Count Waffles

Full of Grace

April 4, 2009 by Queen of Spain 9 Comments

The flexibility and agility of my children annoys me.

I’m watching my daughter leisurely sprawl herself across an ottoman at my mother’s home – leg balancing here, another there. Flipping around like a fish. Rolling from tip-toe to heel.

It drives me crazy, because I’m pretty sure that even as a child I couldn’t do more than stand straight so as not to fall.

I was the “awkward” one in ballet class.

Doing simple things like laying on my stomach to play never seemed as comfortable as the other kids made it. Easy. Natural.

I was never, necessarily a huge clutz. But I was never going to be described as graceful. My grandfather used to call me a “claud.”

I think that means “bigger” than a clutz.

My daughter and son are not that way. At least, not that I can tell…yet. My son will jump around and over and through the house like a gazelle while my daughter flitters around with these tiny feet you can barely hear.

And stomp tromp slosh comes Mom.

Maybe grace is overrated.

But I notice that over time my acceptance of my body’s limitations has wavered with my children’s …grace.

Was I ever like this? Is this what my mother saw as she looked at me? Could it be?…

…no, I think this Claud couldn’t have possibly been mistaken for the magical kids floating in my home. Graceful, sprite-like, and angelic.

Ok, maybe not angelic all the time…but you know what I mean.

They are running through the house looking for a missing chick. Never mind the missing chick is plastic, stay with me here…they are RIGHT NOW doing that thing they do, dancing around each other with toys and games and laughter.

Watching them is like an exercise in readying for disaster. I’m waiting for them to crash. To slam into eachother, to stub a toe, to fall and cry.

But I’m noticing more often then not…they are not me. They don’t tromp around the house or bump their tiny shins into sides of tables.

No…right now…they are dancing and giggling. Full of grace.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Last Night

March 22, 2009 by Queen of Spain 5 Comments

Last night my son pointed to me, smiled and said:

Mom I want to marry a girl just like you when I grow up.

My heart skipped a beat and I smiled back.

In my head I was thinking, oh, no you don’t. No. No. No you don’t.

You don’t want someone like your Mom kiddo. Trust me on this.

Filed Under: Count Waffles

In Which I Explain Sex To A Kindergartner, Via A Stud Horse

March 12, 2009 by Queen of Spain 33 Comments

Dirty Jobs.

I blame Dirty Jobs and it’s horse breeding episode that had me explaining things like “artificial vagina” and “ejaculation” to my soon-to-be 6-year old.

Uh huh.

*Let me just state here and now I have ZERO issues discussing sex. I have ZERO issues with children learning about sex in an age appropriate manner. I have ZERO issues with taking responsibility and doing my parental duty*

However…

I wasn’t ready.

And it’s unclear if I started my son down the path of perversion or education.

There he was, innocently laying in my bed after having 3 teeth pulled at the dentist. My son will be 6 this month and we’ve always had age appropriate sex discussions. Boys have a penis, girls have a vagina…that sort of thing. I had never gotten into the “mechanics” of sex because it didn’t seem necessary yet. A man and a woman were together, they have different parts, there was love…general terms were always used.

Never the low down and dirty fun-stick in the whoo-ha talk.

I was quietly working at my desk, my son was lazily watching the Discovery Channel. I was listening but not too closely.

Type type type type goes Mom.

…and the horse will need to ejaculate into this artificial vagina…

stop typing

…wow he’s really going to town!

get up quickly walk over to bed and tv. I look at the tv. Look at my son’s WIDE AS SAUCER EYES and then watch him roll over in bed and fake that he’s not watching.

Honey, do you want to talk about what you just saw? Do you have any questions?

I’m panicking right now. Do I talk about this with him RIGHT NOW? Is he too young? Will he understand? Of course he will understand. Will he GET IT and then, you know, try to do it? Oh sweet Mary Mother of God WHAT do I do? IF ONLY I COULD USE TEH GOOGLE TO HELP ME NOW.

So you saw that the horse used his penis to do something, right? Yes…well, that’s how people work too. Except usually the boy puts his penis in a girl’s vagina. A real one. Not like the fake one the horse used.

Son looks up at me with a “huh” on his face

And this is only when you are a grown up. And when you are really really in love.

Do I say married? Should I? I don’t really believe that. Maybe I should just say it so he thinks that’s really far away. No..moment has passed. I won’t.

Son starts playing with a scab on his arm. I can’t tell if he’s still paying attention to me.

You know that’s what Mommies and Daddies do to make babies. Then you were in my belly and your sister was in my belly.

For some reason I left out the “YOUR mommy and daddy did this” language. I have no idea why. It was like admitting the obvious outloud…yes, Your Dad put HIS penis in MY vagina. Why I couldn’t say this, exactly, is just stupid. I mean, I had already said that’s how it worked. Why couldn’t I take that extra step?

And some people do make babies other ways, in ways kind of like what you saw on tv..and they put the sperm into a woman’s body.

Son looks up at me

You mean they just shove it into her belly and a baby comes out?

Well, not exactly. They put it in her uterus or up her vagina.

Now I’m not even sure if that’s right. Crap. Why haven’t I read more infertility bloggers…do I go on? Do I really explain more about this?

Hey Mom, look at my legs…

Oh god, body part show and tell?

Aren’t they getting long? My legs are cool.

And with that he jumped up on the bed and proceeded to show me the splits.

Our bodies are COOL.

I nodded.

I went back to my desk.

I messaged my husband to let him know that I probably just permanently fucked up our kid.

He messaged back with a “OH MY, I’m SO sorry baby.” Clearly feeling my pain.

