Three Things That You Don't Want to Say During Morning Drop Off...

Following up on my January 26th entry, Ching and I Grease the Wheels of Parenthood, bribing has definitely biten me in the ass every so often.  (Let me make it clear that Rachel receives excellent care.)  Last week when I dropped off Rachel, I apparently had no filter. I had my pants on (12/19)..but no filter. Perhaps it was all the endorphins that I had flowing after my morning car seat ritual with my sparing partner, little Rachel J.  I just started rambling to one of her teachers:

Rachel may be a little wired this morning.  I just gave her a few Lorna Doones to get her into the car seat.  She has some sugar coursing through her veins.  She loves LD's.  She sucks them down like crack.  Or maybe she is just acting a little weird again.
Oh crap..I stop in my tracks.  Within 15 seconds, I just admitted to:
1. Giving my daughter cookies before 8 am.
2. I just compared those cookies to an illegal substance.
3. And I just called her weird.

Oh man..the two teachers do not really say anything but if they did it would just be an "Ohhh-kay."  I can see it in their eyes.  They all ready think I am..well, I don't know.  But I am convinced that there is a running joke through the center about my promptness at 8 am.  The door is on a timer and right at 8, the door unlocks and you need a key card to enter.  As soon as they hear the first key card click, I am sure it's like "Oh I told you it would be the Wang mom. You owe me $5."  If I were them, I would make the joke that I would prefer a drive-thru child drop off.  (Honestly, how awesome would that be?)

This is an issue that I have.  When I write out my inner voice there is an opportunity to edit it or a do over..  When I just say what I think there is no opportunity for editing and my thought will frequently go over like a lead balloon.

So getting back to the situation.  I can't take it back; it's out there..it's awkward but I just keep moving like I didn't hear what I just said. But note to self:  In the future don't mention bribes, drugs or call her weird during drop off.  I can't believe that I have to say that out loud.  But let's look at the positive, I know I have my pants on and I didn't even have to look down to check.

Bluntly, they look like eyeballs. Holy Crap..

This entry is neither mom based nor wife based.  It is just a funny experience of my past when Ching and I were dating.  I was recently asked what my preferred Chinese takeout staple was?  Unfortunately I made that stupid joke that "Chinese food" is just "food" are our house.  I am turning into an old sweaty man that says cliche crap like "Is is hot enough for you?" while everyone is enduring a heatwave.  I really have to stop that..I am starting to sound like an asshole.

Anyway, my choices are pan-fried dumplings (pork and cabbage) with scallion pancake.  While we can get them at a good Asian restaurant for take out, both can be made by Ching's uncles so I feel like my choices are authentic.  (Honestly, I will tell you that Ching's dad apparently made amazing dumplings.  So good that people thought he should open a restaurant. He past away before I met him.)

My "Chinese" food background was this as a young girl from southern Maine..I knew the Hu-Kee-Lau--Polynesian Village where every dish was made with marachino cherries and the Wok Inn which was the Taco Bell of "Chinese" food in Portland.  A full size paper bag couldn't absorb the oil from one chicken finger.  (You do know that chickens don't have fingers in China, right?) When I ventured to the University of Connecticut, I was introduced to real "Chinese" food--General Gau's chicken--a delicacy.  (Ironically, both Ching and I now refer to it as "the General".)

Ching and I dated for 11 months prior to the story that I am about to tell.  In this 11 months, Ching and I never went out for any Asian cuisine.  Ching's name is the most Chinese name you will come across but Ching, himself, is very Americanized.  His cuisine of choice is All-American--ribs, burgers and fries.  If he is choosing an ethnicity, it is Italian with a big ol' bread basket.  (And apple pie for dessert--not a joke.)

When Ching and I visited some of his relatives in Northern CA, I thought it would be great to go to an authentic lunch.  (And I am not going to lie, I was craving the General, beef and broccoli and some hot and sour soup.)   Ching's family graciously agreed to take me to lunch (and this was a second option.)  I went into this lunch so hungry, my stomach was churning.

