kill me now

2 Days Until Christmas, in case you didn’t know

December 23, 2007 by Queen of Spain 11 Comments

2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas!!!!!

I’ve heard that about 50 times and we just woke up about 4 minutes ago.

I love having children in the throws of the “Santa ages” of childhood but HolyMaryMotherofGAWD I’m pretty sure my son’s head is going to EXPLODE before he’ll ever wake up Tuesday morning.

He’s obsessed. He’s also truly, and honestly, to his toes worried Santa won’t bring him something because he’s been bad.Yeah, cue the “awwwwwwwwww.” I mean, I only torture him like any other good American parent would. “Santa is watching, don’t you dare hit your sister.” “Santa heard that lie Count Waffles and I’m pretty sure you’re on the naughty list.”

With panic in his eyes before bed last night he actually asked me if *I* thought he had been good enough to warrant a gift from St. Nick. “Oh honey, I’m sure you’re just fine…don’t worry,” I said immediately regretting it if only for the pure leverage it’s given me these past few weeks.

Terrible, I know. He’s 4.5 though, he’s in trouble all the damn time.

When I was a kid we had the house on Christmas morning where everyone was up before dawn and my parents made us lay there awake and wait for the sun. It was unlike any torture known to man. I would call it worse than waterboaring.

My brother and I would be in our beds, flat on our backs, with eyes as wide as saucers and stare at the ceiling until my Mom or Dad would say, “Ok.” We’d throw our blankets off and race downstairs as fast as our tiny feet could go.

It’s 2 days before Christmas and my son is awake a good 2 hours earlier than usual bouncing off the walls. It’s like he’s had 6 cups of coffee. Like he’s got Santa fever and the only cure is more jingle bells.

He’s an addict and I don’t think any of us are sleeping until he crashes in a pile of unwrapped presents in about 48 hours.

I think the excitement and joy of this age is one thing, the sheer insanity and uberhyper activity was something entirely lost on my parent brain until about a week ago when he began to twitch.

I guess many of you may lecture me about hyping this holiday and it being all about toys and gifts and gimme gimme gimme. In all fairness, you’re an idiot. I haven’t done anything more or less than most parents do this time of year and we’ve had plenty of talks about giving and kindness and gifts not being important.

That being said he’s just shy of 5-years old and the boy believes. He believes some magic, white-bearded guy is bringing him toys. The holy grail of childhood. For one day a year he gets to have a candy and cookie laced toy-fest and the only thing stopping him is his ability to whack his sister on the head with a balloon and piss off Mom with his lazy cleaning skills. He believes, and it’s freaking magic people. It’s that warm, fuzzy magic that only comes when you’re a kid and Santa is coming. The entirely pure and innocent joy.

As a parent I’ve actually thought long and hard about this whole thing (why yes, as a matter of fact, I do think long and hard about my parenting decisions) and I’m totally fine with it. There are only so many years of Santa belief and I don’t really give a damn if that makes you think I’m spoiling my child or teaching him the wrong lesson. There are only so many years of pure magic on Christmas morning when you wake to find gifts have just appeared under your tree. There are only so many years when you can’t sleep from excitement and wait and wonder with hope and some panic if that one special thing is waiting there for you on that one special morning.

It will all be gone faster than a blink and he and I are going to enjoy every insomniac moment of it, dammit.

In fact, I’m letting him have Christmas cookies for breakfast while we wrap gifts. Then, with any luck, he’ll crash from the sugar high and I can get some sleep.

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

Don’t Look At Me

December 16, 2007 by Queen of Spain 17 Comments

…since I’m feeling spunky…

I think I’ll tell you what happened at dinner tonight, only because we’ve been talking about my daughter’s new toy.

My mother called us during dinner. This is nothing new, my mother calls at least three times a day. She asked what we were eating. She asked what the kids were doing at school this week.

So while scarfing down my crab cakes and caesar salad, I told her that this was the kids’ last week of preschool before break and on Friday their holiday-laced preschool lives would culminate in a celebration of Baby Jesus’ birthday. No, really. They do a birthday party for Jesus (as I learned a few years back) as this is the easiest way for the kids’ to understand the meaning of Christmas and it’s complete with a cake and everything.

