Count Waffles

Santa Claus: Monster or Mercenary?

December 8, 2008 by Queen of Spain 7 Comments

My kids are scared shitless of Santa.

Ok, maybe scared isn’t the right word. They can’t look at him, or talk to him, or go anywhere near him. But it’s not clear if they are scared or OVERWHELMED BY HIS GLORY.

This means, aside from one photo when my son was 9-months old and I hadn’t thought through the chaos, my children have no pictures with Santa.

So when I see articles over at BlogHer like Laurie’s…I have to laugh and shake my head at other parents who are fine with torturing their children year after year after year. Don’t get me wrong, I can be a pretty stupid Mother (or ‘Mudder’ as my daughter has taken to calling me) on some things here and there, but I just can’t imagine forcing my crying and scared to death kid into the lap of some large, red stranger.

Do you really need that photo THAT badly? I don’t. And as much as I wanted my kids to pose with characters at Disney, I certainly wasn’t going to shove them forward if they didn’t want to.

No, instead I shove my husband, because he’ll shake his ass with Stitch on behalf of his children anyday.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Bottoms Up

December 2, 2008 by Queen of Spain 8 Comments

It’s happened.

My kids finally figured out their parts were different and they now giggle about it.

My son doesn’t want anyone looking at him when he pees. My daughter thinks it’s hilarious to bust in on her brother and yell “I see your PENIS!”

…and both my kids ADORE being in their underwear, sticking out their butts, and shaking it all while singing “Shake my bottom, YEAH!”

Last night I gave them separate baths. Soon, it will have to be separate bedrooms.

and I would now like to mourn and cry.

Join me, won’t you?

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

Leftovers

November 28, 2008 by Queen of Spain 10 Comments

I realize we’ve already given Thanks and the time has come and gone for me to rattle off all the people and things I love in my life. So rather than cross that fine line between GREAT, comforting, yummy Holiday leftovers and lead-in-pit-of-stomach, one-day-too-late-to-eat leftovers, my Holiday leftovers consist of change.

(oh god, that change word again…is she going to talk politics? please no please no)

A seismic shift has occurred in our house, and it needs to be recognized.

Despite years of loathing, jealousy, and full-on contempt, my son now adores and protects his little sister.

Yes, it’s a holiday miracle. Yes, I am thrilled he comes to her defense. Yes, I realize this is normal sibling stuff.

However (and this is a big however) it’s getting annoying.

I find myself walking a very fine-line between “it’s so wonderful to see you sticking up for your sister” and “don’t you DARE challenge ME the MOM while I rightfully punish your sister.”

Yes, he is protecting her so very much he’s actually attempting to justify his baby sister’s indiscretions to the parental units.

Mom she’s just having a bad day, she didn’t really mean to throw that lego

Mom don’t yell at her, she will say she’s sorry for hitting you with her pony

Mom I told her it was ok so please don’t be mad at her

It also seems, just like the other males in this house, my little guy has some sort of dagger-through-heart reaction whenever my darling daughter cries.

Which means he attempts to avoid it at all costs. He will give her that toy she’s wanting. He will go get her a juice. He will even give up the toy he’s playing with in order to keep the peace.

It’s gotten so bad my 3-year old now totally plays her brother by fake crying, just to get her way.

Now, I look at this from a few different angles. One is that I’m thrilled my son no longer views her as the enemy. Two is that he is so very compassionate. Three is a bit more concerning to me…she’s totally using her feminine ways to exploit every male in this house from her brother to her uncle to her Dad.

Say it with me…OY VEY.

I realize this will probably serve her well later in life, but I’m torn between cutting it off now or helping her hone and better control her female gifts. I mean…do I put my foot down…or have her use this power to get us both a puppy? Do I make her stop using and abusing men or teach her that if she tilts her head just a bit and drops her lip just one more notch she could probably ALSO get a pony?

Change. Yes, it’s here.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, kill me now, Princess Peanut

Taking Control

November 25, 2008 by Queen of Spain 27 Comments

I’m sitting on the couch with my 5-year-old.

As I type, he’s watching a PBS special on the origins of the universe. This is on his insistence I change the channel from the cartoons previously enjoyed by his sister and I.

As I sit here and learn all about how the stars and galaxies were formed and my son asks me how the ‘proto-Sun’ was created, I have a hard time believing just last week I was sick to my stomach over his parent-teacher conference.

Rolls and plays with his pencil.
Doesn’t like coloring.
Doesn’t like worksheets.
Disrupts class with questions.
Recommend consult with pediatrician, possible ADHD.
Academically on track, same as rest of class.

Confused, dejected, and on the defensive I sought all the information I could find. I talked to friends. I talked to family. My husband, in the midst of his most grueling work week in a year, weighed in as much as possible.

I talked to our pediatrician. And I questioned the difference between the protective nature of my children, and criticism.

I also took a good, hard look at the a room full of 30 Kindergartners, one teacher, and one aide and admittedly ‘no time for individualized learning.’

