Basically I am dressing her like she is a college guy as she is walking around like a little modern day George Jefferson.

The past few days would not be good for my mother of the year standing with Rachel.  Basically I am dressing her like she is a college guy as she is walking around like a little modern day George Jefferson.

First--I need to get Rachel some new leggings.  After awhile these little holes just develop in the knees and I really don't want to send her to school with holey pants.  Sometimes Rachel insists on wearing the pants if I don't catch the hole before she does.  She likes to go into school with a Band-Aid on the hole like her pants are wounded.  The problem is that she doesn't have 5 pairs of pants/leggings without holes so I should do a load of wash during the week.  But the past week was busy and I didn't get to it.  By Friday, I was going through the dirty laundry to find a pair of leggings sans holes, doing the sniff test.  Just like some college guy--smells just fine, must still be clean.  (Yes, I am making a generalization about college guys.)   While they could have smelled okay to me they were technically dirty, but at least didn't have holes in them.  Rachel had no idea but I knew.  I tried to reassure myself as I left her at school that her pants didn't smell too stinky.  (Note to self, "pick up leggings")

If dressing your child in dirty clothes was bad enough, then there is this.  When Rachel and I leave the house in the morning, she likes to listen to Thriftshop by Macklemore.  I don't know why, she just loves this song.  At first it was okay, when she just repeated "I gon' pop some tags" over and over.  But now it's not okay.  Even with the clean version, she has seemed to have picked up on the use of the word "honky".  When she said it, I almost swerved off the road.  I told her that this word wasn't okay and then tried to sell another song to listen too.  As soon as I say this..."Honky, honky, honky" is all she wants to say reminiscent of a good old Norman Lear sitcom.  While she says that she won't say it in school, I just see a miniature version of George Jefferson walking into younger pre-school.  All day at work, I kept imaging Rachel screaming the word honky in her preschool class and getting a call.  Or worse, the school mentioning the word choice to our sitter who was picking her up that night, and then her having to tell me later.  Bad, JCW, just bad--why did you let her listen to that song?  It is out of the rotation and back to Wheels on the Bus...no matter how much songs like this push me closer to the edge in the morning.  God, this is really bad...and I am totally going to blame Ching.

I would like to think that I will have my act together as a mother when both Laurel and Rachel are both more self sufficient....

Is this the time when they should start paying their dues?

I don't know how to undo this damage.  Bad haircut...just let it grow.  Bad lipstick...wash it off.  Bad comment to someone...apologize.  Bad tattoo...laser.

But this...I have spoiled my kids and I am not sure how to undue the damage.  I certainly didn't become a mother with the intent of giving them everything.  But I don't want to be blind and say that it just happened.  I do remember when it started.  It was the day that they were born.  Immediately I wanted to give them the world but I wanted them to pay their dues...eventually.  I tried to be careful about what I doled out...then I wasn't...and then it snowballed.

Ching was a sucker right away.  He is weak.  He would go to Target for diapers with Laurel in tow and come home for a toy that Laurel "just had to have".  Laurel was very verbal at a very young age.   At that point I knew it couldn't be the bad cop...if there was one, I got that glorious role.

My girls know what room service is.  Birthday parties happen every year.  Manicures with pedicures (Laurel only--please give me that) happen on an occasional basis.  They do not get excited when go out to eat and they are rewarded for any big task--completion of Russian math semester for Laurel and pooping on the potty for Rachel.  This is reminiscent of kids who used to get cash in for good grades--$2 for a A, $1 for a B.  Back then I thought that was ridiculous for parents to do and now I am one of the parents.

Putting material things aside, Ching and I still force feed activities/play dates to our girls.  We don't let them find their way through a Saturday or Sunday--just watching some t.v., playing in dirt and just being bored. We need to let the girls get bored and figure their own Saturday out.  

God, I feel like such an idiot.  Should I go cold turkey? What would happen if I just started saying no?  Is this the time when they should start paying their dues?  I need some answers because they are getting older and their tastes are getting very expensive.

That's what you are eating for Thanksgiving dinner?

