If you leave the toddler alone with her cereal, milk, and watercolor paint set…
Going Gray
September 10, 2007 by 22 Comments
I found my first gray hair.
On my va jay-jay.
Not on my HEAD like a normal person. No, Queen goes gray down there. Fantastic.
Just call me grandma crotch.
Admittedly I noticed this awhile ago, but i thought it was a fluke. I thought one, odd hair sprouted up in between waxing sessions and it would never be seen again.
I’m due for a wax and I now have THREE gray crotch hairs. THREE. 1.2.3.
What if my vag goes gray and my hair stays normal? I mean, totally dying my hair on my head anyway…but NOT the point.
I’m really unsure how I feel about this. Getting a gray hair is supposed to be a little unsettling, sure. I’m 32. Gray hairs will occur.
I just wasn’t expecting it to be on my vagina.
Does this mean I have an old crotch? What does this say about me?
All I know is all three of those puppies are coming out on Friday and with any luck, and many, many waxing sessions, they will be never seen again. Ever. Ever. Never. Ever.
If I didn’t wax, what would I do? Grow OLD IN THE CROTCH gracefully?
Just going to get waxed and try not to think about it.
Or going to melt down and have a midlife crisis. Can you have a midlife crisis at 32?? Over a graying crotch?
Guess we’ll find out.
RIP Castro (and Journalism)
August 25, 2007 by 3 Comments
So help me if PerezHilton.com is right, and Castro is, in fact, DEAD…journalism in this country is officially dead as well.
Unless the Commie died while getting blown by Britney or something, every news director in this country should be slitting their collective wrists.
We’re beyond “new era of media” here. Hooray for community sites that take citizen tips, but SWEET BABY JESUS if this is true there is NO HOPE for traditional news.
None.
ZERO.
I’m disgusted, can you tell?
But here is where it gets fun-if there is no announcement, will those main stream media morons actually report on the FALSE report out of a celebrity gossip site? I say they do. I say they do just like two of my three local newscasts the other night lead with Lindsay Lohan’s plea deal.
I’m weeping. I am. I may go watch The Paper with Michael Keaton just to make myself feel better.
Send me your local/national news links sighting Perez. I’m anxious to see how this plays out.
We Have Reason To Believe You May Be A Terrorist
August 24, 2007 by 11 Comments
Stall. Stalling. Stalled. Staller.
How many times did my Mother yell “no more stalling, get to bed” and how many times did I lower my head and shuffle back down the hall?
The all-American bedtime stall is has begun in earnest around here and its kinda cute. Annoying, but cute. I only say its “cute” because a 4-year old can’t really trick me yet. For instance, if you get in your bed and I walk down the hall, there is NO WAY you have already fallen asleep and had a “bad dream” by the time I turn around. I mean, maybe you’ve fallen asleep in record time, but I’m guessing you haven’t had enough time to have any sort of thought other than “ok, I’m getting out of bed and telling her it was a bad dream.”
So yeah, the Count exiting his bed 1 full second after I’ve put him there is annoying, but rather hilarious that he thinks he’s pulling one over on me.
HRH Princess Peanut is much more slick. She’ll lay her wee head on my arm and pet me. All she says is “sleep Mamma? Sleep?” Which means, “crazy lady, lay down with me.”
They pull the usual need to go pee, need a drink of water, forgot my stuffed animal, etc. etc. etc. But I’m starting to like it when they run out of the regular excuses and try their hand and manipulation.
“Mom, you said 5 days ago that one day we would look at the stars and moon when its dark and we would make telescopes. So let’s GO! What do you mean NOT TONIGHT? But you SAID that…that ONE time…like a WEEK ago!”
“Mom I forgot to finish that game we were playing downstairs. And if I don’t finish it the game will never end. It will NEVER END, Mom. I have to go now and finish that game.”
But even better than the really lame excuses that don’t even make sense, are the reactions when I say “no.”
“Oh MOM this is my WORST NIGHT EVER. I have to go get that one puzzle piece to sleep with or this will be my WORST NIGHT EVER and I will NEVER SLEEP. I WILL NEVER SLEEP.”
I’ve been trying to remember what was so god-awful about going to bed. Why is it such torture? Obviously we all did this as kids. Its not like our children invented the bed-time stall. I think I used to fake sick. Or maybe need LOTS of water.