I am a product of public schools. I got a great education, so did my brother. I believe our local public schools are fantastic, among the best in Los Angeles County. Our teachers work extremely hard to not only nurture our children, but also to meet and exceed the standards placed on them. They are heroes.

However this system is not ideal for every child. There is no room for imagination. There is no room for nonconformity. There is no room for a 5-year old who likes science experiments as opposed to worksheets. The overworked and underpaid teacher does not have the time nor the means to handle any boy who does not fit inside the very ridged guidelines the class must have in order to succeed.

Unless…

Unless you have school district who recognizes it’s limitations and attempts to thwart the system.

Our district has opened it’s first charter school. And by the luck of the stars there was one spot, opened the night prior, in the kindergarten class. Upon hearing the news I threw on some clothes, hurriedly raced the 5 miles down the road (while throwing up in the car, wondering if I was doing the right thing) and enrolled my son.

I filled out the forms like a crazed lunatic, knowing the first mother or father to turn them in got the spot. I nearly parked myself on the school secretary’s desk until I was done.

Project-based learning. An emphasis on international relations, recognizing the students as citizens of the world. Small class rooms (no more than 20 students).

“Modeled after successful schools such as International School of Monterey, Guajome Park Academy, and Bill Gates’ High Tech High, we have a learner-centered approach using facilitators.”

My pencil-rolling guy (who tears apart my living room looking for ‘parts’ for all his inventions) will start after Thanksgiving break, his first day will be a field trip.

His sister is a legacy. And Mom is about to learn-first hand-about charter schools, the public school system, and taking a pro-active approach in managing how her children are ‘labeled’ and taught.

Filed Under: By Order of the Charter, Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa

Goofy Grins and Giggles

September 27, 2008 by Queen of Spain 5 Comments

We interviewed nanny’s this weekend. A hellish task for me since I currently believe the entire world is incapable of caring for my children. That includes their father.

Of course, most everyone cares for them better than I do, head usually buried in my laptop and with little patience for things like play dough…but that doesn’t stop me from judging everyone incompetent in their babysitting ways.

To know me is to love me.

Anyway.

The great Nanny inquisition of Fall 2008 was underway this weekend as a totally unqualified 19-year old sweetly came into the home and turned my 5-year old to a puddle of goo.

He gazed at her. He giggled at her. He had the goofiest grin on his face and this absent stare about him that I nearly kicked her out right then and there. Instead we finished the interview and she politely left. Then my kindergartner pretty much walked around the house with those hearts and birds circling his head for the rest of the day.

Now I’m sitting here looking at our final candidates, with credentials that span from nanny schools in London to teaching credentials and there’s my son, grinning and giggling over the least qualified of the bunch and swearing to me she’d be the “BEST BABYSITTER EVER, MOMMY.”

I’m dying to make some obvious Sarah Palin comparisons here, but I’m going to try and keep it all in check until Thursday night and the VP debate of the century. I’m also going to be happy that I will have a new nanny by then. One that will no doubt be OVER-qualified for watching two kids and not just a pretty face.

If you live in Southern California, I highly encourage you to join the debate watch party where we will be eating, drinking, and critiquing every single move Biden and Palin make.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, kill me now, Obama '08, Stepford Crazies

Go Big or Go Home

June 14, 2008 by Queen of Spain 15 Comments

I baked scones and happily sang away with my iTunes while a child was abused.

I watched suburban children sing, uncomfortably, in their hand-picked outfits and combed hair and give their teachers end-of-the-school year gifts while a child was abused.

I ran around the park with my own children, and their friends, and their parents, and we ate homemade treats and laughed about the cost of gas while a child was abused.

There is a story on my local news tonight that may become one of those things that haunts me until I die.

If you are at all feeling weak or unable to cope with an unspeakable abuse story, please do not click this link.

Just know that a boy my son’s age was tortured only a few dozen miles from my own home.

Things were done to him that no adult should ever withstand. He survives, and has been taken to a safe place.

For all my insanity. For all my talk. For all my endless threats… this is something that makes me want to say ‘screw it’ to all the reasons why I shouldn’t help, why I shouldn’t be adopting, why I shouldn’t be attempting to give. Why I am too busy or too broke or too ….whatever.

because that child is no more or less deserving than my own.

because as much as I wanted to turn off the tv and change the channel, I knew I was just turning a blind eye.

because this story is not rare enough.

because I spent the day watching my very own 5-year old get that ‘head start’ as he ‘graduated’ pre-school.

because for every reason, every excuse, and every story we do…or we don’t.

because somewhere in there, a decision is made.

Do.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa

The Post I Don’t Want to Write

June 9, 2008 by Queen of Spain 24 Comments

My first born.

My baby boy.

My little guy.

I’ve been avoiding discussing the big ‘K’ for as long as possible-but there is no more avoiding it…

Count Waffles the Terrible starts Kindergarten in August and I’m a disaster.

He’s excited as hell.

I’m a gawddamn disaster.

