With all the family in town, the Kaiser and I actually had an opportunity to go together to Princess Peanut’s 9-month well check. Together and without Count Waffles. Wow.

Anyway, at some point during the visit my God-like pediatrician (go ahead and click that…she writes and serves as an expert for Parenting Magazine, head of peds at UCLA, writes books, etc.) asks us if the Peanut is our “caboose” child, or if we will grace her practice with more royal children.

I hate this question. I hate it almost as much as “so, what do you do?”

I always hesitate answering someone, waiting to see what the Kaiser says. I don’t know why. I KNOW what he will say. Its an emphatic “yes” on his part. He’s done. This is it. Two kids. Finished. Over. He has extremely practical, logical, and well thought out reasons to back up his position. Solid reasons. Not really arguable reasons.

And let’s face facts here, I’m pretty much with him. I can barely hold this royal kingdom together as it is. I can barely keep the dishes from piling up in the sink, laundry clean, small people fed, hair combed, etc. The thought of adding another boob-sucker to this train wreck is clearly insane. Clearly.

So how come, now that the Kaiser is scheduling his vasectomy, am I totally, 100%, sure I want a third child? Clearly we cannot afford a third child. College, diapers, what not. Clearly two is more than I can handle on a good day around here. Clearly both my pregnancies sucked ass. Clearly I was miserable while pregnant. And I am not kidding you, when I say I just had to get up from this computer and tear my two children apart while they both screamed at the top of their lungs. Its as if Saint Anne herself is telling me two is plenty.

Maybe its because the doctor told me I am only capable of carrying one more child. Maybe its because I’m only 31. Maybe its because I have hopes I’ll get this two-kid thing under control soon and three will seem like fun.

Whatever the reason, I’m clearly insane. But that chubby, yummy, 9-month photo of Princess Peanut up there makes me want to make sure there is always a chubby, yummy, baby around these parts.

Always.

I’ve paid my dues
The trenchcoat is off. They are gone. They are allllllllllll gone.
Time after time
Took the last batch of sugar-pushing grandparents to the airport at 530 this morning. When the back gate of the mom-van closed I swore I heard angels sing.
I’ve done my sentence
But committed no crime
I love them. I really do. But Jesus F’ing Christ they make me crazy. And not crazy in a good way. Crazy in a-I’d be an alcoholic, pill popper -way.
And bad mistakes
In fact, they make me so crazy that as I type this I kinda miss them. What the hell is that crap?
I’ve made a few
Despite my Martha-ness taking a hit with my mother-in-law’s improvised, used wrapping paper tablecloth, the Queen Mother’s constant baking and cooking and cleaning after I cleaned, the odd and sometimes uncomfortable melding of my swearing, football watching father with my ax-wielding (not kidding, they brought us wood all the way from West Virginia) outdoorsey father-in-law, and the added bonus of one teething baby and one over hyped, over stimulated, over indulged toddler….we survived.
I’ve had my share of sand
Kicked in my face
In the end it was all about the kids (when is it not, I ask?) and they were spoiled. I went overboard. The grandparents went overboard. Consumerism ran amok.
But I’ve come through
The Kaiser and I even escaped for a quick date and some naughtiness (wink, nudge, wink, wink) AND I had a spa day.
And we mean to go on and on and on and on
So as I sip coffee from my new coffee pot, pop in a new DVD for Count Waffles the Terrible and plot what to do with the thong, nativity, and 1980’s tracksuit I unwrapped Xmas morning, I’m feeling rather victorious.
We are the champions – my friends
And we’ll keep on fighting
Till the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
‘Cause we are the champions
of the World


****I revised this month’s Annie’s Knight contest, EVERYONE should be able to play now!

It appears many of you are not at liberty to post your crazy family stories on your blog to try and win a free shirt from the Queen Store. So, here is your revised challenge:

Post a photo or story that shows your family at its best, or at its worst. Same rules as below apply, but I will extend the deadline to January 1st, 2006 with the winner announced January 2nd, 2006. Crazy ass family stories are still welcome. But it might be easier for everyone to post sappy, happy, or inspiring photos or stories.

If you have already submitted an entry, feel free to change it or contact me if you no longer want it posted!

Have fun!

Throughout history, monarchs realized the value and necessity of rewarding gallantry in battle and loyal service, often by awarding gifts of land or money, or some sort of title or sign of merit as a mark of distinction. This was particularly the case when the first sovereign of a new dynasty succeeded to or took the throne and therefore needed to ensure that their supporters’ loyalty was rewarded. – Monarchy Today.

In that spirit, I, Queen of Spain, declare open the second “Order of St. Anne” competition. “Annie,” as I commonly refer to her, is the patron Saint of mothers, pregnancy, housewives…and less notably, lace makers, Detroit, cabinetmakers, and miners.