When I was a kid, I grew up eating that traditional Thanksgiving meal of turkey, stuffing and every root vegetable boiled or mashed to the point of having no nutritional value.  If I didn't like the taste after I tried it, I either used a dollop of butter or a stream of gravy to disguise the taste.  But I ate it as did every kid back then...you ate what was put in front of you or you didn't eat.

Today my Thanksgiving is different.  My mother is the constant host and (as one of my many thanks) has graduated from boiling and mashing every root vegetable to death.  Along with the turkey and fancy stuffing, there are brussels (much to Ching's chagrin) and salad, lightly dressed.  Potatoes are still there along with the boiled onions and squash.  So as I say yay at the spread, I look over at  the mini Wangs at the kids table and this is what I see:

Laurel has a minuscule amount of turkey with a big mound of ketchup, a mountain of cranberry sauce (I am waiting for her to slip and call it Jello) and a buttered roll (which will be the first of three.)

Rachel has a minuscule amount of turkey, her cranberry "jello" and a buttered roll.

That's what you are eating for Thanksgiving dinner?

Selfishly, I am not worried about their nutritional intake.  I am actually self conscious of my elders watching my parental ability.  These are the same elders that kept me at the dinner table eating a mound of baked beans until I was done. (Probably only four bites but as a young kid, it was a mound.)  The same ones that served me a frozen apple juice pop as the only sweet that was allowed.  Elders eating organic before it was trendy.  And now here I am letting my girls fill up on cheese and crackers prior to dinner and now at dinner, they are eating ketchup, cranberry jello and rolls.  (Another thanks--Laurel is still really tall and Rachel has powerful thighs--these girls look like they eat just fine on most days.)

I hope they realize my limitations.  I look over at Ching Wang as he is rolling his brussels around his plate like they are going to disappear.

She probably has all organic vegan menu flown in with a Beverly Hills blessing to always have perky boobs on the side.

"You know Laurel, that's not what Katy Perry would do."

Holy Shit--it worked!

Lately, Laurel has been obsessed with Katy Perry.  She has been watching all of her videos, behind the scenes of the videos and dancing to all the songs.  While Katy Perry isn't my taste, I don't mind.  I don't think she is going to last more that a few more years.  She seems so processed and fits perfectly into the mold of the minute..."Sweet Girl in Love" then "Pissed Divorcee'" and now "Strong Woman with a Voice" all the while dating Taylor Swift's sloppy seconds and ripping off a Sarah Bareilles song.

So when Laurel just wanted plain spaghetti for dinner (again!), I told her that I read about Katy Perry's diet--she eats a lot of chicken for strength.  (I know I am blatantly lying.  She probably has all organic vegan menu flown in with a Beverly Hills blessing to always have perky boobs on the side.)  But Laurel agreed--while she only ate a bite, it was one bite more than last night!

This could work for so many other things:
Homework:  Katy Perry makes sure that she always does her homework.  Her homework is making sure to know all about her audience and what songs they would like to hear.
Going to Bed Earlier:  Katy Perry gets 10 hours a sleep a night--how do you think she looks so good frolicking with elephants?
Brushing Teeth:  How do you think she eats all that candy from her California Girls video while maintaining a healthy smile?  "You know Laurel, you just can't buy white teeth."

But then again, this could backfire:
Skin Tight Jeans:  "And no Laurel, you are not going to be some one's teenage dream."
Brushing Hair:  "Laurel, I am sure that she still brushes her hair under her blue wig.  And no, you cannot have a blue wig."
Covering Up:  Honestly--I may not have to worry about boobs hanging out especially if she takes after me. But I will remain alert.

But again, we are talking about one bite of non-chicken-nugget chicken!  I am totally going with that.

Now, I lie and wait to see who Rachel starts to emulate.....

I took my time with it, remained calmed and realized that it wasn't some 20 year old flat-assed white girl with grungy looking tongue and a bad voice that was making me mad.

During my break from my blog, nothing screamed to me to get back to typing as the Miley Cyrus performance of last Sunday.  I took my time with it, remained calmed and realized that it wasn't some 20 year old flat-assed white girl with grungy looking tongue and a bad voice that was making me mad.  It was the song that was being performed with Robin Thicke, Blurred Lines, that was making me mad...at myself. This song is a constant reminder at how lax I am as a mother.

