2010 March

Five.

March 30, 2010 by Queen of Spain 24 Comments

I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to put into words my emotions today. I want to blog about my youngest turning five. How she’s gotten her ears pierced. How she couldn’t be more proud to be turning into a ‘big girl.’

But it’s too complex for what feels like puny words. Words that will pale in comparison to what’s happening in my heart and in my head.

All I know is carrying her is hard. She’s getting too big for me to hold on my hip. My hip that’s held her and her brother for so many years. My hip that’s labored under the weight of what I always, lovingly, called my ‘sack of potatoes.’

My hips aren’t done. They want more. And I ache and cry as I stand and automatically shift my weight…swaying the sway of a woman with a child on her hip.

But my hand now slips from her bottom and her weight is just nearly too much.

This hip will soon be empty.

And I honestly can’t bear the pain and sting, when I so badly long for this hip to be full.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies

Play

March 28, 2010 by Queen of Spain 19 Comments

For as much ‘time’ as I spend with my kids, I rarely play with them.

There’s work to be done. There’s finally no work to be done and time to just sit. There’s …fill-in-the-blank.

And then there is my dirty little secret: I really don’t enjoy it.

I can’t play Lego’s for that long. My ass starts to get numb on the floor and I suck at putting things together. I can only pretend a stuffed dog and a stuffed cat are best friends and make food in the pretend kitchen for a bit before my eyes glaze over and I check Twitter or begin to read the news.

So tonight, after an exhausting double birthday party at my home, where children screamed and jumped and made a mess…I sat down in a heap of defeat only to hear ‘Mom…you haven’t jumped in the jumper with us yet!’

I knew I could get out of it. I knew I could say no. I knew I could easily send them off to spend another 30 minutes in the rented monstrosity on my front lawn.

But I didn’t say no. I said yes.

Mind you I didn’t last for more than a few slides and a few jumps…but I said yes. And I smiled and jumped and laughed for those very brief moments and came back inside.

It wasn’t much. But I said yes.

Filed Under: Stepford Crazies

Possibles

March 22, 2010 by Queen of Spain 15 Comments

My husband teases me a lot. Whenever we can’t be together because I’m traveling, or we don’t get that “alone” time due to the kids…he reminds me we’ve got “50 or 60 years… your whole life baby!” And he pulls me close and kisses me and lets me know just how long forever really is.

But on the morning of the health care reform vote in the House, I had to tell my son his music teacher passed away. And it got me to thinking that maybe, just maybe, we don’t have 50 or 60 more years. And maybe, just maybe, this could all end tomorrow.

My son took the news as any “almost” seven-year old would. He got upset, he teared up, he lamented that he didn’t get a turn in the last game she played with them in class. Apparently the beloved Miss Mary would “lose her voice” as she sang to the kids…and they would eventually discover it in her pocket. My little guy was upset he’d never get his turn to find her voice.

I was upset for him. And I held him close and asked if he’d like to play the teacher’s fun game at home. He quickly became distracted with a toy and ran off to play, while I sat there…feeling empty and worrisome over all the reasons any one of us might not get “our turn” at whatever game was next.

I’m the first to admit I worry. I worry for my family, of course. But also for my friends spread far and wide across the world. And I’m also the first to admit I’d much rather be in control. I want my son to get another turn finding Miss Mary’s voice. I want to make sure my husband gets the 50 or 60 years he’s anticipating with me. I want my children to know that yes, everything really does turn out ok.

But when you have to explain cancer to a little boy, and explain why he should hug his classmates a little tighter on Monday…it’s hard. Actually, it’s beyond hard. It’s like taking a little bit of innocence and crushing it under your adult foot.

There are no guarantees. Nothing is certain. It’s the worst and most important lesson to teach a child.

My son knew. He understood. And much like his mother he quickly put it out of his head and moved on to something that made him happy. Denial? Maybe. Coping? Sure. I don’t expect a seven-year old to face death like his mother…wondering over when it’s her turn, anxious for test results from yet another doctor trip. Trying to not make mountains out of mole hills.

He turns seven on Wednesday. Not much of a “little” boy anymore and ready to hear a lot of these truths I so desperately wish he didn’t need to know. But that seven-year old, that very night, spilled the contents of his “possibles” box onto my bed.

With love and care he told me about each stone. Each coin. Each treasure. How he would one day find more. How he would one day discover treasures no one has ever seen. How he would one day have an even BIGGER box of “possibles.”

And with all those “possibles” in my heart I tell him anyway of the truths we face. I tell him with a heavy heart and a big hug. Knowing that with the truth of the unexpected, and of life…he would be better for it in the end. Hoping that with the knowledge he will find HIS voice, and move forward as his father and I do…hoping for many, many years of being together, and tons upon tons of love.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies

This Weekend- Pass Health Care Reform

March 19, 2010 by Queen of Spain 10 Comments

For the bills on my desk right now.

For the bills that have already cost my friends their homes.

For the ones who didn’t make it long enough to face those bills.

For the millions of people who don’t seek treatment because they aren’t even privileged enough have an insurance company to bill.

Because, while this legislation isn’t perfect, if we DON’T it only gets worse.

And because if you don’t, I’m going to look like this…

…except I’m old enough to vote.

I'm not sure what I did but minime is PISSED (cc: @aaronvest )

Filed Under: #suckit

So Rielle Hunter, Dora, and Barney Walk Into a Photo Shoot

March 17, 2010 by Queen of Spain 7 Comments

Crossposted at BlogHer.com

Recently, I was asked on CNN what lessons politicians like John Edwards could learn from sex scandals. My answer was simple: “Keep your pants on.”