Thank you to Dame Ms. Mama for serving as December’s winner, with her Mommylicious photo. Since I am otherwise engaged with my nut ball family until 2006, it seemed only fitting that I bring you, my blogging friends, into my own personal circle of hell and pit you against eachother in a battle to the death. Ok, not really death…but maybe you’d all fight to the death over a free t-shirt. You never know. I’ve seen them shoot crappy free shirts into crowds at sports arenas and grown men have fought over those. And my shirt designs are waaaaay better. So get out your brass knuckles and dump beer over eachother’s heads.

As per usual, winner gets a T-shirt from the Queen store. Your choice. Now, on to this month’s challenge:

Post about your crazy family. I KNOW I’m not the only one out there. And I’m guessing many of you have some fresh new stories to share since we’re knee deep in the craptastic holiday season. Give me a crazy family story. Or photo. Or inkblot. Or all three. Tell me in my comments section when your post is up and I’ll go check it out.

Once again, don’t make me get all PriceWaterhouseCoopers on your ass with rules. You get the idea. Play fair. I am the Queen. I will pick one entry for whatever reason I see fit. That blog will be named “Annie’s Knight” for the month, and featured here on the Queen and her Royal Family in the sidebar for the month of January. And you can pick a title just like Dame Ms. Mama did. Friends and relatives can play. I’m the Queen, I do what I want. Nonbloggers can e-mail me at QueenofSpainblog@yahoo.com and we can work to publish your entry or find you a blog to post on.

You have until the end of 2005…that’s December 31st to get your post up. I’ll announce a winner on January 1st, 2006.

Now, go make me want to knight you…

If I haven’t told everyone already…I was really excited to have purchased and used a tablecloth for Christmas dinner. I know, you’re thinking to yourself, what sort of f’d up nut job blogs about her tablecloth? Not me. Nope. Not me.

I will, however, share with you yet one more example of why I am very different from my inlaws. After breaking out the good china, the gold flatware, and actually buying my first fancy tablecloth…my mother-in-law thought she’d help out by using a piece of used wrapping paper from the morning festivities and covering the second table, added at the last minute.

I promptly opened a bottle of wine. And continued cooking. I thanked her for helping.

Before you tell me how nice I am, realize I shouldn’t even be telling anyone this upset me. And I’m feeling very guilty for even admitting that something this stupid made me want to scream….But isn’t that what family is all about? Taking those little quirks and saying, dammit…Merry Christmas and I love you too. And calmly eating my prime rib on the used wrapping paper, positioned so thoughtfully next to my nice, new tablecloth.

(I’m still in stealth blogging mode. I’ll be back to commenting on everyone else’s blogs as soon as the Queen Mother gets on her plane later in the week! I miss you all horribly…I bet you if you come kidnap me, you might get some cool wrapping paper or fancy paper plates as ransom…)

A scorecard update:

Queen Mother has made a total of 6 trips to the grocery store since yesterday.

Cats are being let out of doors that are supposed to remain shut. Prompting Houseboy to lose his shit. (his cats are the indoor variety, and his only real love in life)

The Kaiser’s mother rescued the gift I nearly botched for the Kaiser.

Everyone might as well just spoonfeed Count Waffles straight sugar. Despite my pleas to try and temper the holiday goodies given to the toddler, he’s being handed cookies and candy every other second.

Did I mention the Count has croup and Princess Peanut has diarrhea, a runny nose, a chest cold, and cutting her two front teeth???

I took an Imitrex and had some wine and could care less about anything.

Its anarchy. Fa la la la la…la la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

But actually, its turning into the fun kind of anarchy. Not the kind where people die and things burn down. So that’s good. I think I just finally had to let go and enjoy. Which is exactly what I’m going to do from here on out! Happy freaking Holidays! May you all enjoy your crazy ass family as much as I am going to enjoy mine!

For your scorecards:

The Kaiser and Queen have quarreled.
The Queen Mother and Houseboy have quarreled.
The Queen, Houseboy, and the Queen Mother had a blow out over the placement of this blow up:

The Queen Mother has gone back to the grocery store twice today because, apparently, the $300 of groceries I bought-from her specific list-were insufficient. My paper plates, it seems, are not the right paper plates.

There has also been a last minute glitch in the gift I’ve been planning for the Kaiser that’s 2 years in the making.

…and the other set of grandparents are just now getting off the plane.

Can also be seen on Mr. Big Dubya’s holiday mantel
I’ve scrubbed. I’ve washed. I’ve clorox wiped and windexed. I actually used my finger nails to pick yogurt (no H) stains out of the carpet (the kid yogurt variety…not the other kind…geez). I’ve gotten breakfast food for 4 grandparents and planned dinners and lunches (no suppers) for a week. I shipped in Kielbasa from Detroit. I even have snacks and appetizers. The gifts are wrapped, including the Teacup that nearly cost me my life. And tonight plane #1 lands. Tomorrow plane #2. I’ll be popping in and out to update you on just how many times my father-in-law says “Yes sirriiee Bob!” and how many times my mother points out a stain on my carpet or my lack of tablecloths. Wish me luck in our first family Christmas at home with the Royal Family. Happy Holidays everyone! And I suppose Happy Birthday to that Baby Cheeses guy too.

Here’s some Holiday Card Envy for you!