Count Waffle’s the Terrible will go to nursery school today and celebrate Baby Cheese’s Birthday. At least, that’s what he keeps telling me.

We sent him, two days a week, three hours a day, to this particular nursery school because we loved their laid back attitude, great playground, and because I personally know, or know others who can vouch for ALL of the teachers.

We KNEW it was a Christian school, and we discussed how we would handle stuff like this…but we figured he’s just 2 1/2 and they really don’t mention the Bible or God or Jesus all that much. And any exposure to the subject would either go over his head or would be a nice, diversity lesson for him. (The Kaiser is an atheist, The Queen is somewhat agnostic, recovering Catholic and we’re pretty liberal.)

So when the note came home with the cute little Nursery School logo saying the kids would celebrate Christmas with a birthday party, I…ummm…freaked out. Only a little. I held the freak out in pretty good, for the most part.

I calmly approached the Kaiser to tell him what was up. I wanted to check his reaction to see if I was OVER reacting.
He was fine with it. No biggie. Seemed normal to him.

But in my Catholic upbringing, Christmas meant lots of mangers and animals and hay and advent calendars with chocolate and stuff. We never, ever, not even once associated it with a “birthday party.” This was a totally foreign concept to me. And the only thing I could associate it with was my crazy ass in laws. My sister-in-law was very excited once when my brother-in-law got to pick up Jerry Falwell from the airport to speak at their seminary. Does that explain enough? If you need more, see THIS POST.

Anyway, the Kaiser had great points about how kids are not going to understand any of the mumbo jumbo I was subjected to as a child and they sure do understand birthday parties. And its not like we’d keep the Count home from school just to avoid Baby Jesus. Totally valid points. And now, I’m fine with it. I have to be. I put him in this school, and something like this was bound to happen. And will happen again. And again.

And the Kaiser was dead on with kids understanding birthday parties. Because the Count is off to school this morning thinking he’s going to party all day long…with this guy–which I discovered when he said “Mommy, its baby Cheese’s Birthday. At Chuck E Cheese.”

The rules for this particular meme are as follows:

Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot.
1. Annush
2. Vince
3. Hanuman
4. Running2Ks
5. Queen of Spain

Then you get to select five people to pass the love on to. Sorry kids, ignore me if you want, I understand
1. Sarah
2. Becky
3. Gretchen
4. KDubs
5. Adena

Now, on to the questions!

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I really believe its fate I’ve been tagged and asked this question right now. Exactly 10 years ago, nearly to the day, I was at the end of a horrible, abusive, destructive and evil relationship. I was making my way back from the West Coast to Michigan after a road trip that involved a gun and a baby that was never to be. After the dust settled I moved to Florida. I met my husband, and my real life began.

What were you doing one year ago (I forgot this one earlier, but here it is now)
I had just turned the big 3-0, which the Kaiser commemorated with some bling that was engraved with “29”–because I’m 29 forever! I was pregnant with Princess Peanut, getting ready for Christmas in Florida and here.

Five snacks you enjoy:

We went from THAT to snacks? Ok.
Snackwell’s Fat Free Devil’s Food cake cookies
Kettle corn
Coffee (that counts)
Any kind of candy
Chocolate (milk or vanilla, none of that bitter dark junk)

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:

Anything by Sarah MacLachlan
Anything by Laurie Berkner
Anything seen or heard on Noggin or PBS Sprout
You Belong to Me, Patsy Cline (my wedding song)
The Canadian National Anthem

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:

Pay off everything
Buy my parents a house and health care
Buy my husband’s family land in West Virginia
Set up college funds and trusts for the kiddos
Give lots to my old high school journalism program and my husband’s old hometown community museum

Five bad habits:

Too much time on the old computer
Too much time in front of the old fridge
Lazy
Leaving lights on
Not using coupons

Five things you like doing:

Kissing the kiddos
Taking long, hot baths
Gardening
Yoga
Blogging/writing

Five things you would never wear buy or get new again:

A bikini
A belly shirt
Pantyhose
Tights
Gold jewelry

Five favorite toys:

GOD, I mean, TIVO
Computer
TV
Auto doors on the Mom Van
Debit card

Megaphone
Telephone
Trusty SwordYup. That’s my freaking breast pump.

And to think for a nano second I was sad she didn’t get her brother’s blue eyes. Silly me.

Count Waffles the Terrible has started. He’s started that thing that makes all those without children cringe, and all those with children point and laugh.

“Mommy, where are all the Christmas Trees?”
“Are the Christmas Trees all at the farm, Mommy?”
“Is the farm down the street, Mommy?”
“Is the street big, Mommy?”
“Are we going fast in the car, Mommy?”
“Mommy, is that car just like our car?”
“Mommy, is that a Mommy in that car?”
“Mommy, is that car the same as our car?”
“Is that light green, Mommy?”
“Is that light red now, Mommy?”
“Mommy was that light green and then it was orange and then it was red?”
“Are we almost at school Mommy?”
“Mommy, are we on the street to school?”
“Mommy, are we going to school?”
“Am I in the car, Mommy?”
“Is this our car, Mommy?”
“Am I in my seat in our car, Mommy?”
“Mommy, is that a bird?”
“Mommy, is that a bird on the street to school?”
“Mommy, did the bird fly away?”
“Are we at my school, Mommy?”
“Are we getting out of the car now, Mommy?”
“Am I on the sidewalk now, Mommy?”
“Mommy, are we walking to my school?”
“Mommy, is this my class?”
“Mommy, is that my teacher?”
“Are those my friends, Mommy?”
“Bye.”

And that was just a 5 minute ride. Is it wrong to have wine at 11am?