We went to a restaurant in Silicon Valley that had quite a wait for an early lunch.  We had to wait 30 minutes for our family meal.  It was very hot and there were a lot of people.  AND over the speaker of the restaurant..no English spoken, just Mandarin.  I thought (and secretly rubbed my hands with delight).."Damn, this is going to be a good lunch."  (General..beef and broc..you are mine...)

Finally it was our turn as a family..I walked in and I was quaking with anticipation.  It quickly turned in quaking with nausea.  I walked into this very popular restaurant to a sea of about 500 people jammed into circular tables.  To my right was a massive tank filled with, I think, crabs..but I am still taken with the amount of people.  Within these jammed tables, there were servers with carts that looked like hot dog carts trying to navigate between tables. The smell hits me..the emotional side of my brain said it smells like dog (you are a racist)..the logical side said, it was just the cabbage smell soaked into the carpet.  In this instant, I knew I wouldn't get my special #4.  Regardless of the food, I am immediately claustrophobic.

When we sit down, there are no menus.  Ching says, "This is dim sum..there are no menus."   Quickly I was told that you pick from these carts (the hot dog ones) and then they notate your bill.  This is explained to me as Chinese apps as brunch.  (No General, no Beef and Broc?  Okay, this will be fine.)   Dumplings come to the table (you're going to be good JCW) but they are steamed so much that the outside are translucent and milky white.  The dark insides can be seen through....Bluntly, they look like eyeballs. I can barely swallow them.  Holy Crap.. I believe they taste fine but the texture is something I have never experienced.  Meatballs come next..yay..maybe.  While these are something that I know, these things are freakin' huge...softball huge.  With two quick wrist movements, the server cuts this meatball into quarters with the biggest pair of scissors I have ever seen.  Holy Crap..the General is now an absolute pipe dream..and I am so queasy.

I see something that I like..sponge cake, like a twinkie. (Come to Mama).. I request it and Ching looks at me like I am on crack.
"Hey, JCW, what do you think is inside?"
I look at him lovingly.  "Cream??"
"No, Jude..there is pork inside."
 "WTF!! (I didn't say the F even though everyone is speaking Chinese.  I don't even think they would notice.) Are you kidding me? How could you do that to sponge cake?"  The issue wasn't the taste.  It was the texture.  So many textures paired in ways that I didn't think was possible.  I couldn't put the pork o'twinkie back and I didn't want to waste.  I gave it to Ching.  He got a lot of things put on his plate that day.

And then the chicken feet hit the table..holy shit.  While it sounds like only a few things hit the table..there were so many things that had texture that I just couldn't palette. I tried..but I couldn't..

Honestly, I was ashamed.  Ching's family brought me out for this brunch and I barely ate anything.  I was queasy from the nerves, the crowd of people, heat and cuisine that I didn't expect.  I didn't want to let Ching down.  He said it was okay..he said it in English..his relatives said something in Chinese but smiled..oh son of a bitch.

As we drove away to our hotel, I profusely apologized.  I just didn't know that this was what I suggested.  He was kind of amused and but full of dim sum.  He understood.  My man, Ching said "Hey look, there is a Wendy's...let me buy you lunch.

This Guy is Such a Weirdo..but Holy Crap This is Blog Gold...

So the Sunday routine was changed a bit.  Ching thought that I should drop the girls off to their Sunday morning activities.  (You know, trying to spend more time with Rachel)  Luckily both activities are in the same building in another part of Newton.

We leave promptly at 9:30 and I start getting peppered with questions by Laurel--"Why are you taking us?  Are we going out to lunch too?  And why do you need that woman's voice to tell you where to go?  You know, Daddy doesn't need that."  (This is going to freakin' awesome.)

