Perhaps I should shower more on the weekends....

While I thoroughly enjoy the benefits of buying in bulk from B.J's, this happens.

(Just to set the stage, Ching likes to go and do this type of shopping.  I am not sure if it has to do with buying mass quantities of meat or toilet paper or the fact that he is the hero for saving some money.  Today, I sent him with a list and on that list was deodorant for me with a coupon.  For a package of four, you could use a $2 coupon therefore four pit sticks are $10.  I didn't care what the scent was, he just need to get the right brand.)

I got my sticks but also..this...

CCW:  Jude, sorry I got the cheaper of the two brands.
JCW:  What?  What you got is fine.  (It was Degree.  This wasn't sticks of Sure left over from 1982.)
CCW:  I just shouldn't have been cheap for you.  Maybe I should have spent more and given you a better brand.  Maybe something with more punch...
JCW:  I say nothing...my look alone tells him that he has mucked up.
CCW:  Also says nothing...just shifts right to left like he either has to pee or just wants to leave.
JCW:  Are you saying that I need a more powerful deodorant because I stink so good?
CCW:  Oh..no..uh...  And he skittles away like a rodent.

What the hell was that?  I truly can't figure out if that was a backhanded comment to admit that he doesn't treat me as well as he should or blatant hint that I reek.  Perhaps I should shower more on the weekends....

All American family...girls are playing with dough or string while the adults are reading on their phones.

I would like to think that the Wangs are good tippers.  Regardless, every time they see us coming, there must be a server that says, "Oh shit."

At least once a week, Ching, Laurel, Rachel and I will go out to a sit down dinner.  These dinners are usually very casual and at a family friendly place.  But, using last night dinner at Bertucci's as an example, the Wangs seem to descend on a table like a Mack Truck.

First you have Rachel who currently likes to carry her Handy Manny Tool Kit at every outing.  She carries this kit throughout the restaurant to her seat like she is going to fix everything in her wake.  She hoists herself into her booster seat and slams her tools down.  Immediately she grabs the raw dough (that they give kids to play with) and pounds it with Pat, the hammer.

Then we have Laurel...currently Laurel's big thing is Cat's Cradle.  She is obsessed with doing each string formation over and over again.  If she didn't have the string, she would play with that dough or color with crayons.  Laurel gives a perception of being a young girl but on a turn of a dime, she is asking the server for all the juice choices before she politely asks for one.  But she wants all the choices and if she doesn't hear something that she is hoping for, she will ask...like a juice interrogation.  Curious what she will be like when she is of age and wants to know what's on tap?

(I do have to interject and give props to both my girls.  If I were a child and given raw dough to play with, I would have tried to eat it.  Laurel and Rachel have never tried to eat it...does this make me the weird one or them?)

And Ching...I have never known him to order anything but a Diet Coke but he always makes the server wait about 7 seconds, oh and surprise, he wants a Diet Coke.

As everyone is settled, the bread arrives and the way Ching, Laurel and Rachel descend on the basket, you would think they haven't eaten in weeks.  After the second basket arrives, I know that what the girls have ordered is going to be wrapped up and sent home.

Before the dinners arrive, there is such a mess of bread crumbs, butter packets, bread dough, etc.  I try to ignore this and start looking at my phone as is Ching.  All American family...girls are playing with dough or string while the adults are reading on their phones.

By the time the food arrives, Ching and I have about 10 minutes to eat before Rachel gets really bored.  Because of the dinner of rolls, the girls are good for about four bites.  After that, Ching and I are just trying to keep their butts in the chair.  Usually we need more than 10 minutes so Rachel gets my phone.  Laurel then balks and Ching gives up his phone with a slight pout like he is 4.  The servers briefly check in like they are approaching a wasps nest.

This is usually the point when I admonish myself for not making dinner.  It would have been quicker, neater cheaper, more tasty and without judgement from other diners.

Finally we are ready to go and Laurel wants to enter this $20 gift certificate drawing.  To win, you have to guess the correct amount of rigatoni in a jar.  Both Laurel and Ching want to use some sort of math estimation exercise.  Rachel doesn't give a rip, she is singing by the door--I am hoping she isn't performing for spare change.  I ignore Ching and Laurel and put 210 as the answer.

You know, if I win that $20, I may not tell and just go and eat by myself.

