Feeling YaYa

I Checked ‘Wife’

April 5, 2010 by Queen of Spain 22 Comments

My daughter wants to know when boys marry boys and girls marry girls if everyone gets to wear a pretty white dress.

This is her big question tonight as I put her to bed and she nestles her chin into my neck. Clearly she’s been mulling this over in her five-year old brain and it needs an answer.

I explain that everyone can wear whatever they want…and you don’t need a white dress for a wedding. She nods her head and then proclaims that she’ll be wearing a white dress to her wedding, and she thinks she wants to marry a boy, but maybe she’ll marry a girl.

So long as you love each other and want to spend the rest of your lives together, that sounds wonderful.

And then my son chimes in that he’s probably never going to get married. And he’s going to get a ‘house on wheels’ and live next door to me…so we can always cuddle.

So long as you are happy and this is what you want.

As you fill out your Census forum, know that “the Census Bureau says same-sex couples in any state who consider themselves spouses should feel free to check the ‘husband’ or ‘wife’ boxes on the census form, rather than ‘unmarried partner.'”

However you define your relationship, here’s hoping you can check the box you choose, wear the dress you want, or live next to your Mom in a house on wheels.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Holding Court

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

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

…Like I Need a Hole in the Head

February 25, 2010 by Queen of Spain 20 Comments

I keep telling her it will hurt.

I keep telling her there are needles involved.

I keep telling her she will cry.

But much like her mother, my daughter has decided on what she wants and is, in fact, getting it for her 5th birthday.

Holes in her ears in the name of beauty.

Mind you I’m not thrilled about all of this, but I’ve said since the day she was born I would pierce her ears if and when she asked me. Words that have now bitten my ass.

In my family- call it regional, culture, whatever- I was the odd one who didn’t pierce her baby daughter’s ears. And yes, I did get grief over it. Yes, in my family, a lot of the little girls’ ears were pierce when they were too tiny to pull them or tug or even know what was going on.

Being me…I had to buck tradition and declare that my daughter wouldn’t have it done against her will. And made the announcement that when she asked for it herself, she could have them pierced.

Was I expecting her to as at 4-years old? Uh…no.

However, true to my word, I’m booking an appointment with our pediatrician to have the deed done and my little one couldn’t be more thrilled. Mom? Well…she’s hanging in there.

I don’t think it’s about my daughter wanting to do something that makes her feel pretty. I don’t think it’s about her going through pain to have it done (although these are issues that should be discussed…pain for beauty…ugh) … but I really think my emotions over this resided firmly in the fact that I’m 100% against her growing up.

A rite of passage like earrings seems too soon for such a tiny girl. Too soon for my youngest. Too soon for this Mom who isn’t ready to move from pre-school to the kindergarten class lurking around the corner.

But I also want to celebrate her changes. The way she now takes pride in her “grown up” ways. This results in me mourning in private the loss of my baby girl. I have all the usual feelings… wanting to stop time, wanting to prolong the inevitable. Wanting another baby so very badly.

Instead…we’ll celebrate a 5th birthday next month with what her mother has done, her grandmother, her family’s females…and I’ll try not to cry more than she does when they make the tiny holes in her perfect ears.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Spring

February 13, 2010 by Queen of Spain 6 Comments

I’m thrilled beyond words there are signs of spring in my Southern California yard. The sun is out, the birds are singing…and I’m packing to head to cold, cold places where people are arguing over the economy and health care reform and just how many snow fall records can be broken in 2010.

Look for more on BlogHer next week. Until then, I’m going to sit on my patio and enjoy the sunshine, as I’m off for the holiday.

Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day and President’s Day and Chinese New Year (did I get them all?) from all my loves here to yours.

p.s …Go Team Canada
p.p.s … just the Canadian Men’s Hockey team… I’m only a slight traitor to my country

Filed Under: BlogHer, Feeling YaYa

Dear Four-Year-Old Princess: Love Is So Complicated

February 12, 2010 by Queen of Spain 13 Comments

crossposted at BlogHer.com

My four-year-old daughter is home from school today, so naturally she’s spending her afternoon twirling in front of me in princess dress after princess dress.

Mommy, don’t I look sooooo beautiful. I know a boy will marry me.

My heart sinks. My mind races. My eyes dart all over the living room, where she’s created Valentine’s decorations. A sea of red and pink hearts drown me as I try to come up with an age-appropriate way of explaining to her the reality of love, marriage, life.

Yes, Valentine’s Day has sent my daughter into love overdrive and in her adorable mind love = marriage to a handsome boy.

She’s clearly knee-deep in the princess syndrome, and I’ve done nothing to stop the madness. In fact, I think my behavior with her father and men in general has probably made it worse.

But how do you explain to a four-year old that the prince hardly EVER comes to save you (and you don’t need him to) and despite every message around her screaming otherwise, what she looks like INSIDE is what matters … not outside with her damn dress and primped hair?

