Princess Peanut

Hot Pink Mess

August 2, 2007 by Queen of Spain 28 Comments

There is a Barbi pink bottle of nail polish sitting on my counter mocking me.

Fucking pink nail polish.
I bought it on a whim while picking up some prescriptions at the drug store. I had this fleeting thought that it would be fun to paint my daughter’s nails. Or for her to paint mine.

Then I got home and my brain kicked in, and putting hot pink nail polish on a 2-year old seemed completely out of the question for about a dozen reasons. First and foremost, last I checked she was 2, not 12. I rail against ear piercing for babies and push-up bras for 2nd graders, and in a moment of insanity I somehow thought nail polish was OK for a toddler.

So now it sits there, on my counter, laughing at me. Another big, fat, black mark on my feminist card. We’ve been sexualizing these little girls for so long that it nearly got me. ME.

I’m so ashamed.

Maybe because it wasn’t as blatant as a t-shirt with a promiscuous saying. It wasn’t a thong for a 3-year old.

It was just some pink nail polish. Is nail polish the gateway make up to fire engine red lipstick? Is pink nail polish a statement on a 2-year old? If anything, I think it says “my mother is a fucking moron who put this on me to whore me up.”

Or am I just over doing it here? Is it just a bit of “play” on a 105 degree, stay in the a/c kind of day? Am I thinking too much? Is this just what little girls do? Or just what little girls do because their mothers think its cute and fun and girlie.
I don’t think so. I think if it were not an issue to use my brain over, that nail polish wouldn’t still be sitting on that counter. Mocking me.

I won’t let my son have a toy gun. I know he’ll figure it out with legos or a stick soon enough. So why would I encourage the whole “grown up” look on my daughter? She’ll figure it out soon enough and be demanding it all on her own. Without my help.

So what do I do with this hot Barbi pink nail polish on my counter? I think I’m going to leave it there. As a reminder. This little girl isn’t going to grow up too fast. Be sexualized too fast. Too soon. No. Not even those little nails. I’ll let the bottle mock me. Maybe we’ll bust it out for her sweet 16. Until then…it stays on the counter.

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Royal Vagina

Just have them home by dinner

June 21, 2007 by Queen of Spain 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.

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

I Should Just EXPECT these things…

June 19, 2007 by Queen of Spain 7 Comments

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Diamond Therapy

June 2, 2007 by Queen of Spain 6 Comments

There is nothing like a first at bat…ever.

I guess I only hate most cheerleaders.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut

A Day In The Life

May 22, 2007 by Queen of Spain 11 Comments

I can’t ever seem to put into words what really goes on around here. The everyday, little things that make me shake my head, roll my eyes, and wonder why in the hell I ever, ever, ever had children. I could tell you they are nutty little creatures, but you wouldn’t really believe me.

So I shall SHOW you instead.

From telling my daughter today she was silly and her reply of “I don’t need all this,” to today’s impromptu naked DJ session in my living room, complete with a mix master and a naked cowgirl.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Party Girls

May 21, 2007 by Queen of Spain 6 Comments

There are days when some things smack you in the face. Times when everything is so very clear, you have to blink.

My 2-year old daughter is a party girl. Like her mother before her, she can bring down the house with a saunter and a hair flip. I’ve spent the past two years hoping she will be more of a a “class clown” or “ham”-even calling her these things to try and solidify her character.

No luck. As I drank martini’s with Karen this weekend, it became very, very, very clear exactly the personality emerging in my little mini-me-and Karen nailed it when she said, laughing, “she’ll be doing keg-stands.”

Instead of being afraid that she is her mother’s daughter-I think I’m going to just embrace her free spirit. I’m going to show her how to be the fun, yet in control party girl. The one who can make everyone in the room turn their heads to see, and make them all feel comfortable and at ease with just her smile.

In the meantime, she’ll wear doll skirts on her head and prance around like she’s Queen of the World.

I can’t imagine where she gets it.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut

As if I don’t have ENOUGH trouble keeping her from being a lush, with no top on…

April 23, 2007 by Queen of Spain 21 Comments

…so I was walking through Mervyn’s (yes, large department store chain…I’m NAMING you…come and get me you bastards) with my family this weekend when I saw a Junior’s PJ display.

Just to review, juniors are, generally, NONadults. This would mean they certainly can not vote, or drink, or do many things for themselves that do not require their parent’s permission.

Being the lounge-wear fashionista that I am (that’s my new way of saying ‘sweat-pant mom’ like it?) I had to see what the kids were wearing in the PJ department.

Here’s where things got fuzzy for me, because I ended up in a blind rage tantrum, making the rest of the shopping experience kind of hazy. I know I yelled more than once “ARE THEY KIDDING?” and I also demanded the Kaiser take out his cell phone to take a picture, to which he replied “but I have no camera phone…” despite my continued insistence he TAKE a picture NOW.

Anyway, what could have possibly set me off in such a tizzy in a public place such as…let me say it AGAIN…MERVYN’S????
Captain Morgan’s rum and Jack Daniel’s whiskey PJ sets, marketed to junior GIRLS.

At Mervyn’s. That’s right, I’ll say it again…liquor pajama pants and t-shirts for junior girls. Because nothing says “I’m Daddy’s sweet and innocent little girl” like “Gotta a little Captain IN YA??”

Cough. Ahem…

I realize I have a martini in front of my children. I realize their Dad BBQ’s with a beer in his hand. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY DON’T MARKET YOUR BOOZE TO MY DAUGHTER UNTIL SHE’S AT LEAST OLD ENOUGH TO FUCKING BUY IT.