So, before you start in on me: yes, I did send my kids to a Christian preschool. Mainly because it’s a really good preschool and they are pretty God “light” so we assumed anything they got out of it could easily be tamed at home.

Back to dinner. And the phone call.

Just as the words “baby jesus birthday” fly out of my mouth my 4.5 year old yells “BUT HE’S NOT REAL!”

To which, my always thinking husband GAFFFAWWWFS at very loudly. A very Santa BELLY laugh which has the kid grinning from ear-to-ear and me giggling because it was so crazyily inappropriate and everyone at the table was now laughing.

Yes, my son exclaims that Jesus is NOT real and we all cackle.

My confused mother on speaker phone is going “what? who’s not real? what? what did he say?” and we’re giggling too loudly to hear her.

The Kaiser then tells Count Waffles that is the BEST joke he’s ever told and HIGH FIVE! To which I reply…woah, but that is NOT a joke we’re going to tell at school, ok? They won’t think that’s funny at school. In fact, a lot of people won’t think it’s funny that you don’t think Jesus is real.

To which my smartass kid says “but he’s NOT real.”

To which my husband high fives him again.

To which I roll my eyes and tell my Mom we have to go.

So yeah, go ahead and be offended. This time though, yell at the Kaiser, not me.

p.s. Yes, I’m fully expecting a note home from preschool after Friday’s party.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Kaiser, kill me now

…and for her latest trick

December 11, 2007 by Queen of Spain 17 Comments

Baby Jesus (the girl, by the way) can now balance on a head and FLY through the air during a game of catch. Beats being face down in a bowl of milk. I think.

Filed Under: kill me now, Princess Peanut, Royal Kinfolk

Dear 8lb 6oz Baby Jesus,

December 6, 2007 by Queen of Spain 10 Comments

A few years ago my brother-in-law and sister-in-law gave us a nativity scene for Christmas. It was made in Poland (I’m Polish) and it’s very nice. I store it right next to the Bible we also got as a gift. Because anyone who knows this royal family knows we would just love nativity scenes and bibles as gifts….cough cough.
The past few years at Christmas I’ve actually unpacked the stuffed nativity (they are like stuffed dolls) because the kids have found them fun to play with, and we’ve had family over who may or may not notice we may or may not be displaying said nativity that was thoughtfully picked out.

Princess Peanut likes the donkey, the lamb, and of course the Baby Jesus. She hasn’t ever played with Joseph or Mary or the angel. Don’t ask me where the wise men are…apparently they were not present at this particular birth or the Polish nuns who sewed them got tired.

Lately we’ve been playing with the donkey, the lamb, and a puppy dog . They talk. They go on little trips to other rooms together. They pretend to eat fake food. All well and good.

Enter Baby Jesus.

Suddenly the donkey and lamb have been labeled “bad sisters go away!” and the puppy and Jesus have formed a bond. The Baby Jesus gets to walk the puppy (using one of my headbands) and Jesus tells the dog “you’re such a good puppy” and so on and so forth.

Somewhere along the lines puppy stayed in the other room and only Baby Jesus (with or without his manger, depending on her mood) has been clutched in her tiny hands. Baby Jesus had breakfast with us this morning. Baby Jesus came to the mall. Baby Jesus is the new Elmo that must be carried at all times.

Of course Baby Jesus also needs to eat, and since Mom is catching up on a million things around here what with the recent illnesses and all, a cup or two of milk might remain on the table longer than need be.

Enter Princess Peanut feeding Baby Jesus milk while Mom wasn’t paying attention.

I heard something about “here you go baby” but wasn’t really listening.

About 20 minutes later I found Baby Jesus floating face down in a bowl of milk on my kitchen table.

“Honey, let’s not feed the baby your milk, ok?”

“But Mama...she was hungry.”

Cue brother-

“That’s a BOY, not a girl!”

“No it’s not! It’s a girl!”

“No, it’s a boy!”

So now I’ve got a Baby Jesus floating face down in milk and two kids having the argument I like to reserve to really piss off some right-wing fanatics.

I fished Baby Jesus out of the milk, and at the kids’ request he was towel dried and bundled much like they are after a bath.