Secondly, it's first grade homework---she has no idea the joy that awaits several years down the road.

So today was report card day for Laurel (as opposed to Rachel--while she is just in a older toddler room, she gets one too--a blog for later) and we were hoping to see many "4's" in regards to her reading.  Quick explanation to the childless--Report cards rate a child's ability from a 1 to a 4.  A 4 is a consistent above grade level effort, 3 is on par...and from there we don't want to see anything else.  Back in my day, as a first grader I was graded with checks, pluses or minuses (actually never a minus for me).

We were very excited to see the "4's" with her reading.  At the beginning of the year, she was reading a bit here and there but now, she can sit down with a pretty thick book.  We knew that there wouldn't be any "4's" with math--the highest that any child can get is a 3.  When the teacher was explaining why and the standards that the city has, I think I tuned out and started to make a mental grocery list.

But then we saw it...there was a 2.  Laurel got a 2 when it came to completing her homework assignments.  Holy shit--are you kidding me?  First of all, it's my God damn birthday and this 2 grade may sully my fancy birthday dinner at Bertucci's.  Secondly, it's first grade homework---she has no idea the joy that awaits several years down the road.  This is Number 2 all around!  

Ching and I get Laurel's report electronically through our work e-mail so as soon as I see it, I know he has seen it and I swear I am can hear his little fingers typing furiously asking, albeit politely, for an explanation.  The explanation was quite simple.  Laurel had 15 assignments to pass in and she only passed in 6.  These assignments were very easy.  Everyday, Laurel was asked to either read a book or read with someone else.  Her homework was to write down the name of the book, the reader's name and what day of the week the reading occurred.  On Friday, she should have passed in this sheet.  Laurel did this only 40% of the time.  

I am appalled that Laurel was one of those kids that didn't do their homework.  When I was in school, watching another child not doing what they were supposed to gave me some strange feeling of anxiety.  I tended to stay away from those kids.

But then I am blaming myself because every now and then I would see a blank reading sheet and I would ask her about it.  She said it was fine and it wasn't a big deal.  I thought it was a random occurrence.  Obviously at 60%, it wasn't all that random.

And then Ching Wang is focusing on that God damn Sunday math homework!  Homework that was lengthy enough to illicit a dollar reward when the weekly math packet is done.

Ching and I decided on the united front to address this tomorrow so my glorious celebratory dinner at the Bertuch remains conflict free.  We will praise her for her reading and her math, but we are addressing the responsibility of homework.  We need to lay down the law starting in September.

But in the mean time, the Wang household will be hamster free this summer.  No homework...no rodent.  Perhaps, this isn't number 2 after all...

Now, I am a grown ass woman but to this day, I still feel immeasurable guilt about staying home from work.

My apologies for the lack of, or no entries over the past nine days.  I have been very tired and then caught some sort of bug.  Perhaps it has been due to work travel or Rachel being a walking petri-dish or those hundred flies that went with that raccoon a couple of weeks ago.  Never the less, I did stay home from work last Thursday because I felt awful.  I was congested and I couldn't seem to move out of my own way.  My body ached like someone took a bat to me in the middle of the night.

Now, I am a grown ass woman but to this day, I still feel immeasurable guilt about staying home from work. Prior to making the decision to stay home, I go back and forth with the pros and cons.  The kicker is always if I feel too sick to wash myself, I will let myself stay home...but, of course, not without the guilt.  The only time I didn't feel guilty (about staying home) was when I was pushing a kid through my loins, followed by breastfeeding them until kingdom come.

I want to set the record straight, even though no one is asking, about what I wasn't doing at home on Thursday.
1.  While it was a beautiful day, I wasn't enjoying the weather.  I have proof of that because not only am I still very pale but I don't have accidental sunburn mark on my body that shows that at 41, I still suck at putting sunscreen on myself.
2.  I wasn't home pouting at the Bruins loss of Wednesday night.  I didn't even watch the game.  I pretty much like all sports but hockey.  I can't get into it.  I can't follow the puck and I don't understand why it's okay to beat someone up in this sport but in another sport the beating would be a flagrant foul.  I have never missed work the day after an amazing win (UConn Men-3 basketball titles, couple of Red Sox World Series wins, some Pats Super Bowl Wins, etc.) or loss because work is actually a good place to celebrate or commiserate.
3.  I was not mourning the sudden death of James Gandolfini.  Funny how many people knew how utterly attractive I found this man.  I was very saddened by his death because of how young he was, the work that will never be known and the family he left behind.  He was an integral part of a series that I consider the second best drama ever.  But I would never stay home to feel sad...that would happen when Sharon Gless passes who was an integral part of a series that was the best drama ever.
4.  I was not home trying to past level 65 on Candy Crush.  As proof...I am still on that level and about $15 poorer.  I am sure if I had committed a day to that level I would be well past it and probably several more dollars in the hole.

