"Oh Christ, this is nice, but you don't want a hug, do you?"

I am not good with gifts.  For some reason, I don't think you're surprised.   I am very good at giving gifts because I really do put thought and effort into each one. (Unless you are a new married couple.  This sounds like a cop-out but nothing says happy marriage like cash.  Not a lot of thought but I believe most appreciated.)

When I give a gift, I will tell the receiver that they can open it at any time..I assume they are like me.  Most people are not--they rip the wrapping off without abandon and have the most spectacular reaction.  I can't do this..I like gifts but only if I can either open alone or know what the gift is prior to opening the package.   I have this quirky fear.  When I open the gift, I don't feel like my reaction will satisfy the gift giver.  I know this sounds really weird.  Let me back up, when I open the gift, sometimes I am just processing what I just opened. (Call it what you will..I am slow to comprehend..whatever..) Sometimes during this process I am either saying to myself "What the hell is this?" or "Oh Christ, this is nice, but you don't want a hug, do you?"

This giftophobia all started during my high school graduation party. (Time Machine Bitches--June of 1990) Both sets of grandparents gave me cash. I opened their gifts to me one after the other.  My maternal Nana and Grampy gave me $200.  When I opened it, I yelled, "TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS!?" (I know, classy..) My paternal Nana and Grampy gave me $25.  While I thoroughly appreciated the gift..I felt terrible.  I made it very clear that one gift was significantly larger than another.  I felt like such a turd...so to this day, I don't like opening gifts in front of people.

Several years go by, coasting, not opening gifts in front of peeps..and then my bridal shower.  Oh crap..so I do what any sane person does in this situation--I snoop.  Up to my party, I check my registry and see who bought what and therefore I am prepared prior to unwrapping .  (Right now, my mom and her friends are shaking their heads and perhaps cursing..)  If I couldn't tell what the gift was..I just drank to get through the gift opening.  The drink (and the extra swipe of deodorant under each pit) helped immensely.

During my baby shower, I couldn't depend on the drink BUT I was prepared to go into fake tears if I felt awkward.  Thankfully it never got to that point..

While I don't think Ching does this intentionally, he leaves receipts and business cards all over the place.  Prior to any holiday or birthday, I usually know what I am getting.  Recently I found a David Yurman business card from Bonnie.  (In case you are not familiar with Bonnie at the David Yurman in the Copley Mall-Back Bay--Ching loves her.  I didn't realize why until I went in to browse.  Bonnie has huge boobs and of course flaunts them like no tomorrow.  THEN, she offers to try on the necklaces, etc. that are being considered..Ching loves this and because I am really secure, I couldn't give a rip.)  There were two pieces listed for my 40th so I know..and I can prepare prior to my birthday.

I need to prepare..because more often than not, I will probably love the gift.  But then, oh Christ, there will probably be a hug expected.

Silly girl didn't even ask for a Suzy-Q.

I learned so much while Laurel was in kindergarten.  On her first day of school, I hoped that, previous to this day, I had given everything to prepare her. But I also sent her with the standard L.L. Bean (pink) backpack so she could be just like the other kids.  And for good measure, I made a safety kit for her and put it in the front pack.  This kit was stuffed with Phineas and Ferb band-aids, Aquaphor (her hands get very dry), sunblock, fruit snacks (to cheer up her), my work number and cell number on a post-it and 10 bucks...for emergencies.  (Later, according to Laurel, the after school fundraiser craft table was that emergency.)  I told her that it was okay to get her clothes dirty--that is why detergent is made.  She wanted to wear jeans..and not a dress.  I just wanted her to feel her best. I also offered her anything under the sun in her lunchbox. She kept her requests pretty standard.  (Silly girl didn't even ask for a Suzy-Q.)

Laurel was fine..but I was too. I realized, over the year, kindergarten was just as eye opening for me as it was to her.  This is what I learned:

I can worry all day about the pick up and drop off schedule.  I found that worrying was a waste of time..learn to worry when it actually happens...or with shitty traffic, when the routine is not happening.

The only thing that can get a child to realize that they can't wait until the last minute (to go to the bathroom) is to actually wet their pants.  Thankfully, when Laurel did this, she was with Lindsey as opposed to an elder Wang who aren't as sympathetic as Lindsey.  (That may sound bad..but Lindsey can play with the girls and go home to..lovely, blissful silence.)

You are never ahead of the curve..If you think you are, it is temporary or perhaps during a week when there are fewer scheduling e-mails or tasks.

Be aware that some brat will undermine your parental prowess.  When this child's parent calls for a playdate..you are never home.

There is going to be a random style that will come out of left field for your kid.  Thankfully, no brand names..yet.  Just the urge to grow her bangs out and occasionally brush her hair.  Small steps with that hair..

During the first parent teacher conference(s), you will not hear that your child is Princeton bound.  But hearing that Laurel is smart, focused (all Wang, all the time), a leader, a friend and very polite..this felt like Princeton bound to me.