The radio has absolutely blown up with this song.  And I love it--it's a different, retro type of beat.  I can't get tired of it--I listen to it during my drive to and from work as well as during my run in the afternoon.  But it's a bad song--have you, not listened to the "radio friendly" lyrics but read what they are actually saying?  It rubs against every female sensibility that I was taught.  Regardless, I still listen and, even giggle at what is "blurred" out over the airwaves.  And Laurel listens to it too.  She likes it but has no idea what is being said and I leave it at that.

But then this performance happens.  Everyone is appalled--the twerking, the foam finger, etc.  (I only know one person who was smart enough to point out the atrocious geriatric shoes.)  But I really didn't hear a lot about the song.  I really didn't need too--I shouldn't let my girls listen to that song just like I shouldn't let them watch those obnoxious Disney tween shows or use the Ipad for hours.  This song is just another nail into the coffin of bad freakin' motherhood.  It's really going to bite me in the ass when Rachel will randomly ask, "What rhymes with hug me?"  And I know she is going to ask loudly, in front of several people.

For some reason, the focus is on a poorly executed twerk.  (That wasn't twerking--there is a very nice woman out of the South Bronx named Sweet Boogie who does an excellent tutorial on YouTube.  Good twerking is about a good squat.  Perhaps Miley forgot that move because she was obsessed with her tongue.)  The focus should be on a very well played song.  But this song is still going to be played and played by me...but only when I am alone.

So it's 5:02, and I am armed with a small baggie of Goldfish and a half a snack bag of Cheetos

So it's 5:02, I am in my CRV armed with a small baggie of Goldfish and a half a snack bag of Cheetos. (I know, I probably shouldn't give my girls anything that spells cheese as "cheez" but these things are good!) It's Monday and I have to pick up both girls by 6:00.  Usually this happens once a week and I hate it.  I have to sprint out of work at about 4:57 and the anxiety of getting them both in time makes my hair frizz.  Technically it sounds easy but I have to maneuver through Pike West traffic and figure out if I should get off at the further exit and pick up Rachel first, then double back through three sections of Newton to get Laurel.  Or should I choose the closer exit, go through the shittiest rotary known to man, get Laurel and then sprint through the three sections of Newton to get Rachel.

The two arguments banter back and forth through my head like Prude and Rude and holy shit..the car next to me just saw me actively talk out loud in the car.  The way I argue with myself and grip the wheel, they know it ain't Bluetooth.  If I get Rachel first, I have to put her in her car seat twice--once at her school and once at Laurel's school.  Freakin' daylight savings--it's now light out during the pick up and there is no way I could leave her in a locked car while I sprint in to get Laurel.  (Yeah, I know..judge if you must..)  I also don't know what type of mood she will be in..she might want to go right away or be very "difficult".  This is where the Goldfish and Cheetos come in to play.  These mere morsels are supposed to lure her in the seat.  While I am absolutely not afraid of her I do think I should mention that this weekend, she pounced on Laurel and knocked two teeth (albeit all ready loose) out.  Practically, I think I make better time getting Rachel and then Laurel..but I also like my teeth.

Getting Laurel first..the traffic is an absolute nightmare off of the closer exit.  While Laurel knows that we have to hustle to get her sister, she has the CCW pokey gene.  It takes her forever to get her stuff and then she has to say to goodbye to everyone..especially that Paul.  Then on to the drive over to Rachel, Laurel is complaining that she is so hungry there is absolutely no way she will make it home.  (I thank God everyday that there are no McD's between both schools.)  Again, this is where the Goldfish and Cheetos come in play (along with her daily fruit snacks).  While I have all ready admitted to wanting to leave Rachel in a locked car for just a few minutes, I might as well admit this.  Laurel peppers me with the most unanswerable questions in the shortest about of time.  Rachel is quieter..lets me navigate in peace.

So I decide to get Rachel first.  Luckily she is in a great mood, playing outside and runs to me with glee.  (Rachel runs with this chubbiness that just makes me melt.  Her body twists as she runs, one arm to her side and the other swinging in the breeze.)  We get her stuff and immediately, I drop the fishy reference..like butter in the seat (and my teeth are safe.)