I was just home, sleeping or watching bad afternoon television.  Nothing that anyone would watch to catch but also nothing that I could probably get a doctor's note for, in case anyone asked...because I did think of that.

"Are we punishing her by withholding food?"

Right off the bat, I will give Ching credit.  Last night, he told me that he would get up first and make the lunches.  I could either sleep a little later or do as I wish.  While I would like to think that I slept later, really I just lay there wide awake thinking that I should be making the lunches.  As Ching got up to do his new tasks, I got in the shower.  Since it was a non-wash hair day, I was pretty quick and was surprised to see that he was not only done with the lunches but was practically done dressing Rachel.  I tried to push the skepticism down because his deed was good but I was curious about what was in their lunch that took next to no time at all.

So I quietly go into the kitchen to check his results.  First of all, I never told you the good news about Laurel.  She has started to get hot lunch at school so now I just pack her a snack.  But I don't see a snack ready to go for Laurel.  So I will focus on Rachel.  As I look into Rachel's lunch, my first thought/question is, "Are we punishing her by withholding food?"

When packing lunches, I have come to realize that there is very little real food.  The lunchboxes are just filled with packages of stuff.  The most popular stuff are things that don't require utensils and the packaging can just be squeezed and whatever is squirted right into their mouths.  Yogurt is a standard for this and now applesauce has followed suit.  I can't remember the last time I saw my kids using a spoon when eating yogurt--it's either in a crush cup, tub or smoothie bottle.  Ching did put the yogurt and the applesauce in the box but that's it.  I always find that four packaged things give Rachel enough choices without making me look super lazy.  I usually put in a small bag of Booty and a bar--either granola or Nutri-Grain.

There were two fresh fruit choices but I was perplexed at how few berries her gave her.  I didn't think the Wangs were rationing fruit.  Usually since raspberries and blueberries are small, I put them together.  They were not and they were so few, just rolling around in this small container, still with random stems.  It really just looked sad.  I mean, when was the last time he changed a poop?  Every poop is just a testament that Rachel jams handfuls of berries in her mouth.  So I combined those berries and cut up some strawberries too.

The best part was the pasta with tomato sauce.  It was a leftover from the night before and Ching just took the container out of the fridge and tossed it in the lunchbox.  I told him that the pasta needed to be heated and then put in a thermos container to stay warm.  He thought that the school heats dishes up for the kids.  (If each of the nine kids brought containers with post it's saying, "please heat", lunch would take a very long time.)  In Rachel's class, each kid opens their lunch box to look at their choices---there is no prep by the teachers.  When I picture Rachel opening her lunchbox, I think of her as this burly sweaty construction worker ready to hunker down on something substantial.  So, sad looking blueberries and cold pasta is not going to do the trick.

But not a problem, it's a learning process.  Something he can learn well ahead of my women's weekend in August.

I did come to learn that Laurel had no snack ready---but I used it again, as an opportunity to show him that Laurel gets a fruit choice and a sweet choice with a juice box.

I did have to wonder what their lunches looked like prior to this when I was out of town for work.  I am assuming that Rachel just grabbed what she wanted from another kid like any other day.

My guard goes up and I want to shout "Don't touch my help!"

I owe another mom an e-mail.  This was a mom that helped me with the teacher appreciation breakfast and her son is a friend of Rachel's.  After squaring away costs of the breakfast and pleasant banter, she asked about one of my sitters that we both know.  She just wants to know how often we have her watch the girls.  Immediately I want to stop this conversation.  My guard goes up and I want to shout "Don't touch my help!"

The whole sitter situation is a delicate balance of making sure they are responsible and reliable while your kids like them.  Getting to this point is so hard and I won't let anyone mess with it.