So I first drop Laurel off for her 10:00 class at the Russian School of Mathematics.  Again, we send Laurel to this class because she has specifically told both Ching and me that she really enjoys math.  But when I show her to her class, there were students of all ages in different classes..focused..ready to go Ivy.  Then when she sits down at her desk, I see the teacher.  I immediately look at Laurel and whisper, "Are you scared?"  Laurel gives me this look like I just farted in front of her friends.  I take that as a no.  The teacher doesn't look mean but, again, math was never my strong suit.  Apparently Laurel has the Ching Wang math gene.  My armpits get that prickly feeling of anxiety and I just hightail it out of there and go to Rachel's activity.

Rachel is in a music and movement class with other toddlers.  This is her second class--Ching brought her last week.  Good God, I feel set up. The teacher is beyond bohemian.  There was definitely Peter, Paul and Mary playing in the background when he was conceived.  Yeah, he is a dude.  He is trying to convince us to always use a sing song voice when talking to your child--even at home.  I am trying to figure out how I am going to sing to Rachel as I am wrestling with her during our morning car seat activity.  The songs weren't ones that I knew (Wheels on the Bus, Old McDonald).  They all had this weird Kumbaya vibe.  Rachel is giving me a look like "Hey Lady, when do we get to clap?"

I know that I am Judgy McJudgerson so I look around to gauge other reactions.  Some have a look of "this was $180?"; some just have a glazed look of "I need more coffee before this shit."  There was one guy who was into it.  He looked like the instructor, probably a relative.  I know that some of us are thinking to ourselves; trying to figure out how to get out of this next Sunday..headache, constipation, anything.

We are all kind of singing and sweeping around this hardwood floor sans shoes.  This had to be the morning of my non matching socks. Rachel, while still a touch skeptical, does get into it.  Then instruments are introduced..my girl will sweep the leg of any kid to get to the maracas.

The time couldn't go by fast enough.  My mind is swimming..this guy is such a weirdo..but holy crap this is blog gold.

When we get home Ching asks how it went.  "The teacher is kind of..weird."  "You mean Rick?" he says.  (Holy crap, I never even caught his name..well so much for faking constipation next weekend.  Ching is so going next Sunday.)

And the music, holy God..the base? Rock the base

I had to answer some questions at work on Friday and give my birthday.  There are very few people at work that I know who were born around 1972.  This woman, asking the questions, tried to empathize and said, I am a '70's baby too--I was born in 1978.  I kept my disdain quiet--dude, if you can't remember the original release of Alicia Bridges, I Love the Nightlife or the one year when the President, Anwar Sadat and the Pope were shot or when Princess Diana got married then we are absolutely not in the same league.  I judged this woman not because she wasn't as young as me but I didn't think she appreciated the '90's, like I did.

I miss the decade of the '90's.  There are the obvious basics of the decade that I would like back..youth, continence, perkiness...  But the nineties were the true definition of craptastic--so many fantastic highs and so many crappy lows.  I was very lucky how this decade started and ended--it was a perfect package.  I was a senior in high school when I rang in 1990 and I had just found Ching in September of 1999.  

I am not going to dwell on the lows--I am looking for more readers not suggestions to up my Prozac dosage. But I will poke fun at myself for a couple of those lows..

During this decade, I placed a lot of emphasis on having a boyfriend.  Even in 1998, after cutting my hair dramatically short, when some family members thought I was now looking for a girlfriend.  I was lucky to fall in love three times.  My first at UConn, taught me the true meaning of "it's not you, it's me."  Meeting him in ballroom dancing should have been a sign.  Before you judge, this was 20 years before Dancing with the Stars.  Then there was guy #2 in 1995--his generic balding ass name I don't even what to mention because with him I turned into a desperate blathering idiot.  "Why doesn't he love me too?" (Oh Christ, JCW.)  And then finally Mr. Ching Wang--and you know how that ended.  This writes out smoother than the time frame of 90-99-- but there were several realizations and a lot of stupid mistakes.  Yeah, I am thinking of you, little man with big butt of '93.