In all the fuss of babies walking and Santa and stuff, we forgot to tell everyone there is a new design up at the QUEEN STORE!

The Kaiser and I think Prom Queen ’89 is hilarious. And it came out really good…all navy and faded. Go check it out!

Also, a word of warning…we got a new camera. I’m sure many, many “awwww” photos of the Count and the Princess will be coming. Soon.

8 months, 11 days, 12 hours, and 43 minutes old, she takes two unassisted steps forward. Look Mom. No hands.

Watching my children play and interact with other children naturally makes me think of my own childhood. Recently the Count has been overly polite with his friends.
“Would you please like to play with me please? That would be really great if you would play with me, please.”
“Oh, thank you, I would love to share that car with you. Its beautiful. Thank you. Thank you.”
I’m not kidding. He has said these things.
And while I would love to ask my mother if I went through a similar phase of playground niceities, I can save myself the long distance call and just let everyone know now that I was a raging, evil, horrible, mean girl bitch.
No, really.
I wish I were kidding. I wish I could tell you that I was nice. And if you were to ask anyone I grew up with if I was nice, they might break into a cold sweat and, out of fear, tell you “Oh, yeah…her? She was nice. Supernice. Really supernice. She didn’t bug you, did she? You’re sure you’re not wearing a wire??”
Ok, ok, so maybe I wasn’t that bad. But there is one instance, in particular, that I can clearly remember that makes me think on my good days you could call me Nelly Olsen. And on the bad days, well…
Now, all I ask is that you remember I was a very, very young girl. And, at the time, I had no idea how bad this particular situation really was. And when I look back, I am horrified.

I grew up across the street from my Aunt. She had two daughters. Her youngest daughter, lets call her Maggie, was a real tomboy. Still is, as a matter of fact. This is only important to note because Maggie was the kind of girl who would take her dirt bike to the top of the tallest slide at the park and try and go down with “no hands.” She would leap off the top of her two story house into a pile of leaves. She would tie ropes from tree branches and climb up and down all day long. She would also lay a piece of cardboard in the driveway, smear it with baby powder, put on some parachute pants and breakdance…but that’s another story. She also got on top of a table at my wedding and swallowed a goldfish..but that’s another story too.
Maggie and I were playing in my Aunt’s backyard one afternoon when a girl (our age) from down the street came to join us. Kelly. Poor, poor, poor Kelly.
We didn’t like Kelly. We called her Kelly Smelly. And for the record, she eats her belly with jam and jelly, or so we said over and over and over and over again.
My Aunt had a HUGE apple tree in the backyard. That same tree also housed Maggie’s treehouse. My Aunt had told us in no uncertain terms that we could not begin playing until all the apples that feel from the tree were collected and thrown into a garbage can. So, in that begrudging way kids do, we began to pick up the apples. Until Kelly Smelly showed up, that is.
Upon Kelly’s arrival Maggie and I scurried up into the tree house.
“Hi! Can I come up and play with you guys?” Said poor, poor Kelly.
“Sure!” said Maggie and I, giggling amongst eachother.
“You can come up…but you have to pick up all the apples first.”
Kelly Smelly, always trying to fit in to the already close cousin crowd, agreed.
As she picked up every single apple in that yard and threw it into the green, plastic, trash can…Maggie and I played in the tree house.
After Kelly Smelly finished she began to climb the ladder. Maggie and I huddled.
Giggled.
Giggled some more.
And in a move that would eventually haunt me forever, we pushed Kelly off the ladder once she reached the top.
She lay screaming on the ground. And, at first, we giggled some more.
Then we realized she was hurt. Uh-Oh. Bad. And instead of any sense of nurture or love kicking in, fear kicked in for both Maggie and I.
We were going to be in trouble. BIG trouble.
We panicked. And with our hearts pounding the only thing we could think to do was get Kelly Smelly home. But we had to get her home without anyone knowing it was us that did the damage.
So we picked her up, she screaming with a broken leg, and we put her in the garbage can with the apples. It had wheels. We wheeled her the 4 or 5 houses down the block, rang her doorbell, and ran.
We left Kelly there, in a trash can, on her front porch, for her mother to find.
Of course Kelly told her mother everything. And of course as soon as they got back from the hospital, cast and all, her mother came marching down to my Aunt’s house.
Maggie and I heard that knock on the door and knew we were doomed.
We could hear the muffled adult voices at the door. We could hear my Aunt call my mother over from across the street. We could hear my Aunt and mother’s footsteps coming down the hall.
This was it. My life as a 7-8-year-old girl was over.
The door opened, we were accused of our crimes and then…then…
I denied everything.
Maggie denied everything.
Our mothers, never really liking Kelly Smelly’s mother, as I found out much later, believed every word we said.
We never got in trouble.
We never served our time.
And it wasn’t until a Christmas not too long ago that Maggie and I fessed up.
Both my Aunt and mother told us how they fought Kelly Smelly’s mother on the matter,
“If our girls say they didn’t do it…they didn’t do it!!!!”
I spent years trying to catch Kelly Smelly’s eye in my elementary school hallway. And my middle school hallway. And my high school hallway. I was always nice. I always said hello.
Can’t really blame her for never really giving me a heartfelt “Hi there” back.
I hear Kelly Smelly is a cop now. If she ever pulls me over, I totally expect to have drugs and murder weapons planted in my trunk. And to be jailed forever on trumped up charges. So if you read about me, you know, in prison, know I didn’t really do whatever crime I was sentenced for…but for another…

*editor’s note: when I first told this story to the Kaiser many years ago, he didn’t realize the trash can had wheels. And he was under the impression Maggie and I rolled a girl with a broken leg, sideways in the can…tumbling over and over like clothes in a dryer.