The process of getting someone good starts with various resources like school listings, referrals, etc.  We met our most tenured sitter from Craig's List.  At the time, this didn't sound skeevy.  But since you can look for an internal organ, prostitutes or drugs on CL, we probably won't use that as a source anymore.

Before question one, the test is on...we had one candidate show up 45 minutes early.  Not a good sign--highlights a schedule of hers rather than ours.  She was out.  But some don't even show up for the interview.  Candidates that slip mild profanity...nope, you're out too.

Once a decision is made, there is always a silent prayer that this was the right choice.  As you are going through a routine, showing them through my house I am silently talking to myself:
Please don't use my make-up because this has happened to me.
Please don't have a psycho boyfriend that will vandalize our car because this has happened to my family.
Please don't make this psycho boyfriend have a criminal and drug related past so we don't have to call the cops when he shows up..yes, this too.  (She's no Mary Poppins-Part 1 and 2.  3/10/12 and 3/11/12)
And please let me like you.  If you annoy the piss out of me as soon as I walk into the door and I just want you to leave, it's probably not going to work out.

Having good childcare is such a blessing and if there is seldom a problem, it is taken for granted.  I don't want my situation sullied.  I also don't want to do the work and find a good candidate just to have someone casually work their kid into the sitter's schedule too.  And what if the sitter likes the other family more than mine.  What if their kids are better behaved or, at least, potty trained.

Regardless...I am being rude.  I owe that mom an e-mail.  (Besides, I will run into her at a birthday party on Saturday.)

I do what any sane person would do, I shut the door hoping it would go away.

If you are eating and about to read this post, you may want to stop now and come back later...just a tip.

So the question over the past few weeks at the Wangs:  Is it worth $400?

Three weeks ago, as I was about to leave for a work trip to Atlanta, I needed to go to our basement to get a piece of luggage.  We keep our luggage in a small utility closet that has the furnace, air handler and in a small corner, several bags for travel.  As I open the door to grab the small black wheelie, an unmentionable stink comes out.  I do what any sane person would do, I shut the door hoping it would go away.

The stink stays...and when I come home four days later, Ching is telling me about this smell downstairs.  (I absolutely do not let it be known that I know about the stink and so instead, I act surprised.)  He tells me that he has aired out the basement so he thinks everything is fine.  Since he dealt with the smell and I ignored it, I let this go.  The smell may air itself out but where is it coming from?  Something that we both keep to ourselves.

We get some heavy rains, the stink comes back.  Ching airs it out again.  And then we decide to call some people.  For $400, they can come over, check out the problem, with no guarantees of solution.  They also tell us that it may pass and it's only an issue when and if there are flies.  We think we are fine.  There are no flies, no $400 needs to be spent.

We then get the August heat (at the end of May) and like clockwork...the flies.  I am not sure if I have stressed how much Ching hates bugs but they are his personal nemesis.  He equates flies with poo and he doesn't like to wear his glasses in the bathroom so he doesn't have to see the poo so..well...I know.  So he goes to Home Depot and spends about $80 on fly traps, fly tape and insecticide.  I am surprised he didn't get one of those bug zappers.  Nothing screams classy like asking how many flies were caught the night before as you reach for the fly swatter.

After a few days, he can't take it.  He tried.  I didn't even try.  We were about the bite the bullet and spend the $400 for a guy to come over to look at our fly and stink problem.  We are also prepared that he may have to bust a hole in our closet...but again, it's just a closet.  Four hundred for a couple of dead mice or a squirrel?  This sucks...

So two guys come over...(one is sporting a mullet which alone to me sets up the scene perfectly).  They have a big truck, a dog ready to sniff out anything, a net and a pitchfork.  (Oh God...again, you may want to look away.)  They go into the utility closet and the know exactly where the issue is...they don't even need the dog.  Outside, above the utility closet is our wood patio which is about 2 inches above the ground.  They pull apart  the patio and find it in 10 seconds.  Of course, this is taking place in front of the sliding glass doors so the girls can see.  As soon as I see the fork go in, I try to shield the girls.  Out from the hole, they pull a 30 pound raccoon.   It's held up like a trophy.  Ching is cowering in grossness.  I am screaming "look away" to the girls.  Laurel is like, "Look at all the fur!" And Rachel is screaming for her daddy, thinking that he is scared like her.  Mullet guy and his friend are yelling about the stink and I am just so happy that it's warm out so all the neighbors can hear how classy the Wangs are right now.

