Scissors, gifts, and trust

Tonight I got home at a decent hour (right at 5 pm).  I stood in the kitchen snarfing some dinner while the little one stayed busy with some pots and pans.  The big one came in and sat down.  That means we need to talk in her language.  So I asked, "What's up?"  Nothing, came the reply.  I should have known that.  Now we start my new favorite game, 1 zillion questions.  I thought 20 questions should do it, but not around here.  So I started by asking what tests she took today (exam week for her), what tests she's taking tomorrow (the last day), and suddenly I heard myself asking if we were supposed to get her teacher a gift.  She ducked her head and said no.  Really?  Do the other kids give the teacher gifts?  Yes, she said, but we don't have money to do that.  Ah.  That again.  So I started looking around the kitchen.  In the states I'd whip up a batch of cookies (or ask a dear friend to do it), and presto!  problem solved.  But I don't have any eggs, flour, or any other cookie ingredients right now.  So I grabbed the leftover bottle of wine from Thanksgiving (how did I have leftover wine???)  She said her teacher might not drink wine.  Right.  Um, how about a Tampico (sugary colored water)?  She laughed.  She said we didn't need to do anything.
Then I realized that we really did.  So I grabbed the only Christmas coffee mug we have, thanks to my friend Michelle.  I said we could put some coffee in it, coffee made by one of our nannies at the o.  She seemed a little ok with that, but not thrilled.  We went upstairs and I began browsing my shelf of books (all in English, why haven't I started reading books in Creole or French yet??), a candle I already started burning, and a cheap package of cookies the little one picked out at the store.  I went to my closet and opened the gifts I bought for my family, and found a small keychain, made of cloth beads forming a cross I bought at Haitian Creations.  I showed Magalitha, and she liked it.  I showed her what to do with it, and then she really liked it.  So I wrapped it nicely in tissue paper and put it in a small Christmas bag.  All the details coming together like I'd planned it for weeks.  But then she hit me with, "And the cup with coffee, where can we put that?"  I thought we'd abandoned that plan, but my sweet girl had her heart set on giving her teacher the coffee and mug and the key chain.  Alrighty then, no problem.  We need a bigger bag.  So I found one (yes, I just randomly have these things in a box) that is lunch bag size with Santa on it.  She loved it.  So I wrapped everything in tissue and placed it in the bag.  I folded the top over and prepared to use scissors to punch  two holes to run ribbon through.  As I slid the scissors through the first time, I realized my left middle finger had been in the direct path of the razor sharp scissors.  I gasped as I realized what I'd done.  I tried to play it off, but dang dootie it hurt.  And it wasn't bleeding yet, so I really tried to just be ok.  I popped it in my mouth, and smiled, sort of hummed a bit of that sound you hum when something really hurts but you're trying to play it off.  I started to laugh a little, and then M started laughing so hard she could hardly breathe.  I said, 'It's ok, I have nine other fingers.  It's not serious.'  She was laughing harder than I'd seen in a very long time.  By this time it was bleeding profusely, my littlest was asking if it hurt, and I was trying to keep the blood off the ribbon and the bag.  I managed to thread the ribbon, tie it, and curl the ends.  The gift lookedSci beautiful.  But I love the fact that I was trying so hard to do something for my daughter, and in my eagerness almost lost a finger, but gained something more in my relationship with her.  It's like this silent agreement we have.  Yes, I'm eager to make things good for her.  And I am enthusiastic in my ideas.  And she's 17.  She rolls her eyes.  She acts like my ideas are terrible (some of them are).  But at the end of the day, she's learning she can trust me to take care of the details.  I laugh typing this, because this is exactly the kind of mom I always saw myself being.  The last minute, crazy idea that somehow works, fly by the seat of my pants mom.  The mom who waits until her daughter is walking out of the room to inspect how deep she really cut her finger, and then washes it out with some hand sanitizer and keeps on moving.