Music was the absolute best in the 90's.  I wasn't about grunge.  I was about En Vogue, LaBouche, Salt n Peppa, Johnny Gill, Blackbox and BBD.  Anything that makes you want to say "that's my jam" when you hear it played. Who am I kidding?  I never said that..but it sounds cool.  And the music, holy God..the base?  Rock the base.

My fashion sense went from rockin' different colored suede skirts with coordinating silk blouses from the Express (1990) to starting to shop at Talbots (1999) because I liked the classic cut of the suit.  Oh and the hair..let's talk about hair.  My hair was very short twice in this decade and was grown out several times.  What marks the difference from the beginning of this decade to the end was going from crunchy to smooth. Granted it was easier to maintain crunchy, but I prefer the smooth.

I have many good friends from this decade.  Some I lost touch with but luckily was able to reconnect. There were some that just faded away and some that I lost (They didn't die. I just didn't like them anymore.)

I found my love of cooking too.  You know those woman who brag that their husbands didn't marry them for their cooking?  My man Ching Wang..definitely married me for my cooking.

I lived at UConn, I proudly lived at home with my mom and then I lived alone in Boston.  Regardless..while so hard, I lived as best as I could. And I am very lucky..

Flashbacks of getting through math on partial credit with each problem scream across my mind.

And it's Friday..another weekend is here.  I am frequently asked what I am doing.  Usually I just say nothing..My weekends are very similar..lots of errands and chores with Laurel's lessons thrown into the mix.  Laurel has several activities on the weekend.  Our goal of all the activities is to make sure Laurel isn't in front of the television.  We also want her to socialize with her peers..a lot of her friends went to the same pre-school or go to her elementary school.

There were activities that were a hit--tennis, dance, swimming, and math.  Yeah, I know, math.  Roll your eyes--I certainly did.  Ching's theory was that Laurel expressed interest in math.  When he was a child, he expressed interest in drawing.  No one ever picked up on it and he lost interest.  Since Laurel expressed interest in math, maybe we should give her extra math activities on the weekend.  This made sense to me until she had that freakin' homework...flashbacks of getting through math on partial credit with each problem scream across my mind.  God that sucked...

There are some activities that were a God damn bust...my favorite was martial arts.  Ching and I thought she would like the art of her peeps.  While we thought it would make her more assertive..really not so much..Laurel didn't like the yelling.  Apparently they had some transition activity of dodgeball..Laurel hated it.  Of course she would. She had inherited my fear of a ball flying toward her face.  I think you are an absolute idiot if you aren't afraid of a ball flying at record speed toward your face.

Then there are those activities that are in the middle where Laurel is just "meh" and collecting the trophy.  Yeah, that's right.  Every freakin' kid is a winner and gets a trophy.  I don't agree with this.  Every child is not a winner..there are those that achieve more, those who don't and those in the middle.  With soccer and t-ball, Laurel was in the middle.  She loved being there for the shirt, hat and for her friends.  That is really the drive of Ching and I paying hundreds of dollars to the Y.

Honestly, Ching does try to push Laurel a little bit.  Telling her to focus (and of course the activity end bribe)..Laurel does try to put on her focus face.  In a sport like soccer, she tries to look intense, focused.  But she lags behind the crowd--maybe afraid of the ball and all those people pushing and shoving for the ball. (I absolutely don't blame her..all those sweaty people.)  So with her intense face in the back of the crowd..my best 6 year old girl just looks like she is pooping..intense focused pooping...

Ching and I grease the wheels of parenthood...

Ching and I grease the wheels of parenthood--we bribe the girls. I am not proud of this but I will fess up.  Most of the time, I will do this to be more efficient or save time.  When Rachel turns into a 23 pound mini-rottweiler and won't go into her car seat, I will offer her a small package of Lorna Doones. (I don't feel guilty giving her these in the morning because to me they are not real cookies. There is no chocolate component.)