Whatever the reason I’m still trying to remember WHY I didn’t care to go to bed. Life was too exciting? I was way to busy? I had too many things to think about?
I want to know this because I think I can reason with my kids. Its my downfall as a parent. I want to reason with them. As any of you know, you can’t reason with a temper tantrum throwing 2-year old any better than you can reason with your couch. Yet I try. As Sarah and Bush say, “we don’t negotiate with terrorists.” I only adopt that reasoning part of the time. I need to implement it ALL of the time.
Assume children are terrorists. Do NOT attempt to reason with them. Always be on the offensive. Maybe stop short of Gitmo, but think about barbed wire for beds.
Alright, that might not work for us either. Its not a huge problem at our house yet, but I can see those little wheels spinning in those little heads and I can tell they will be champion stallers before Christmas. There is no bedtime battle as of yet, I’m just trying to be a good dictator and avoid one. You know, fight them now so I don’t have to fight them later.
Or is it inevitable? Maybe I can just bomb the shit out of their bedroom, you know…f’ up their infrastructure a bit. Then walk away. NOW SLEEP! HAHA! I mean, that sends one hell of a message. I’m in charge. I can make your life hell. Don’t mess with me. Go to bed.
Or I can try reasoning with them.
Or not.
I don’t know. I do know I’m lazy and don’t really have the energy to fight them there so I don’t have to fight them here. In fact, for now maybe I’ll just be amused at their attempts. Silly little terrorists.
Just have them home by dinner
June 21, 2007 by 12 Comments
I just spent 20 minutes consoling a 2-year old who firmly believed she was going to the moon.
Today.
With her Gramps.
You see, my father just left for a doctor appointment and when asked by said 2-year old where he was going, he said “the moon.” Our little princess peanut then said “Gramps, I wanna go Moon TOO!” and gramps said “sure, we’ll go later.”
It’s later. I have a very loud, crying, totally upset child on my hands here. She wants that moon field trip delivered and delivered NOW. Later will not do, using our imaginations will not do, and I don’t have the heart to tell her we’re not actually going to the moon.
So yeah…when Gramps gets back he’s in trouble. Never joke with a 2-year old. Good thing we’re in Florida, maybe we can go see the shuttle land or something.
Dump the Sippy Cup, or the Terrorists Win
June 14, 2007 by 9 Comments
I have a 4-year old and a 2-year old and they both know to take off their shoes, put them in the tray, and push the tray through airport security.
How fucking sad is that?
I guess the way I will always remember life with computers and cable, my kids will always remember life with shoeless walks through a radar detector and the inability to have their sippy cups FULL until “mommy gets on the other side of all these police officers, honey.”
I realize it could be worse. I realize the small sacrifice I made, throwing out my coffee cup I had only taken ONE sip out of, helps the greater good (keep saying that…if I keep saying that it MIGHT be true) but when I hear stories about moms who were detained by police and missed their flights over a child’s spilled tap water…I tend to lose it, just a little.
The kids and I were lucky today. We flew across this entire “free” country without incident. We all know that never happens. Not in this day and age and not with two small children. But, here we are…on the east coast, with sippy cups intact. My son is recalling how he liked walking through the “puffer air blower” and my daughter has yet to put her shoes back ON from her dirty bomb/shoe check.
I don’t know where this country is headed. I can’t say I feel any more or less safe because I left our BIG tube of toothpaste and my daughter’s LARGE excema lotion at home because they didn’t fit in that plastic bag. Part of me thinks the smoke and mirrors I witnessed first hand just frighten my kids and piss me off. Part of me thinks this is just life in the USA.
What I do know, is I had angels, not terrors with me on our flight today-and for that I’m grateful.
Dear TSA
March 25, 2007 by 18 Comments
Dear Transportation Security Agency,
Do you have any idea the fear I had boarding a JetBlue flight from NYC’s JFK airport to Burbank, land of Jay Leno, California???
You see, as you know (because I called you 6 times)I lost my California Driver’s License somewhere around Madison Square Garden and the Empire State Building. I had no intention of losing my only photo ID. It was not some sort of ploy to make your life harder. It was not some sort of trick to keep you on the phone with me, a frantic mother of two, while you should be out tracking terrorists and hijacking people’s toothpaste and water bottles and, oh yeah-as I learned, jelly sandwiches. We all know how terribly explosive those Smucker’s people are. Smucker’s just sounds evil, I agree.
