow plowing/shoveling service.

The several years of Ching inhaling mass quantities of food at unmentionable speed are now catching up to him.

(I was writing this during a Law and Order episode.  I felt the need for a disclaimer.  "The following story is NOT fictional and does depict any actual person or event" )

Recently Ching saw a doctor for some tightness in his chest.  Thankfully, (after I confirmed that the life insurance was paid up)  it wasn't any sort of attack or angina.  His tightness was due to heartburn.  While Ching is trying to figure out what cocktail of Prilosec and antacids will work best, the obvious needed to be addressed albeit slowly.  The several years of Ching inhaling mass quantities of food at unmentionable speed are now catching up to him.  It's like Father Time is kicking him in the ass saying..."Your fun is over...You're 40 soon, bitch."

While it may not sound like I am sympathic, I am.  And I am trying to help him with food choices...and apparently reading labels.

JCW:  "How was your day?  How are you feeling?"
CCW:  "Well, not so good.  I forgot my Tums at home...so I had to get some more.  I kind of did something stupid."
JCW:  (My ears perk up and I give him full attention. Give me some suga, CCW.)  "What happen?"  (Remember to furrow your brow with sympathy.)
CCW:  "Well, I went down to the little store in the building to get some Tums.  They were next to the mints."
JCW:  "Yeah?" (Jesus, JCW, watch the tone.)
CCW: "I ate the whole roll and kept feeling worse.  I bought the mints instead of Tums.
JCW:  "Whoa...you ate a whole roll of mints thinking they were Tums?"
CCW:  "Yeah..."
JCW:  "You didn't check what you were buying, or the label as you unwrapped them and put them in your mouth?  Didn't the strong minty taste as you were CHEWING them give you a red flag?"
CCW:  "Well..."
JCW:  "Didn't you miss the chalkiness? And aren't there 14 mints in a roll?"
CCW:  "I get the point...isn't it time to go to dinner now?" (He is thoroughly wishing that he never brought this up.)
 
Jesus Christ, I hope Ching doesn't come back in the next life as a young woman who carries both birth control pills and tic-tacs in her bag.

I have a sneaking suspicion that you may swear at me this year.

Tonight Laurel blew out a candle on a piece of cake (at Bertucci's--her pick) and I was curious of what 7 year old girls wish for these days.  While I tried to ask her in the general sense of what girls like her wish for, she felt that the question was directed right at her and she wouldn't even give me a hint.

So I thought of things that perhaps I could wish for and give it to her:
1.  I wish you good hair days.  It could happen tomorrow or next month, but there is going to be a day when you just don't like your hair--maybe the color or thickness.  (Keep in mind, it will help to brush on a daily basis.)
2.  The dark is not a bad thing.  It can be quite relaxing and perhaps you could sleep a little longer or not come into our bed if you appreciated (the dark) more.
3.  The abandon that you currently have when you dance to Gangham Style (giggling that Psy kind of looks like Daddy) or Live While We Are Young, I hope stays with you for a very long time.
4.  I can't wish you a constant path of least resistance.  I would like you to understand that resistance does help you learn or experience something different than what you are used to.  You know how daddy bribes you to do your math homework and you don't like it?  The math homework challenges you...that is the resistance.  BUT do you remember how good it felt to be the only kid in Mrs. Lucas class that knew how to solve a new math problem?  That resistance helped you experience that pride.  (Perhaps this could be something we discuss when you turn 8)
5.  I have a sneaking suspicion that you may swear at me this year.  And I will revert to what my mom said to me and threaten to wash your mouth out with soap.  You will cry by my yelling alone...there will be no soap.  I will be mad and then feel guilty.  While we will eventually make up, I want you always to know that I love you very much.  And I know you love me.  But there will several times when we may not like each other. But I want to instill in you a sense that (occasionally not liking me) will always be okay.

Yeah, I know what you probably really wished for and no, you cannot have your own Ipad.

First of all, I am no one's trophy wife and his metabolism kind of hit the skids around 30.

Recently I have heard this urge to lie about my age.  I am not sure if it was the wonky eye that stares back at me in the mirror or the cold weather that makes my skin feel like paper.  Also, it doesn't help that someone I know (who will remain nameless) got "refreshed".

Rather than giving a younger age, perhaps I will just tell people that I was born in 1982 rather than 1972.  This would make me 30, about to turn 31 in June.  It seems so simple and if someone doubts me, I have this wonderful way of yelling with my eyes albeit a wonky one on the left.

But then, the lie isn't simple.  There are so many things that I would have to explain.  Did Ching and I get married when I was 21?  That couldn't happen...I made very few good decisions when I was 21.  Since the girls are 7 and 2.5 that would make me a mother at 24 and 28.  No way!  My belly button is a mess after carrying two kids.  It looks all melty and droopy--worse than the eye of wonk but at least it's covered.

All those stupid mistakes when I was young, single Jude.  If I was married at 21, I never would have had that window of time to learn.  To learn what a jerk looks like and have full appreciation for Mr. Ching Wang.  In this scenario, I am the only one that is getting younger.  And assuming that I would be marrying Ching at his true age at our wedding...not so sure about that.  First of all, I am no one's trophy wife and his metabolism kind of hit the skids around 30. Also at 21, I don't think I was mature enough to appreciate the spreadsheet. I didn't really learn the art of saving and putting down the credit card until I was 25.

Then there are (pop) cultural things that I would have missed.  I would have been too young to know about Christine Cagney--the best character ever created on television.  Good God, I hope Monica Gellar wouldn't be my role model?  Instead of channeling Molly Ringwald when I was 17, would I have been channeling Christina Aguilera?  I would have been too young to experience shoulder pads or unkempt eyebrows.  Appreciation for a good wax job...yeah, perhaps I will stay born in 1972.  I need to get over this...maybe I just need some bran.