My youngest then put him in his manger, hooked my headband back around the neck of her puppy dog, and proceeded on a walk around the house.

“Do you feel better after your bath my little girl? I’m so glad…here puppy, let’s have some peanut butter…”

We’re so going to hell.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, kill me now, Princess Peanut, Royal Kinfolk

I Hate Winter

November 30, 2007 by Queen of Spain 9 Comments

And preschool germs

And cold weather

And kleenex

And cool mist humidifiers

And vics

And inhalers

And prescriptions

And popcicles

And night sweats

And a sick Mom and sick kid and trying to take care of him and me while we both lay in bed

And everything else…

Fuck Winter

Filed Under: Count Waffles, kill me now, Royal Pain

Pixar, Can We Talk?

November 14, 2007 by Queen of Spain 21 Comments

It’s November and naturally that means my children have that ‘fine one week’, ‘snotty and puking the next’ thing going on. It means when Ratatouille comes out on DVD, and we’ve been couped up in the house for a week with some random preschool virus, I go to the store to get it right away.

Now. I’ve talked about this issue before…but can I just please, say this again…just in case you didn’t hear me way-back-when before CARS came out…

STOP SHOWING MY SON YOUR NEW MOVIE A YEAR BEFORE HE GETS TO SEE IT STOP IT RIGHT NOW OR I’M BRINGING HIM UP TO NORTHERN CALIFORNIA AND LETTING YOU PIXAR SADISTS BABYSIT HIS ASS WHILE HE WHINES FOR 5 HOURS STRAIGHT AND DEMANDS TO KNOW EXACTLY HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL WALL*E IS OUT IN THEATRES AND WHY HE CAN’T SEE THE ROBOT NOW AND WHY DO THEY SAY HE IS COMING AND WHEN IS HE COMING AND CAN WE WATCH THE PREVIEW 40 TIMES IN 50 MINUTES SO MOMMY’S HEAD EXPLODES AT MERELY THE SIGHT OF THAT RESTAURANT TABLE WHERE SOME STUPID BRAINSTORMING SESSION TOOK PLACE TO CREATE THIS FUCKING ROBOT THAT I NOW HOPE DIES A FIERY DEATH AT THE END OF THIS DAMN MOVIE

We’re going to buy your shit anyway. You’re not getting any more marketing leverage here. We’re a captive and totally sold audience. All you are doing is making my life hell. HELL.

So really, I see two options here…you can release WALL*E now, or you can send a letter of explanation to my robot-loving son giving him solid reasons (that means I don’t want to hear “to generate buzz” “to market more toys” or “to pump up the hype before the box office release”) why he has to wait until late summer of 2008. I fully understand you need a few good months of hype…but HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD THINK of the PARENTS.

You make amazing movies. They are kid movies, and yes we adults love them too. But I have to ask-DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND KIDS AT ALL? You don’t even MENTION santa is coming until about Halloween, because you KNOW they will be through the ROOF until December 25th. You don’t tell them you are going to DisneyWorld a YEAR before you go.

THIS IS BASIC PARENTING HERE PIXAR. GET WITH THE PROGRAM.

I can swear on my womb that you don’t need to worry about selling us WALL*E toys. We’re buying them. It’s just a GIVEN. My wallet is yours.

Now release the fucker early or babysit my kid. Take your pick.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, kill me now, Royal Pain, Royal Rant, Stepford Crazies

Talk with the animals

November 2, 2007 by Queen of Spain 5 Comments

Princess Peanut is in “I will be a vet when I grow up” phase and I may have to sell her to the gypsies.

I remember doing this when I was young, but I think I was like 11, not 2. So my obsessions were a bit more grounded…like collecting stuffed dogs or say, getting really excited at a stable. HRH PP Punk as Fuck isn’t nearly as reasonable in her ripe old toddler years.

So she tends to ride a stuffed horse on a stick wherever we go.

That means it comes in the van. It is ridden through the grocery store, target, home depot, the pharmacy. And of course, in true toddler fashion, when it suits her to NOT be riding the horse, I get to carry it. You know, carry the big horse head on a stick through a crowded store along with whatever I’m buying. Superfun.