I had the opportunity to ask for Laurel's first grade teacher.  I passed..I think or I hope, regardless, she will be just fine.  If she isn't..I certainly will not worry about it during the summer.

Monday night was an episode of pissy jealousy.

On Monday, when Laurel read her short story to the other parents, there was also some other writing samples with drawings.  (You remember that night, right?  The one where I judged and then, coincidentally couldn't work my own camera?  That night..) Laurel had one example where she had to list three differences and three similarities between her and a parent.  She chose Ching..of course she did.  Can I ever get a mom and me drawing..small story, anything?

The girls adore Ching and I love him for it.  He is very involved with activities, school (he volunteered for the Cabot Fair; I volunteered to stay home and do laundry) and the bedtime routine.  He has gotten the unspoken label as the fun parent.  But when the girls are hungry or need clean undies, they come to me.  While I accept this, every now and then, I have a tinge of pissy jealousy.

Monday night was an episode of pissy jealousy.  How come Laurel didn't choose me?  All her other friends chose their moms.  So I start looking at the three similarities and differences between her and Ching.  They are similar because of their brown hair, their brown eyes and they are both Asian.  (Laurel--How come you didn't list your similar aversion to bugs?  You know where you and dad scream like girls when you see one?  You both prefer breakfast foods more than dinner foods and if you both could get whipped cream on your pancakes, you would.  You both innocently leave the toilet paper roll empty and neither of you sweat out a word problem when it comes to math.)

Your differences--Daddy wears glasses and was born in China.  (I can't remember the third difference.)  Something to think about Laurel--Daddy will at least eat his vegetables and try new foods.  When you both eat apple pie, you like the apple filling while Daddy prefers the crust.  I have to pull him on to the dance floor and you will dance at any opportunity.  

C'mon JCW!  Put away the pissy jealousy--the girls have a great dad.  You will have your time..probably when they are asking for $180 jeans.

It's not like she was in the corner with 50 Shades of Grey, charging her friends a buck to read the dirty parts.

I am dreading tomorrow night.  I tell myself not to worry until the exact moment that I need to but the resentment all ready there.  Rachel (that's right Rachel) has her parent teacher conference on Wednesday night at 6:20.  (Usually my Wednesdays are dedicated as "Lindsey Wednesdays" when (Lindsey) picks up the girls and I can stay a little later at work.) Not only can I not putz through out my day, knowing that I can stay later, but what the hell can they tell me about my child who is under the age of 2?

Granted this dread is precipitated on the fact that I was approached by one of her teachers last night during pick-up.  (Oh Christ, did she bite someone?  Sit on someone and grab their hair with all her might?  It really hurts, I have been there.)  Oh, no..apparently Rachel had a small car in her hand while she was being changed.  She then preceded to drive the car over her nether regions.  Okay..that's it?  I look at this teacher like the most odoriferous silent but deadly just crept up?  Really?  Every time a boy tugs his junk, do you tell the parent (of the boy) that this is an incident?  It's not like she was in the corner with 50 Shades of Grey, charging her friends a buck to read the dirty parts.  I really didn't know what to say..should I offer to take the car home and clean it?  Should I..freak that, it's ridiculous.  I give Rachel a hug and we get the hell out of there.

Rachel is the girl that made my heart grow bigger than I thought possible.  She also:

• Is very dramatic. If she doesn't get her way, she can drop to the floor and turn on the waterworks like a pro.
• She will eat what she sees..even if the food isn't hers.  I like to call this survival of the fittest.
• Rachel will tend to lead the class into chaos.  I like, to assume for her, chaos is fun.
• She is becoming more verbal but of course so many words sound like the f-bomb or shit.
• And now, according to her teacher, she is masturbating with a matchbox car...please.  

Rachel is a girl that is on track..verbally, mentally and socially-they don't have to tell me this given.  And she is also healthy..I think that health is a gift that is overlooked too many times.  I will go into a conference session on guard because I don't want them to tell me otherwise.  (Really? Not a big deal..It's not like she was jamming little cars down her Huggies-size 5) My girl is perfect and she is a toddler.  And I also want her to just be a little girl.  No need for a measuring stick (as I push Ching, face down, with his spreadsheet)..she is my precious girl..my Rachel Jessica.

I still had one of those moments when I (figuratively) got too big for my non-mom jeans.

Instead of writing my blog last night, I ate a chocolate chip ice cream cone..in bed..while watching something on the Ipad. While I didn't feel guilty this morning, I did have a bit of a sugar haze headache (and avoided the scale).  My headache pounded a little harder when I saw an e-mail that was sent to me over the weekend.  It was a message from an acquaintance (by association) updating me on her two kids.  Initially, it may not sound that bad..but this was a form e-mail where I was blind carbon copied.  This wasn't any brief.."hey how are you..hope your girls are well".  The message cut to the chase with a detailed account of trips, cultural outings to museums and gourmet restaurant visits.  I was so taken aback with the tone that I panicked and thought that I was getting one of those holiday greeting letters.  (Holy Shit, is it all ready December?)

