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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As always, thank you for reading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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