We get Laurel at 5:35 and true to form she wants to get her stuff out of her locker on her own while I wait in the main entrance.  While it takes her a short four minutes to get her stuff, she says goodbye to three girls in her path.  (Avoid the boy, Laurel..avoid the boy.  She doesn't avoid boy.... Oh my God, he is as gay as the 1920's.  Laurel, take your time.)  I lure her with the Cheetos..but I do explain that she needs to give a few to Rachel.

And we get home by 5:52.  What I didn't count on was Rachel not crunching into the Cheetos.  She was sucking them..Cheeto goo all over.  And that suit is going to the cleaners.

At Least it was Cold Chunky Milk...

 While I joke that my skills as a mother are lacking, I do believe that I am a good mom.  I am sincere in my efforts.  My girls (so far) seem well balanced and healthy but in my journey, I am constantly humbled. I do shake my head when countless mistakes are made and then I joke that I will go to Bad Mother Hell.

I picture Bad Mother Hell as a place that it is never quiet.  The sound of whining or crying kids is piped in like background music that you would hear in CVS.  You have the nagging feeling of knowing that you're late or forgetting something.  There would be obstacle course with tasks like putting a squirmy kid in a car seat or trying to change the diaper of a toddler that keeps wanting to flip over.  For someone like me, my penance would be my morning routine..forever..like a gerbil in a God damn wheel.  If you sit down, each chair has the sensation that some little brat is kicking the back.  Sleep would be hard too because you would constantly be startled in the middle of the night by a six year old whispering, "I want to sleep you." And there would be no alcohol available..so no vodka shooters, no painfully cold white wine.

During the last 36 hours, these are my moments that I thought would send me to a place very loud and very hot..
1.  I rushed Laurel during her good bye kiss because I had to go..(chop chop).
2.  I sent Rachel to school in a pair of pants on that had a very strange stain.  They were clean, I swear.  I just don't know what that stain was..
3.  I  gave Rachel a sippy cup with chunky milk..at least it was cold chunky milk.
4.  I lied to Laurel about some old artwork.  I told her that I didn't know where it went (but everyone knows where it went.)

I am not very good in the heat...I might have to walk around naked...  (Happy Birthday LSDR!)

See what Rachel's mom sent..AGAIN!?

Laurel has been eating the same lunch for 3 years..half a blueberry bagel with butter, gogurt, applesauce, jello and juice (V8 for the veggies, remember?).  Recently, I have been sneaking fresh fruit like melon because every morning when I close her lunchbox, I ask myself, "Is there any food in her food?"  Yesterday there was even less food for her. At 6:00 pm, I opened the microwave and found her now hard, cold buttered bagel that I should have put in her lunchbox at 6 am. She said it wasn't a big deal.  She looked at me in this reassuring way as opposed to accusatory which I silented appreciated.

Speaking of accusatory looks..let's talk about Rachel's lunch.  I do pack her lunch for her daycare.  Over the past few weeks, she has just wanted yogurt at home but I can't just pack that for her lunch.  Also Rachel is pretty messy with yogurt.  I know when they open the fridge and see that I packed yogurt for Rachel, the teachers must roll their eyes and silently curse. (See what Rachel's mom sent..AGAIN!?)  With the yogurt, I will put some fresh fruits and steamed veggies. Frequently I have been adding a blueberry waffle cut up in squares. Over the past few weeks, Rachel has seemed okay with that choice. Last night during pick up, I got that conversation that started with "So at lunch, Rachel.."  and of course inside I say.."oh crap.."

"Rachel didn't like her choices again today." (What do you mean again?..first I heard.  If it's gone from the container when I am cleaning stuff out, I am assuming she is eating it or chucking it on the floor)
"She has been eating the other kids' food"  (Oh, Christ)
"She seems to really like turkey and cheese."  (Really? Because she usually smashes it on the wall at home)
"I think the waffle choice has run it's course. Have you tried giving her turkey and cheese?"  (Holy Christ on crutches..I need to get out of this conversation)

"Well that's good to know because I am going to the grocery store this evening."  (That was fact, not a line..really)  "I will give her turkey and cheese along with her other fruits and veggies."