Apparently Rielle Hunter should have been given the same advice during a recent photoshoot with Mark Seliger. Call me crazy, but if you become famous due to a sex scandal with a presidential candidate … you might not want to take pantless photos for a bombshell interview, posed with your love-child’s toys. Even we mommybloggers know enough about brands to call that a boneheaded move.

Image source: GQ

As if sexy photos from someone seen as a homewrecker weren’t enough, the Dora and Barney stuffed toys leaning against her threw in that extra edge of creepy.

Hunter, the mother of Edward’s child, has reportedly told Barbara Walters she now regrets the photos,

“She was in tears when she called,” said Walters, “and said that when she saw the pictures in GQ she screamed for two hours. She said she found the photographs repulsive.”

So Walters says she asked if that was the case why did she pose for them? “She said she trusted Mark Seliger, whom she said is a brillant photographer and quote, ‘I went with the flow,'” recounted Walters.

If you haven’t seen the GQ photo spread and interview of John Edward’s baby mama, go take a peek.

I’m not buying Hunter really regrets these photos. At some point she had to take her pants off and at some point she had to let Barney fall on her leg a bit and act sexy. Sex and the 405 isn’t buying it either,

Oh, my. We’re all about the MILF here at Sex and the 405 but posing half-dressed among your kid’s toys is just a little too … ew. That’s Barney half on your lap, you know? To make matters worse, according to Barbara Walters, Hunter called her hysterically to let her know how disgusted she was about the GQ photos Mark Seliger took of her for the men’s magazine — like she was somehow not a part of the shoot or had any say in the matter. We’ll say to her now what we said to “Johnny” then: you did it, now own it!

Shannon of RightPundits is also skeptical,

Rielle Hunter allowed herself to be interviewed and photographed by GQ magazine; just exactly what John Edwards, the man she supposedly loves, didn’t need. Never mind that in the photos which you can see here, she pimped out their two year old child and allowed semi-racy pictures of herself to be taken. And surprise, surprise; she’s shocked that GQ would have the audacity to run photos of her wearing nothing but a white button up shirt. Are we really to believe that this woman is that naïve?

Bipartisanship at it’s finest — the Right and I agree the Hunter photos are in poor taste and ill-advised! Next time, just follow my advice: Keep your pants on … and maybe stay away from the children’s toys.

Contributing Editor Erin Kotecki Vest also blogs at Queen of Spain blog

Politics & News Contributing Editor Erin Kotecki Vest

Filed Under: BlogHer

Socks

March 10, 2010 by Queen of Spain 13 Comments

I looked down at my feet tonight and saw sock that weren’t my own.

Just plain white socks.

I squinched my face and tried to remember where I had snagged them from.

A drawer?

A laundry basket?

The counter by the shoes, I think?

My feet were cold. My feet are always cold. And I went for the first pair I could find.

I squinched my face again peering at these white socks realizing they weren’t mine, but they also weren’t my husband’s.

Odd, I thought.

And then…my heart fell into my stomach, my eyes grew wide, and my mind began to race.

These are my son’s socks.

I’m wearing my son’s socks.

My son has feet big enough to wear sock that would fit my feet.

My son that is six. He’s SIX. He’s not seven for two more weeks.

How can my baby boy possibly have feet that would wear socks that would even come close to fitting my feet?

I’m wearing my son’s socks. And they fit.

And I mourn. And I celebrate. And I mourn.

Just plain white socks.

Filed Under: #suckit, Count Waffles, Stepford Crazies

Hey (white) Girl Do Your Thang

March 9, 2010 by Queen of Spain 14 Comments

There is a big discussion going on over at BlogHer right now, tackling the complex issues of race, culture, identity… things that aren’t easy to unravel.

Which happens to be going on as I pulled my daughter from her suburban ballet class…and added her to a suburban hip-hop class.

Yup. My soon-to-be five-year old is shaking it to Tina Turner and Beyonce.

But considering this discussion at BlogHer…I’m torn. My daughter is having fun, my daughter is learning dance and generally oblivious to any cultural issues that may surround what’s going on. But Mom is well aware she’s the little white girl emulating black culture. There is positive and negative here. The positive in her being exposed to it, and the negative being the dilution of that culture.

It’s not lost on me that little white girls in the suburbs are taking hip-hop, and the ramifications there of. It’s not lost on me that while acceptance and mainstream can aid in race issues, they can also harm and make things worse.

No, this isn’t step and this isn’t a pow wow…but it’s food for thought.

Filed Under: BlogHer, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Stealing Home

March 5, 2010 by Queen of Spain 13 Comments

My kids tend to sneak things into my suitcase when I go away on a business trip. Usually it’s one of their toys. Occasionally a picture.

This time around?

Nothing.

My son is entirely unfazed by my comings and goings, and my daughter is just downright pissed off. She’s decided my leaving is a direct insult to her tiny being and she’s crossed her arms in defiance and, this time, flat out refused to lovingly help pack my bag.

Empty.

There are no stuffed kitties or bunnies in my bag. There are no smiling stick figures drawn with care and attention. There are only my jeans and sweaters and a plastic airplane my son had placed between my toiletries and my coat the last time I left town.

We have all these discussions about women in the workforce, women in the office, women breaking the glass ceiling…but the reality is that despite wanting to dominate the world…my suitcase is empty.

I’m not sure if I can put into words what that does to me.

My suitcase is empty.

Despite having every ability and ambition, it just physically pained me to go pull out my pajama’s as I ready for bed here in this hotel room…and find no tiny puppies and zero little ponies.

My passion for what I do overwhelms me sometimes. It drives me to spend long hours writing, reporting, and organizing in the things I believe. I’m lucky that my job and my passion collide in such a wonderful way.

But my passion for a full suitcase overwhelms as well. And it tears at me as I try to concentrate on the task at hand.

Who knew such a small thing could make such a big difference.