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Clara Jane's daycare holiday party is Thursday, and because I'm an idiot loaded up on mind-altering drugs, I signed up to bring "non-food treats". Why did I sign up for non-food treats? I have no fucking clue, considering that the "food treats" column was right there!!! next to the "non-food treats" column. For God's sake, I was a food writer! A culinary teacher! A caterer! I know food treats. I guess I felt the need for a challenge. I don't have nearly enough things in my life to make me feel inadequate, after all.

I hate to say this, but I was appalled at the non-food treats in Clara Jane's gift bag last Christmas. Cheap, dollar-store crap, none of it age-appropriate. Let's have a choking hazard Christmas! Now, I don't want to be that mom, the one who complains about the damn goody bags. But seriously. These goodies were a notch above a bag of glass. I swore, when I signed that sheet, promising to bring non-food treats, that I would take it a step up, go beyond the cracked plastic ornament from Dollar Tree.

This quest was top of the list this early morning. I had in mind what I wanted: quaint little gifts bags loaded with stickers, holiday pencils, perhaps little books, something crafty, and maybe a tasteful ornament for eight children, preferrably under $15.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find holiday stickers, pencils, little books, crafty crap, and ornaments? We're talking grail proportions, People.

I wandered around the large, boxy mega-store, wishing I was having dead toenails removed instead of wandering around a large, boxy mega-store two weeks before Christmas, and I found diddly shit for the little munchkins. Add the anxiety and sleep-deprivation to the mix, and I found myself constantly asking myself, "Would I kill a parent who gave Clara Jane a _____________ in a goody bag?" Because I knew that if I didn't ask myself, the kiddos were likely to wind up with goody bags filled with thus:

• nail polish
• metal ornament hooks
• poinsettas
• empty individual cupcake tins
• martini glasses
• votive candles
• paint chip samples
• live goldfish (little ones, because the big ones would be ridiculous)
• gum

Three stores later, here's what we have:

• 8-ounce plastic tumblers with Santa on them (8)
• Christmas pencils (12)
• big jingle bell ornaments (9)
• little spongy, Christmasy paint stamps (12)
• stickers (8 sheets)
• blue penguin-print goody bags (15)

Good, no? Until I called B. and he informed me that there are 12 kids in her class, not 8.

I might as well give the children shattered glass bulb ornaments. Well, I might as well give shattered glass bulb ornaments to eight kids in her class at let the other four feel like little forgotten - albeit unbloodied - losers.

The whole time I was on my two-hour, three-store nutfest, I kept asking myself, why? What's the point of this? There's no rule that I have to sign every single sign-up sheet presented to me. There are plenty of other moms in the class and the kids always have way more than enough. Last year, I signed up for fruit. Bought a small crate of Clementines and called it good. The kids were happy. I was happy. Everyone was happy.

There's a set of twins in Clara Jane's class. They were born to much older parents; it took me about a year to realize that the man I thought was their grandfather is actually their father. I overhear their mother all the time, talking about the umpteen activities the family's in. And yet, for the Halloween party, she presented overflowing, Martha Stewarty gift bags that didn't contain metal hooks or live fish. Totally over-the-top, and I hate to admit the momentary pang of inadequacy I felt for taking nothing more than the big bag of candy I'd signed up to bring.

Is that why I partook in the two-hour, three-store nutfest? To make myself feel better because the twins' mother raised some imaginary bar and I fell short? To make myself feel better for judging the twins' mother for the pains she took to assemble those astounding goody bags?

They're goody bags for two-year-olds, for crap's sake!

My goody bag days are done. From now on it's a box of Clementines, maybe some cherry muffins on her birthday like last year, if she wants them. I'd rather use my energy to do something directly with my daughter from now on.