As I write this, it is her lunchtime.  I am a betting woman and I would bet she is eating the turkey and cheese.  I can hear it at pick up.."she really liked the turkey and cheese today".  Awesome..Just another notch...

I consider myself a smart woman...

Tonight, I spent a few minutes trying to figure out where I put the box of mac and cheese? I took it from the shelf I then, within 30 seconds it disappeared.  What the hell happened to my mind?  Honestly, I blame the joy of motherhood.  Little by little it seems to have sapped some of my intelligence and sanity.  At work (the other job that I have), I am actually using flashcards to learn new financial acronyms and phrases. Jesus..Laurel is learning how to read with flashcards!  My recent mush brain reminded me of an essay that I wrote (again when Laurel was 18 months) called, "I consider myself a smart woman." Enjoy.

I consider myself a smart woman.  I like to read.  I am up on current events.  I try to challenge myself daily at work.  I consider myself a whiz using the copy machine and I figured out DVR on my own.  But becoming a mother has questioned my intellect in two areas:  common sense and the ability to remember small details. I would see women who were in a constant flurry of doubt and disarray.   With disdain (the same disdain I would use when I saw a small child boarding an airplane), I would wonder, Good Lord, how did they get that way? Well, payback is a bitch.  Now, shamefully and apologetically, I am one of those women and I am just trying to make it through the day.


Before I was pregnant, I could remember everything-trivial, work related or otherwise.  I was a master at knowing things like “who won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1994?”  I could name that tune in a sec.  Now, no one would want me on their Trivial Pursuit team. Details, small or large, totally escape my memory.  I forget where I parked my car.  I forget to make an 18 month pediatrician visit for Laurel which resulted in a total mea culpa and they managed to squeeze her in.  I go upstairs in my house and forget why I went upstairs, even if I still am holding the laundry basket.

When I was a girl, I remember stapling notes on my mom’s book bag. She was teacher, hence the bookbag, and I would ask her if she could stop at CVS and pick up something like a notebook, colored pencils, etc. that I needed for school.  Very frequently she would say yes, but if I wanted her to remember the request I would have to staple a big bright note, that said, REMEMBER JUDE’S NOTEBOOK, on her book bag.  I thought it was quirky but it worked.  I just couldn’t understand how she didn’t remember.  This was back in the early 80’s.  We didn’t have post-its back then—that is what I use today.

I have to be incredibly list driven.  My daughter goes to bed at 7:45.  I usually like to wind down or go straight to bed by 9:00.  That means that I have 75 minutes to get ready for the next day.  I start the 75 minutes by making a list.  If I don’t, the task won’t be remembered therefore won’t get done.  I cannot take a fleeting thought for granted.  One random Thursday night, after the bath water drained out of the tub, Laurel, who likes to sit in the tub, regardless of water, pees in the tub.  So I get her out, cleaned up, dressed, and ready for bed.  Right before I put her to bed, I sprinkle a boat load of Comet in the tub thinking I am going to go back and scrub it.  I put her to bed but forget about the tub even though I am putting things away in the same bathroom.  You would think the smell of Comet would have been a clue but, no.  I didn’t remember the tub until we got home from a weekend trip.  Now Sunday night, I am scrubbing dried pee and a Comet paste out of the tub.

I am not going to remember your birthday or remember to send in your wedding RSVP.  Thankfully my wedding anniversary is engraved into my wedding band and a major holiday.  I save the little memory I have for anything to do with Laurel and PIN numbers.  This may sound cruel but Ching has to fend for himself.

I don’t know if making Laurel sucked the memory right out of me or what.  The baby effort seemed to suck my common sense out too.  I doubt myself a lot more than I did pre-Laurel.  Daily, I have some sort of humbling experience while I asked myself either “Should I have known or noticed that?” or “Why didn’t I know that.”? 