Not only did they find it in record time and fix the patio but they took it with them to dispose of it.  I told Ching that this was the best $400 ever spent.  He then told me that he was so grateful that he gave the guys an extra $50.   I was totally okay with that.  There have been many a time when I complain that Ching and I could pay for services that we could do ourselves.   This was not one of those times.

While the stink, flies and that animal are gone, I can't help but jump at any sort of creak that I hear in the night.  Another raccoon or the Ghost of Raccoon Wang?  At least we know who to call....

If Laurel and Rachel were Larry and Ralph, I would ask Ching to deal with this.

As I drove home to get Laurel early from her after school program, I kind of wished I had boys.  My thought is purely hypocritical because if Laurel and Rachel were Larry and Ralph, I would ask Ching to deal with this.  I am picking Laurel up because she had an unfortunate accident on the jungle gym as she was racing on it.  She fell, slipped and her girl parts hit a corner.  Don't tell Laurel I am telling you this--I am being as general as possible just to prove my point.  So, because I have girl parts, I am the resource to help Laurel.

A week ago, I get an e-mail from Ching while I am in Denver.  Apparently Laurel had discomfort while peeing.  He sent this very clinical e-mail about being perplexed and frustrated that he couldn't help but he didn't have vajayjay experience.  (Technically he has seen mine more than I have seen mine.)  But just because I have one doesn't mean I know everything that is going on down/in there.  Having a vajayjay doesn't mean that I am an expert of vajayjays.

I have dreaded the day when I have to talk to Laurel about girl parts.  This means that she is getting older and it is staring me right in the face.  If Laurel were Larry, Ching would have to deal with it because, again hypocritical, he has a penis, he would deal with the Wang Family Wang problems.  (I couldn't help myself.)  Today as we were walking into the doctor's office, she casually grabbed my hand.  She still wants to hold my hand.  This is going to stop soon and talks about girl parts just remind me of that.

Laurel is fine.  She is excited that she is healing.  Glad to be going back to school tomorrow.  Somewhat mortified that grown up woman have to wear pads that feel like diapers.  (I couldn't bring myself to talk about tampons yet.)  Still, a carefree 7 year old girl, perhaps a little tentative on the jungle gym and that's fine by me.

Of course not only am I thinking pure crazy but I can't keep it to myself.

I don't know where my mind wandered with this.  Perhaps I have lost it.  I may offend someone...this is the time when you just look away.  Of course not only am I thinking pure crazy but I can't keep it to myself.  

Okay, rather than complain about my bulbous butt as I grab my morning chocolate chip muffin, I get myself into a Barre class (well after I have eaten the muffin...no I didn't put it down, small steps.)

In case you are not familiar with this type of class, the toning exercises focuses on your rear, inner/outer thighs, etc.  Think of it this way:  Barre is to Butt as Pilates is to Core...I am pretty sure, again, I am a newbie.

As the squeezes and clenches start, I realize that I have a lot of real estate back there.  But I can't focus on this.  I need to have my abs in, shoulders down and concentrate on each movement.  There is some searing pain and leg shaking that starts to happen.  Mariama, the instructor, said that the shaking is calories burning away...yay!  Screw you chocolate chip muffin!  But I have to focus on something else...I realize my goal.  I want  Mariama's butt--that would be awesome.  I am sure that Lulu Lemon would like to think that their pants are the reason why her glutes look so good but she could wear cheap Target pants like me and it would still look good.  Oh Christ, I am obviously staring so intently that I can see that Lulu logo.  And now that I have confessed that, I might as well go all the way.  I am also thinking that Mariama's fiance is one lucky man.

Then I start to digress...all the while clenching my ass off.  And no, not literally.  I only wish that.  Focus!  The class is going right and you are going left.  But I can't help it.  My mind is racing. I start thinking about preferring to look at women than men and I realize who has it better. I then start a ranking process of men and women and their sexual preference, heterosexual woman get the short end of the stick--that is figurative and perhaps literal for some.
1.  Lesbians have it best with the visual of their mate.  Not only to they get to appreciate a beautiful woman but they appreciate the possible effort that goes into the appearance.
2.  Hetero Men--yeah, I am not thrilled with this.  Some of you may appreciate a beautiful woman but what the woman is looking at..not so much.
3. (tie) Hetero Woman/Homosexual Men--I am the first part.  There are so many appendages.  Just there...I just want to swat it away.  Maybe I am weird but I just want it covered up.  I can't speak for the men but I am sure there are a few out there that feel the same way.  Perfect example that heterosexuality is not a choice!