I feel like I missed a bunch of things I should have said to him. Or maybe I didn’t. I was just so caught off guard. Stupid show. Stupid Discovery Channel. Stupid stupid stupid Mommy.

Ah, cable tv. You showed my son something he probably would haven seen on a farm back in the day. Or, at least, something close to it. Should I have looked to see what exactly today’s Dirty Jobs episode would be? If I knew, would I have let him watch it anyway? Were the nuts and bolts necessary in this conversation since he’s so little?

I have no idea. I have no idea. I have no idea.

But hey…look how long my son’s legs are getting! Aren’t they cool?

Filed Under: Count Waffles, kill me now, Stepford Crazies

Kindergarten: Now With More Flirting!

March 6, 2009 by Queen of Spain 7 Comments

I witnessed my son hit on a girl today.

I wasn’t imagining it, either. I watched, mouth agape, as he told a brown-haired, 5-year old vixen he loved her the best of all the other girls in the class and wanted to hug her.

She then marched up to me..the mom..and said “Mrs. Vest, Jack loves me the best and I’m riding in YOUR car today.”

My jaw was still on the floor so I didn’t respond.

WTF just happened? I mean, nevermind that *I* had the other girls pin down Brian H. on the Kindergarten playground when I was 5…you know, so I could kiss him. THIS WAS DIFFERENT.

My baby boy was WORKING IT with half the girls in the class. The tall blonde, the green-eyed brunette. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

Let’s review my week. I arrive home to find my daughter has been flashing her underwear to the boys in town. I take my son on a field trip to find out he’s been playing the Kindergarten field.

I realized this day would come- the kids exploring and what not. But this is out of hand. I need a new plan. Perhaps they get locked in their rooms for all of eternity. Perhaps convents and military school.

Perhaps I am prescribed Valium and start making a nightly martini. Because this shit might kill me.

However I did see a ray of hope…or rather, I felt it. During today’s field trip, somewhere between learning about Bristol Farm’s deli counter and their cheese guy, MY little guy put his arms around me.

ME.

And in front of his whole class, all the girls and boys, he said, “Mom, I love you best, you know that, right?”

Damn right. And don’t think I didn’t eye each and everyone of those little miss things so they knew it, too.

Filed Under: By Order of the Charter, Count Waffles, Stepford Crazies

The Virtual World of 5-year olds

January 27, 2009 by Queen of Spain 7 Comments

Without any effort or thought, a handful of Kindergartners just walked into their computer lab, turned on their monitors, opened up a browser, found the bookmark tab, and began playing games.

I just watched it at my son’s school. It was second nature. It was without adult supervision. It was part of the routine.

I fully realize our children are wired. What didn’t occur to me was the ease of it all. The ‘daily life,’ same as -putting on a pair of pants and breathing air- there was to the whole thing.

This isn’t just the next generation, it’s the next Renaissance.

Filed Under: By Order of the Charter, Count Waffles

My Biggest Speaking Gig To Date

January 23, 2009 by Queen of Spain 5 Comments

Today I faced my toughest crowd.

Kindergartners.

I told them all about my trip to DC to watch Barack Obama become our 44th President. I’m pretty sure they wanted to hear less about Obama and more about my plane ride.

At one point I was busting out gadgets to keep their interest.

The most successful part of my talk? Mentioning Malia and Sasha Obama…and the look of pride on my son’s face as the kids clapped when I finished.

Filed Under: By Order of the Charter, Count Waffles

PlayDates and Politics

January 14, 2009 by Queen of Spain 5 Comments

I am reading Barack Obama’s letter to his daughters and, of course, tearing up.

My son, peering over my shoulder, asks me about Malia and Sasha and wants to know “Can we go to their house and play with them? It would be fun.”

I try to explain that I am sure the President will be busy with work and the girls have school, but this does not deter the 5-year old who says, “but we can just go on a not school day, and maybe it’s ok if their Dad isn’t there.”

I again tried to put into words how their lives will change and how they may not be able to have a playdate with the Vest kids…but he just sort of looked at me blankly.

How do you explain this sacrifice to a child?

I think, in the letter, Obama says it best,

“I soon found that the greatest joy in my life was the joy I saw in yours. And I realized that my own life wouldn’t count for much unless I was able to ensure that you had every opportunity for happiness and fulfillment in yours. In the end, girls, that’s why I ran for President: because of what I want for you and for every child in this nation.”

I don’t know any parent who does not feel the same, but not all are willing to do what Barack and Michelle have done.

Thank you Obama family, for missing playdates…and then some.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa

Too Wired?

January 3, 2009 by Queen of Spain 20 Comments

My children can easily open a web browser and play games. They can turn on the Wii, the DS, and will ask me to find them the ‘blahblahfill-in-the-blank.com’ they heard about on tv.

They are 3 and 5- years old.

Mom and Dad both use their computers for work and play. So laptops are always open and it’s just a way of life for the adults, so it stands to reason it’s a way of life for the children in the house.

Is this the new standard for families or are we entirely too plugged in?

Don’t get me wrong, there is a very healthy amount of NON-wired play around here. Legos, dolls, imagination run rampant.

So why do I feel guilty when they do plug in?

Is that a throwback to some bygone era where this wasn’t commonplace? Leftover guilt akin to my mother telling me I was sitting too close to the television?

If they are monitored, if their time is monitored, if it’s all well and good…why am I even questioning their wired lives when everything comes with a .com?

Perhaps it’s just like everything else in motherhood: am I doing this right? That nagging, never ending feeling in the back of your brain that you can be better, try harder.

Or maybe we just need to go for a walk.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Princess Peanut, Royal Family Outing