Illnesses are a key contributor to these questions.  I had conjunctivitis a few time growing up.  I know what it looks like.  Why then, did I not notice that my daughter’s eyes were gunky for a whole weekend, take her to daycare on Monday to be told (gently) that my daughter shouldn’t be there because she has pink eye?  Sometimes I don’t notice that she is warm, therefore have a fever.  Once I thought she just had a lingering congestive cough but in actuality, pneumonia.

While pregnant, I would ask other mothers, how will I know what to do?  They would tell me that I would just know.  There was no mention of how many tries it took before I would “know”.  I am not good at live and learn.  I want to know it right away and be very good at it.  I also think that Laurel would appreciate that. I don’t think she came into this world with aspirations of being a guinea pig. There is no amount of intellect that will prepare you for a 2 am crying jag—could be you or your child.  The common thought is that your child is at the mercy of good parenting.  But honestly, sometimes I feel like I am at the mercy of her.

Little by little, I am learning not to get behind the 8-ball.  Last year, the nanny had to tell me that Laurel needed mittens.  This year, she will have mittens by September 1 regardless of an Indian summer. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this last year.  I was using my gloves..why didn’t she have any?  (I’ll fess up.  She didn’t have a hat either.)


Small steps...

Nice Jude/Naughty Jude (That's a candy cane!)

Because it is Christmas Eve, I do want to recognize the gifts that I am given everyday in regards to my family.  My girls are happy and healthy and my man, Ching is supportive and kind.  When he asked what I wanted for Christmas, I told him that I truly had enough.  Merry Christmas.

Now to balance things out, I do have to tell you another story that solidifies my entry of mother of the year.  Last Sunday, Laurel and I were making Christmas cookies.  I asked her to pick out a cookie cutter.
L:  "I am going to use the J first."
J:  "What J?
L:  "This one.  You know, J is for Jesus, right?"
J:  (Because my filter isn't on).."Oh Laurel, that isn't a J, it's a candy cane!
L:  "Oh.."
Oh Christ (damn, strike #2..sorry.) I just crushed my kid's religious belief with my own heathen ways. What if she wants to study the Philosophy of Religion, or Theology or become a nun? (that last one is a stretch)  Quickly I try to recoup.
J:  "Laurel, I think it's a great thought because Christmas is Jesus Christ's birthday."
Of course, I still felt guilty so I let her use all the frosting that she wanted with the sprinkles, chocolate chips and marshmallows.  If you see our cookie tray, please compliment the J's, but they are absolutely not candy canes.

The whole idea has a creepy-stalker-tattling feel..

That freakin' elf is driving me nuts (no, not that person.)  It is Elf on the Shelf that is driving me insane. As if I (or any parent) don't have enough on their plate during this time of year to remember to move it every night.

In case you are not familiar with the Elf, let me explain.  It is a little boy elf doll about the size of a Barbie Doll.  A child believes that every night he zips up to the North Pole to report to Santa if they were good during the day.  Basically, he is a narc and he is teaching kids that it is all right to snitch.  When he returns (from the North) during the night, he finds a new spot to sit.  There lies the responsibility of the parent to find a "new spot" for this elf.  In the new spot he is there to watch you..all day with his big freakin' eyes..until the next trip to the north.

First of all, Laurel sleeps with her bedroom light on and hates bugs.  For some reason, she is okay with the thought of an elf prowler flying in and out of the house.  The whole idea has a creepy-stalker-tattling feel to it.  (Oh, by the way, our elf's name is Mike.  Very generic..apparently having parents named Ching and Jude makes her choices very plain.)

Secondly, she is an early riser and the first thing she does is look for this elf so if I forget to move it during the previous night, I am screwed.  What Elf on the Shelf has taught me is how to be quick and lie as convincingly as possible.  Thanks Mike..I already know my limits as a mom..you just helped me put another notch on the belt of awesome motherhood.  This morning Laurel noticed that Mike didn't move from his previous spot so I lied and told her that Daddy was up late, watching the Boise St/ASU game.  Because Daddy was up, Mike
didn't feel comfortable flying in front of him.  I told her it was very likely that Mike will make a special trip while she is at school.  As soon as I tell that lie, I have to haul ass upstairs to speak to Ching before he greets Laurel.  We have to make sure our stories are straight.