Why am I thinking of this stuff?  I try to put is aside and just finish the class and I do.  But my muscles are Jelly McShaky and I can barely say thank you for the class.  I will be back.  Maybe I won't get the instructor's butt but here's the first class to getting the booty of Jude Carlson circa 1992.

That would be the urine of a stubborn two year and 11 month year old.

The day ended up sunny which did wonders to my disposition.  When the sky opened up this morning while I was getting stuff in the car, my usual edgy morning self dialed up about 100%.

Especially being today, a Monday, I am sure I am going to hear someone from my generation tritely say:  "Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down."  For those not born in the early 70's, this song was part of the repertoire of the Carpenters--brother and sister act of Richard (not Dick, Rick or Rich but Richard) and Karen.  They were hugely popular for music that was elevator music...not music dulled down to play in the elevator but ready on the get go.  Anyway this song makes me want to punch Richard in the face.  I don't feel on down just on edge like I should prepare for more because it's raining.

Immediately, I run upstairs and change my outfit.  Even with an umbrella and a raincoat, beige shouldn't be worn in the rain.  My suit goes from beige to black--this will definitely hide any random splashes.

 I am dropping Laurel off at school this morning.  With the rain I don't get out of the car and walk her to the door...guilt, guilt, guilt.  I just tell her to run right in...she does and I drive away with Rachel.  I squash the guilt down.  Edgy and guilty...awesome.

And then I have Rachel.  This is potty training attempt #5.  The school said that I should bring her in sans diaper but wearing big girl undies.  The teachers are going to use the day's routine to get her tinkling on cue.  As I am carrying her in, I realize that there is no safety net.  There is a good chance that I may have to run home and change this suit too.  And how would I explain that to the dry cleaner?
JCW:  I need to right arm cleaned really well.
DC:  And what is the stain...and that smell.
JCW:  That would be the urine of a stubborn two year and 11 month year old.
Yeah, that would be awkward.  I practically run in the rain because I don't care if I am soak with rain...I just don't want to be soak with kid piss.

And true to form, it was a thorough waste of time to straighten/smooth my hair this morning.

Traffic is shitty...late, late, late.

And I make it to my desk and thankfully my back is turned to the window.  Can't see the rain...or as Rachel says, "The clouds are peeing!"

As a post script, Potty Training Attempt #5 didn't go so well.  Just like at home, she loves sitting on the potty but two minutes later when she is out and about, the flood gates open up.  At least she isn't playing favorites with her stubbornness.  Here's to lucky #6.

Totally okay if she was on the mound pitching a couple of innings but during her Boom Da Boom routine, not so much.

Tonight I saw Laurel on stage for the first time.  After weeks of classes, her hip hop routine with other six and seven year olds went great.  I can't explain the pride (along with the relief.  It had nothing to do with falling or missing a move.  During the practice, every time Laurel would do her coffee grinder move and hop up, she would adjust the crotch of her tights.  It didn't look good.  Totally okay if she was on the mound pitching a couple of innings but during her Boom Da Boom routine, not so much.)

I was curious how she felt up there.  I have been on stage during three specific times:
1983-District Talent Show where I glued blue sequins on a white satin shirt and danced to Eye of the Tiger.  (I know but I was young.)

1989-I only had a few lines in the school play but the lines made people laugh.  I, then, realized how awesome it felt to make people laugh.

1990-I walked across the stage as my name was called to get my high school diploma.  But I remember walking so tall and straight.  At 5'4", I felt six feet tall.

While Ching and I kept telling her how proud we were of her, I hope she felt the same way.  She said she had fun and would like to do it again.  I was very pleased when I heard that because she definitely belongs up there.

I am quite grateful that this recital happened after that talent scout scam happened. (Entry 5/26/13)  Christ, I would have ponied up 2 grand in a blink of an eye due to Laurel's spunk, good hair, stage presence and restraint from trying to fix the crotch of her tights in front of a large group.