How do you explain that a partnership based on love is very hard work? That sometimes it goes horribly wrong and that the prince is a monster or that potential suitor is really going to break her heart? How do you explain that sometimes it’s so wonderful and mesmerizing and lifts you off your feet until your heart thumps from your chest and you can barely breathe? How do you explain how lovers turn to friends and friends to lovers and they come and go and leave memories and wounds and sometimes very deep scars? How do you explain how a relationship changes and morphs over time and ebbs and flows?

She sees her father and me, and she sees nothing but love. I can’t blame her for thinking that’s all there is. Its all she is shown at home, on TV and anywhere. In her mind, it is the only way love exists.

How do I teach her just how complicated love really can be … and how painful? Do I? Of course I do. I’m just not sure how.

Maybe she’s smarter than I think, and she does see it. She sees the daily routine in this house where husband and wife sit in the same room and do their own things, barely talking. But she also sees the love pecks in the kitchen as we cook and the surprise butt-pinches as I bend over to grab something off the floor. Maybe just witnessing the roller coaster and mundane drudgery that IS the cycle of love is enough?

Or perhaps I’ve done her a complete disservice by not showing her it all. The tough. The boring. The very ugly. Because of that she moons over handsome boys and dons dress after dress talking about weddings and brides and her prince.

Maybe I haven’t shown her, because I haven’t figured it out myself. I have no idea how to explain the unexplainable. How I can be committed to her father yet flirt with other men? How I can be content in the routine yet throw a tantrum over it all in one day? How I can want more and love my life all in the same hour? How I can put on the adult version of the princess dress, that little black number, and paint my face and charm and smile and notice that indeed boys are soooo handsome? How I can come home to her father and cuddle on the couch while I remove my heels and then discuss bills? How I can remain happily married to my best friend sans dress and in sweats when it’s not all flowers and romance and horses and carriages and glass slippers?

How can I talk to her about love as the restless mother who can’t seem to get a handle on her own role in love well into a now almost 10-year marriage? Because in that little girl I see myself, wide-eyed and hopeful and willing to give away her heart with an intense passion that will sting, suffocate and be spectacular.

So many conflicting images and moments for her young, female mind to absorb. Resulting in twirling in front of me today, showing me how beautiful she looks.

I want my daughter to be strong, confident, and to not rely on a prince or even love this Valentine’s Day or the next 100 … but I’m afraid teaching her that lesson may be in watching her mother fail at it. Miserably. Happily. Having given myself to the princess syndrome long ago, unable to shake off it’s chains, and content with where, what and who it’s given me.

More Valentine’s Day thoughts:

Valentine’s Day For Feminists Lovers
For Those of Us in Long-Term Relationships, Valentine’s Is Really Happy-Sticking-It-Out Together Day
Half-assed Valentine’s Day
My heart says: “Flobbada-Flop”
Surviving Valentines Day

Politics & News Contributing Editor Erin Kotecki Vest

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Kaiser, Princess Peanut, Royally Screwed, Stepford Crazies

Well Rounded

February 9, 2010 by Queen of Spain 4 Comments

I would prefer a Heisman…

*editor’s note: you’ll see no black-markered notes on her tiny hand as she poses….

But I guess a performance in the Nutcracker works too…

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, kill me now, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

One Of These Things Is Not Like the Other…

January 29, 2010 by Queen of Spain 17 Comments

I must admit even I raised an eyebrow when I saw Queen of Spain blog was nominated for the 2010 Bloggie Award in Politics.

I giggled a bit, grinned, and then puffed up my chest…just a tad.

I’ve spent many years attempting to convince many people that politics = personal. I have nothing but respect for my fellow nominees. The Huffington Post is a powerhouse in aggregating political news and commentary. Wonkette makes me HOWL with their satire and DC smackdowns. Crooks and Liars is where I go when I want the dirt from the Hill and beyond, and Glenn Greenwald of Salon consistently churns out post after post on everything from the Supreme Court to the implications of US policy overseas.

…and then, there’s me. Sure I talked about the White House response to the Christmas Day attempted terror attack…just with a much different spin. I talk about my Weapons Grade hate for Sarah Palin, my feeling on the war in Afghanistan, my anger over Prop 8, my first person battle with our health care system. My undying love for my hometown of Detroit and support of the Automaker bailouts. I defend the First Lady. My very personal decisions and run-ins with the public school system. My personal moment at the political conventions.

But what makes me a bit different is that these politically charged stories are interlaced with my life. They are part of my life, my work, and my passion. Between the punditry you’ll find stories of my struggle with balancing motherhood and career. Posts about my family’s moral compass, teaching sex to my kids, and even just my thoughts as my children grow.

At first glance, this may all seem very out of place in a sea of wonk. But as you read and look around, I remind you that we’re all citizens, voters, and part of this great nation. We fight our fights, we express our views. And most of us do it just like this…over kitchen tables. Over drinks with friends. Over chit-chat at the ballgame. We’re not all experts or policy nerds. We’re Americans. And there are many, many, many more of us blogging our lives, our stories, and our take on what’s happening at our city council meetings and in our state legislatures. We know how it affects our schools, our bills, our homes.

Yes, one of these blogs is not like the others…and I’m ok with that. Because the personal is political.