I know I just a few years of Laurel's belief (until she turns into a cynic like me).  Perhaps I will miss her innocent wonder down the road, but right now, not so much. Actually now that I think about it, Mike may disappear and I will lie about him just staying "up North."  Look who has the upper hand now..

(Merry Night before The Night Before Christmas..Laurel loves this day.)

I hope I have enough vodka...

This is not the type of text that you want to get on your drive home from work:

"Hi, just wanted to let you know that Laurel is in a mood."

Oh crap..you never get the text that says she is in a great mood.  My first unfiltered thought was "Oh Christ, I hope I have enough vodka at home (tsk..bad mom).


My second thought is why is she in a bad mood?  She has the world by a string.  She is in kindergarten..no homework or academic pressures. Too young for puberty- her skin is totally clear.  She isn't trolling for a date to the prom (which means she isn't getting shot down. Jude--bitter table for 1? It's still there for you.)  College apps?  Nope. Lack of job? Nope.  Dead end job?  Nope.  Rachel probably ate a favorite crayon or something.


My third thought was that I am grateful this didn't happen during the morning drop off.  When this mood happens in the morning, it totally sucks.  Call it what it is.  The other morning, Laurel could not stop crying.  The harder she would try, the worse it would become.  And I couldn't pull out any of my second weapons (Santa, scolding, comforting, bribing..nothing) because that would backfire and make her cry more.  Of course we are inside the school when this was happening so teachers were giving me the "What did you do?" look. Rachel is having a grand time dragging a rubber trash can down the hall squealing with glee.  And all I could hear was the tick, tick, tick of the clock, telling me that "you are so freakin' late." Then I feel guilty that I am thinking about being late rather than my daughter who is in a constant puddle of tears.

As I open the door, it's eerily quiet.  I am told that Laurel wants to be left alone, doesn't want to be around anyone for awhile.  She IS my daughter!

Van Gogh's mom didn't do that...

 I commit the worst sin in Laurel's eyes..sometimes I am caught and sometimes, not.  But if I am caught, the wrath is not good.

 I will occasionally throw away her excess artwork.

First of all, we can't keep it all.  We would need a spare room for every sheet with the slightest scribble.  Then there are those pieces with crap glued on it..glitter, beads, popsicle sticks, etc.  Recently, she made an ear of corn (I have no idea why)  with real kernals glued on.  The kernals started falling on the floor so that piece went immediately in the trash.  And of course I stepped on one of those freakin' kernals the next morning at 5 am.  I don't even want to think about the karma.

 I have a system for throwing the art away as well.  Over the week, I build two stacks of art--the keepers and the trash.  I have to wait until the kitchen trash is mid-level.  If I throw it away in a new (white) trash bag, Laurel will see it on the bottom when the full bag is pulled out of the can.  If I wait until the last minute and throw it away last, she will see it there, probably crumpled, on the top.  So I wait until the trash is mid-level and I push the pieces of art down in the can. I can't scrimp on this effort..I really have to go elbow deep.

 It's crazy, I have less guilt throwing away multiple empty vodka bottles at one time..

Van Gogh's mother probably never threw away any of his stuff..but then again, he was crazy which probably meant she was too.

(As a post script to this thought, Laurel brought home her art for the day.  It was a menorah fashioned out of kidney beans and ziti glued on blue construction paper...awesome.)

Well, I feel like an ass...

About a week ago, on Facebook, I posted comments about Rachel learning words.  While she could say "Mammy" and "Daddy", she couldn't say please or thank you.  For thank you, she would say "no"
and for please she would rub her tummy.  The gesture of rubbing her tummy made me laugh and I sited Ching's side of the family for that one.

While I was dropping her off at school, I jokingly referred to the gesture to the teacher.  That gave me a look..that "you simpleton" look.  "We taught your daughter how to sign the word 'please'.  We do that first before teaching her the word so she understands the meaning prior to developing the verbal skills. She has been signing the word
for a couple of weeks"...My daughter is getting signing skills and I thought it was a quick tummy rub as if she were Baby Bear of the The Three Bears.  As the prickly sensation of humiliation hit my armpits, I said "that's great", and got the hell out of there.  Another notch in the belt of awesome motherhood.