I should have been tipped off by the amount of paperwork involved in just enrolling him for public school. I now refer to it as the ‘kindergarten packet of DOOM’ because really-it was insane.

Then came the orientations and the ‘is your child ready?’ discussions. The assessment of his skills by a teacher. The walk-through of the class. Then the ‘buddy’ day where our little guy was partnered with a current kindergartner and went through ‘class’ for an hour.

This is where I got to sit in the back and see what was ahead. Excitement, frustration, the hierarchy of peers-it was enough to make me puke in my mouth a little.

Not to mention the totally primped and dolled up ‘Muffia’ mothers in the class, sitting next to me as I watched and they chatted so loud they nearly drowned out the teacher.

‘No, Trust me Kathy you want Mrs. J. She’s the only teacher worth having.’
‘But I heard her husband has been seeing his secretary.’
‘And don’t forget if you sign him up for the karate class AND the gym class next door they will transfer the kids and you can stay for the manicure AND pedicure.’

Yup, I get to make ‘friends’ with those bitches so I can make sure my kids are not shunned via PTA ‘your mom didn’t do xyz’ stigma.

My son took it all in stride while I totally panicked. I’m worried I am going to forget to put his name on something. That I haven’t forced him to write his name enough. That I’ll pack him the wrong kind of lunch.

Ugh.

Just as I had gotten us home from ‘buddy’ day and attempted to decompress, I heard screams from downstairs.

Blood. Confusion.

A baby tooth in a tiny 5-year old hand.

The tooth fairy paid her first visit as I sent in yet MORE forms to the new school.

Time marches on.

If I could get out of this parental ‘where did the time go’ fog, I might get myself together in time to sign up for more PTA stuff. Bake sale? Maybe a fund raiser? hmmm… do they have a ‘totally freaked out new parent who has no clue how to navigate all this who wants to make sure she does the right thing’ position? Yeah, I’ll take that one.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Stepford Crazies

Save the Skeet!*

May 15, 2008 by Queen of Spain 11 Comments

I got a Wii for Mother’s Day. Not a spa day. Not flowers. I DID get chocolate.

Chocolate and a Wii.

Exactly what I wanted.

While we have been playing tennis and driving Mario around goofy worlds and generally having a blast as a family, one game stopped me in my tracks.

Skeet Shooting.

Stupid. I know.

I played duck hunt as a kid. I remember the “X”s over the dead duck’s eyes. I think there was a dog. He was cute.

But I have issues with my kids shooting and playing with guns for ‘fun.’

It’s one of the things my husband and I really don’t agree on. Well, we agree to a degree, but not entirely. He’s fine with skeet shooting. Didn’t even blink when I said ‘should we let the 5-year old skeet shoot on Wii?’

Thoughts in my head included -is it only skeet? Will he then want to shoot everything? Do I have to talk (again) about shooting and guns and safety and danger…because I am tired and I really don’t know if I have the energy RIGHT NOW to do this simply because I’m letting him play on the Wii.

Let it be know, so you are not confused and can yell at my hippie, liberal, California ass properly : I hate guns.

I hate them.

I am not from a family that hunts. I am not from a family that had a gun at home. I am not a fan.

I have had a gun held to my head.

I. Hate. Guns.

However (and this is a big however) my husband is from a family that hunts. He has attempted to convince me that shooting out back with Grandpa is an entirely acceptable past-time when we take the kids to visit the in-laws.

As you can imagine, this makes me not want to take the kids to visit the in-laws. Ever.

Of course I am not insane (mostly) and will compromise on some basic things. I’ve grilled my father-in-law as to the location and security of every gun he owns or every gun that is anywhere within 1 mile of my children.

I’ve conceded that I can see the benefit of teaching the children (I say that on purpose, because only my son is ever discussed when ‘shooting’ comes up and I think both kids need to be included) gun safety.

I have agreed that when it is age appropriate that whole ‘grandpa can teach you about guns’ thing can occur.

Then I mutter under my breath about how wrong it all seems to give a kid a gun, even if I agree education is necessary.

I’ve never allowed toy guns at home. NOT because I’m some crazy lunatic who thinks my kids will grow up violent having played with a toy gun-but because I know full well my kids will figure out guns and what they do in their own time. I am not going to speed up this process and encourage the ‘let’s run around and pretend to kill eachother’ game.

My son already turns sticks into guns. My son already talks about guns and shooting bad guys. He got there entirely on his own having never had a toy gun at home. Why would I have voluntarily given him one at 2 or 3-years old to encourage or speed up the process?

Which brings me back to the Wii.

In the end, we shot some skeet with our controllers. And my son took way too much pride in ‘accidentally’ nailing a duck.

However, he got very upset when his sister ‘accidentally’ shot a photo of his Mii (or avatar) smiling on one of the discs.

“Mom,” he said. “If that was real I would be dead. And I don’t want to be dead. Let’s play something else.”

Victory. Maybe.

*post title by Lee Stranahan, after we discussed the Wii Skeet issue on Twitter.com

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Stepford Crazies, TweetQueen