The horse also has it’s own spot at the kitchen table and bowls of feed are demanded for the stuffed and impaled creature.

Now I’m sure you’re thinking…well you could say “no” but I think we all know that we pick our battles with these schizophrenic little people and when the whole horse thing started it did not seem like a large issue, so off we went to the store with “Racing Stripes” in the his own seat in the momvan.

Yeah, she named it after that movie with a very young Hayden Panettiere and it makes me feel creepy to see her all grown up and boobie now.

Anyway none of this would be too too too hard on me if it weren’t for my boneheaded move rushing out the door from our wildfire threatened home in smoky Cali agreeing that “Racing Stripes” could stay home.

Yeah, I know. But it DID take her like 7 days to realize the damn thing wasn’t here in Florida.

Now she’s a scorned woman and we’re all just getting out of her way.

She tried riding my parent’s pool noodle around the house but quickly realized it was a poor substitute.

She tried riding Maggie, my parents 120lbs golden. Maggie wasn’t really happy with that idea.

So now she’s determined to whine and cry until we’re home in California…you know, very late tonight. We’re on about day 4 of “Mommy we have to go home NOW and get him.” Not in that simple sentence back there kinda way either. It’s usually followed by a good 20 minutes of face down to the floor pouting, crying, and screaming.

She has also packed one of the carry-ons with an elmo and a sock and tried to wheel it out the front door. Apparently she was going to just take matters into her own hands and walk her sassy little self back to California because that damn mother of hers refused to hop a plane early.

So I’ve emailed her father and phoned him (gotta double up here) to make sure that DAMN horse is in the back seat of the van when he picks us up from LAX. If he forgets (entirely possible) maybe the Count and I can take a cab home and Daddy and daughter can discuss Racing Stripe’s failure to show on the hour ride home.

Filed Under: kill me now, Princess Peanut

A Horse is A Horse

November 1, 2007 by Queen of Spain 6 Comments

IzzyMom and my mother conspired to get me lost the other night in Tampa. I swear. It was one of those outings where, in a series of misunderstandings and construction, I ended up over a bay headed to an entirely different city. I also ended up at the wrong mall and spent an extra 20 minutes getting home due to roads being closed and freeways down to one lane.

Of course there was much laughter…how can I spend an evening with the amazing Izzy and not laugh all night long. She was the perfect company for one of those barley pay attention to your food gab sessions that goes until you close the place down and the valet has to come find you to give you your keys because even he’s going home.

I know when bloggers meet up they end up blogging it…and we all gush and blah blah blah. But can I just say…Izzy makes me want to be a lesbian. That’s how much I love her. I want to sleep with her AND be her best friend forever.

Seriously (warning, mushy coming) I think the best part of the night might have been when we were outside of the restaurant talking about all of you. Not YOU as in YOU YOU, but YOU as in, our friends. In fact, I think we both got teary talking about the wonderful friends we’ve made and how they’ve helped up through some pretty shitty times. Knowing you guys are always there…even if we’re not all getting around to reading eachother faithfully anymore. That sort of thing. We agreed we loved you guys. We also agreed despite the sometimes catty nature of our little blog community-we do come together rather fast to get eachother’s backs. It’s really impressive, actually.

I no longer differentiate between my “blog” friends and my “real” friends. You are all officially my real friends. I talk about you at my house and with my kids like you live next door. I was telling Izzy how Count Waffles totally recognizes and KNOWS Bella. “Mom, did they ever get that goat back into that fence?” My mom says stuff like, “Did your friends have a good time at the Bill Maher taping?”

Man, I’m must be PMSing because this was NOT the post I intended…but you people make me all misty. I was going to make jokes about Izzy and this HUGE horse we hung out with and discuss how normally I am a navagatrix with directions…and how Florida roads are confusing with their gun shops and strip clubs and white trash mom trick-or-treaters in bikini tops, smoking, with baby’s on their hips…collecting candy themselves…and here I am, telling you all how much I love you and shit.

Izzy apparently makes me weak what with her infectious laugh and attitude and all.

I’m off to see Shash today…odds are I shall return a puddle of tears and gratitude for all my bloggy friends.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, kill me now