If this was a feel good letter of early summer, it failed.  This letter didn't make me feel good--my stomach was a knot of annoyance. Where are the mentions of hustling in the morning, crappy kid food that is slathered with ketchup and sass?   I was then renewed about my goal to spread Attijude.  I just want my tribulations to give you a good laugh or a "holy crap, thank God I know someone else who felt that way too".  Recently a mom named Denise told me that she thought of me now when she found her kids' worn underwear in her dining room.  I was strangely flattered...rather than sigh to herself, I am hoping that she just chuckled and knew there was a mom out there that also picks up worn undies in every room but the room with a hamper.  And she isn't afraid to admit it.

I understand maternal pride but it is also very easy to become blinded by the big accomplishments and think that you are ahead of the game or secretly bask in another mother's shortcoming.  But what comes around, goes around.  Tonight, regardless of how that letter made me feel, I still had one of those moments when I (figuratively) got too big for my non-mom jeans.  Laurel had her author's night tonight and I specifically had Rachel stay home with Ching.  I didn't want (Rachel) to disrupt the class.  But there were other mothers that brought younger siblings that did chatter and disrupt a bit.  I was tsking in the back of my mind and my jaw was tightened.  These moms also recorded or took pictures of their child reading their stories.  I thought I did too but I didn't hit record on my phone.  Well, well, well..Every time I judge and thank God that it's not me..I do know it is a matter of time.  Apparently this lesson hasn't quite sunk in yet.

I had enough tonight. I picked a fight with Laurel..

I had enough tonight.  I picked a fight with Laurel and I will admit to it.  Her constant contradictions were more than I could stand so I pointed one out to her.  (And with total disregard of what could happen.)

For dinner, we ordered Bertucci's for pick up.  I got an artsy-fartsy pizza, Ching got pasta and for the girls, we got a cheese pizza and rolls.  We made a special request (for Laurel) that the pizza needed to be light on the sauce.  (For anyone looking for a child's lunch idea.  I cut leftover pizza into squares and Rachel loves it.  So with two slices in the 'fridge and some applesauce and fresh fruit..Monday and Tuesday lunches for Rachel are set.)

While Rachel is licking the butter off her roll, Laurel only eats 2/3 of her piece of pizza.  She claims that she can't eat the crust.  She then asks for a roll--a Bertucci's crusty roll.

Me:  Laurel?  Do you like that roll?  The whole roll?
LW: Yes!  I love these rolls.
Me:  Are you going to eat the rest of your pizza?
LW:  I can't eat the crust..it is too hard.
(And then I pounce.  Because, perhaps, I am channeling a horrible, horrible person.)
Me:  Laurel, you know how you love that whole roll with the crusty outside?  That pizza crust is that crusty outside..JUST LIKE THE ROLL!!

She looks at me..trying to make an excuse.  She stammers and looks at Ching and he gives nothing.  If this was on a spreadsheet, he would have a snappy comeback..this..zilch.  She doesn't know what to say.  (It wasn't that bad..she didn't cry..)

I let it lie..knowing that I have won..and that I will burn.  (But I know a couple of other moms like this too.  We have a table reserved in the back with drink service.)

Apparently over the last week, the Wangs lived like a rock band staying in a hotel on the Sunset Strip.

If I convince myself long enough, anything becomes the truth.

Yesterday morning I got an e-mail from Ching with a simple statement.  "You locked Aurea out."

First of all, Aurea is a woman who owns a cleaning service.  Technically, she was never locked out.  I don't think she has even seen our house.  Her team supposedly was locked out.

I didn't lock her out and I was adamant as I furiously wrote back to Ching.  When Ching and Laurel left, I was putting Rachel in the car.  But I had to go back into the house.  (I failed to mention that I went back inside so I could get a packet of Lorna Doones for Rachel.  I had absolutely no will to negotiate and those cookies have less sugar than Honey Nut Cheerios so what the hell?)  As I was walked out, I am sure that my right hand turned the knob and could feel that it was unlocked.  Yes, we, leave the door unlocked for a cleaning team.  Judge if you want.

This is my theory..the door was unlocked and Aurea was double booked.  She came by and locked the door (and re-scheduled.)  OR her team saw the mess that the Wangs made and said absolutely not. (Apparently over the last week, the Wangs lived like a rock band staying in a hotel on the Sunset Strip.) Then locked the door and told Aurea it was locked which of course led to a re-schedule for next Tuesday.

God damn it!  I could not have messed this up!  Is it possible that while my right hand checked the knob, my left hand, locked the other side out of habit?  I don't think so..but just to feel guilt free, I did call Aurea to apologize.

But I swear that door was unlocked...