Sometimes I am lazy and just want to avoid conflict. I tend to be an instant gratification briber, trying to get from point A to point B.  The situation usually plays out like this...something isn't working..negotiate, negotiate..plead (come on JCW, stand your ground) and then I cave..okay will gum help?  Usually this happens when the girls are tired, I am tired or I am in a rush.

But, I know that I have to be careful.  Sometimes a bribe will set a trend.  Four years ago, I bought a box of fruit snacks.  If Laurel had a good day, she would get a small package to eat on the way home.  At two, a good day was defined when she didn't hit or bite another kid.  Two hundred and eight boxes later, this trend of a fruity Disney gummies still ends her school day.

The majority of the time Ching will use the bribe over a long time frame such as trying to get Laurel to show effort and focus.  Recently, at Laurel's last soccer game, I overheard Ching telling Laurel to "focus and remember, Happy Napper."  Apparently after a successful soccer season, she was going to receive a ghetto version of a Pillow Pet.

With bribes, I have to be aware of potential scenarios and not appear weak.  My cards have to be kept close to my chest.  After a few years, I can sense when a bribe is going to be used.  Frequently, when Ching takes Laurel to the playground, I will bet money that she is eating a donut or something when she come back through the door.  Full of guilt, he looks at me and says that he needed to get her to leave.

One morning I did try to get Laurel to pre-school with some money.  I absolutely cannot start that trend.  By the time she is in high school, I would have to palm her $20's to get out of bed.  While I won't give in with money, you will probably find me carrying around a packet of fruit snacks and a packet of Lorna Doones for the rest of my life.

I thought it would just be about cupcakes on a non-religious holiday.

Within Laurel's pink personalized backpack, there is a red folder that rotates from school to home. This red folder is my God damn nemesis. This folder is sent home with Laurel with art, notices and personal notes from her teacher.  If I want to send a note back, I was directed to put one in the folder.  The folder has been empty on her way back to school since September. (It's hard enough to send my mom and sister a birthday card..holy Christ, I am not sending her teacher a note.)

Artwork is stuffed in this red folder.  As you recall, I have a three step process for Laurel's art:

Anything with glued on do-dads or shit will go in my pile (for the trash when it's mid level)

Anything that are doodles on scrap paper will also go in my pile (for the trash when it's mid level)

Work from Art Class will be considered.  If it resonates, I will keep, if not..the pile (trash, mid level)

(If you don't now about my art disposal, please refer to Attijude dated 12/14)

Every week, her teacher will sent a re-capping note.  But it's not just a note..it's a small typed note, on a cut out object with some stickers attached.  Are you freakin' for real?  Just typing out the description was a pain in the ass..I can't imagine cutting out 22 individual objects.

What I am really trying to avoid are the freakin' planning notes. What will Laurel need during the next couple of weeks?  With various lessons, Laurel needs to bring in certain things.  The last time I had to send something was during a growth lesson.  My assignment was to bring four different pictures of Laurel with a timeline of newborn to present.  I was so grateful that I had printed pictures of Laurel.  If this were Rachel, I would be absolutely screwed.  I have only six printed pictures from her first month of life.  (I think she realized this and gave me the finger.)

During this last week, I was instructed that Laurel needs to bring a stuffed animal in two days--I can handle that (and I hope I remember).  But on 2/8, she needs to wear something with 100 objects because 2/8 is the 100th day of school.  Are you God damn kidding me?  Laurel wants to string Cheerios for a necklace (probably a recommendation from Paul or that twerp from the Saturday play date wanting a Sprite--Entries 1/12 and 1/8, respectively).  I am trying to go for an object a little stronger like Lifesavers.  The Cheerios will break--trying to avoid the morning routine breakdown.  On 2/14, we have valentines cards to send in to class--all 22 and then one for that Paul.

The irony of these notifications is if they were sent too late, I would curse the teacher.  Too early, I am cringing with fear that I will forget the task.  I mark it on the calendar..hoping that I will see it at the appropriate time. When Laurel started school, I thought it would just be about two dozen cupcakes on a non-religious holiday...in reality, not so much.