Anyway, i admit I was a bit of a pain in your ass. You see, I wanted to make sure I could, say, get home from New York. I had gotten to New York so, silly me, I wanted to get home from that great city.
Your nice agents assured me it was possible to return home, as planned. All I needed was two non-photo forms of ID. That’s it. They didn’t have to be originals. They could just be faxed to the hotel. But, I was told by your really well informed agents, there must be TWO pieces of faxed paper, and they both must contain the copies of two government issued documents. I was told this could be my social security card, my birth certificate, my marriage license, my divorce decree (not that I have one), or something like that. This, I was told, was the ONLY way I was getting on that plane home. The ONLY way I would ever see my wonderful husband and darling children again.
It’s not like I could rent a car without a driver’s license. Its not like I could use my credit card for a train ticket without a photo ID. No, I needed those two forms of ID, and my adoring Kaiser went through closet after closet, box after box and came away victorious.With two children tugging at his pants, he faxed the documents to the hotel. I waiting in a long line at the front desk and, eventually, walked away with the holy grail of paper.
I held the envelope tightly in my hand while I went up 10 floors to my room. I tucked the envelope away in a safe spot, awaiting the time and date of my return flight. I called your agents again and again…and maybe again. I needed to be sure these documents, tucked between my panties and my pj’s…would be my ticket home.
Yes, the agents told me…over and over. The documents would be fine, but they would be scrutinized. I would go through a more formal search, and I would be allowed to board the flight if my documents were in order.
Finally, the time came. With documents in hand I approached security…shaking. The Kaiser was on standby, waiting to hear if I made it through. Friends were on standby, waiting to come get me if they needed to, and my mother was on standby, convinced this was all a ploy to stay on vacation longer.
Security looked at my boarding pass, asked for my ID. I explained the situation and handed them my envelope of precious documents.
They didn’t even look at them.
Not a glance. Not a…hmmm…let me see what we have here.
Nothing.
I kept trying to hand security types my papers…someone needed to see these. SOMEONE needed to LOOK at my PROOF that I was NOT a terrorist.
Hello…ANYONE WANT TO SEE THESE?????
NO takers.
Not one.
Just thought you should know.
Way to keep us safe, asshats,
Queen of Spain
Its the Great Tampon Charlie Brown!
March 19, 2007 by 8 Comments
My kids love Charlie Brown. My daughter says “Oh Good Grief” all the time and my son thinks every dog should look and act like Snoopy.
I love it. Finally some shows I can watch with them that give me the warm fuzzies about my own childhood.
Today while watching the Valentine tivo’d Peanuts…Count Waffles amused himself by going through my backpack. Normally I’d stop him, but I knew there wasn’t much in there as I have FINALLY finished unpacking from our recent trip.
Of course he finds the pens and the airline ticket stubs. He also finds my pads and tampons. Oh boy. Here we go.
I’m half paying attention as I surf blogs and second life, and don’t realize he’s taken a tampon out of the wrapper and is studying it. Oh boy.
Mommy, is this a shooter blaster?
Um…not, not exactly.
But look, it shoots out…see?
Yes it does, but that is for girls. Girls use it when they have blood, remember?
Oh, but why?
Well, so I don’t get messy.
But PigPen likes being messy.
Yes, PigPen does like being messy.
So I can play with this, like a shooter blaster, then you don’t need it and can be messy like PigPen.
Well, I don’t want to be messy like PigPen, and those are not toys.
Fine, but Charlie Brown would play with it. He would use it as a shooter blaster and give it to pig pen with the blood.
No, honey, really…these are not toys and lets not talk about them being bloody.
Well, that girl wouldn’t kiss them. She doesn’t like dog lips with Snoopy or blood lips. Did you know she didn’t like blood lips.
Oh my God…this conversation is getting out of hand.
Its not in my hand Mommy, it goes in your pees.
Ok. Stop.
Well I don’t want it play with it, it won’t go back in.
Ok. Just give it me, and don’t play with these anymore, ok?
Maybe I”ll just use the pillow diapers instead.
No. No. No…..here, have a sucker.
Sigh. Did I mention he’s 4 on Saturday? 4 and playing with tampons. What a life.
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