Cough. Ahem.

I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of finding out some asshat company thinks it’s ok to sell my 5-year old a padded bra to boost that cleavage. I’m so tired of seeing those whore-bag Bratz dolls with their blue eyeshadow and thigh highs. I’m so tired of booze companies trying to sell pictures of their bottles on pj pants to my preteen, like its all in good fun.

If anyone is going to teach my daughter to be a cocktail swilling hussy, it’s ME-not you idiots. So lay off. Geez, that is sooooooo the mother’s job, not yours.
I think I shall go write nasty letters to Mervyn’s and Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels now. You know, because I need to yell at someone.

Fuckers.

(and YES, I DO kiss my mother and my children with this mouth—pppppppffffffffft)

Filed Under: Holding Court, Princess Peanut, Queenie Backup, Royal Family Outing, Royal Rant, Royally Inebriated

Mommy Guilt Part II

April 15, 2007 by Queen of Spain 13 Comments

Having just been on an actual business trip I assumed my little brush with Mommy Guilt in New York would be out of my system for good.

Not so much.

This weekend I flew to Boston and left behind one screaming, crying, pleading daughter. She was miserable. She held onto my shirt for dear life as I tried to get out the door bellowing, “Mommy I NEEEEEED you. NO GO. Mommy I NEED you.

As my brother tore her from my side, I watched the tears roll down her face as I closed the door. I left. I walked out. My daughter screaming about how much she NEEEEEDS me and I closed the door in her wet, wet face. UG.

It was awful. It was all I could think about as I drove the airport. As I parked my car. As I sat in the lounge.

Then I had a martini, called home to hear she was now happily playing, took a deep breathe, and got on my flight.

I nearly sat down in my assigned seat guilt free. I nearly, nearly kept my mommy guilt in check reminding myself this is only the second time I have ever left my children and that they were in capable hands. Then some cute little bastard of a kid in front of me turned around and flashed me a “hi there” smile and I was a puddle of guilt. Stop it kid. STOP.

Once I arrived in Boston I was fine. All was well I checked in at home and proceeded to enjoy myself.

I thought about the kids, but it didn’t CONSUME me. I was relaxed, I was happy and again I was very close to being Mommy Guilt free. Hell, I was PROUD of myself.

Then I called the Kaiser’s cell at EXACTLY the wrong moment.

He was in the car on his was to urgent care with my sick daughter. ON HIS WAY TO FUCKING URGENT CARE.

I tried to stay calm. I tried really hard not to scream into the phone: WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHAT HAPPENED WHAT IS GOING ON I WANT DETAILS AND NOT JUST SHE HAS A RUNNY NOSE BUT MINUTE BY MINUTE PLAY BY PLAY OF EXACTLY EVERYTHING THAT HAS GONE ON SINCE I WALKED OUT THIS DOOR WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAVE CAUSED THIS DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE MEDICINE IS AND WHY URGENT CARE AND NOT THE PEDIATRICIAN AND OH DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE NEBULIZER FOR BREATHING TREATMENTS AND WHAT EXACTLY IS HER TEMPERATURE AT AND WHAT HAVE YOU GIVEN HER AND HOW WAS SHE 3 MINUTES AGO AND YESTERDAY AND NOW AND WHAT ABOUT LAST NIGHT AND HAS SHE SLEPT AND IS SHE ASKING FOR ME AND OH MY GOD I AM THE WORST MOTHER EVER SHE TOLD ME SHE NEEDED ME AND SHE REALLY DID NEED ME AND I JUST LEFT HER THERE WITHOUT ME AND CAN I TALK TO HER AND WILL YOU CALL AS SOON AS YOU ARE OUT OF THERE AND DON’T FORGET WE SWITCHED THE INSURANCE AND MAYBE THIS IS THE SAME AS BEFORE THAT THING SHE HAD AND OH MY GOD I’M FREAKING OUT WHERE IS COUNT WAFFLES AND WHO HAS HIM AND WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM AND WHY CAN’T HOUSEBOY HELP AND DO YOU KNOW WHERE WE KEEP THAT ONE MEDICINE UP IN THE CABINET IN THE KITCHEN ABOVE THE TOASTER AND AND AND AND AND AND

I asked maybe two or three of those thoughts racing through my head before the Kaiser cut me off

She is fine. I have it under control. Don’t worry. I can handle this. She is fine. ERIN calm down she is ok. I know what to do. Just have a good time and don’t worry. There is nothing you can do from there anyway. I’m her father. I can handle this. She is FINE.

What I wanted to respond with and what was going through my mind was

I KNOW you are her father and I KNOW you can handle it BUT I AM THE MOM AND I HANDLE THESE THINGS AND I KNOW SHE WANTS ME BECAUSE SHE IS SICK AND I SHOULD BE THERE WHEN MY DAUGHTER NEEDS ME AND I AM THE MOST HORRIBLE MOTHER EVER AND I NEED TO GET ON A FUCKING PLANE AND COME HOME RIGHT NOW.

What I said was

Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. I know. Ok. Ok. Ok. I know. I know. Ok. Ok. I know. Call me as soon as you leave urgent care.

Helpless. In Boston. Unable to hold her feverish body against mine. Unable to do the things that only a Mom can do to comfort a sick child. Unable to hear what the doctor said. Unable to tell the doctor all the things I know. Unable to make sure she had exactly the amount of fluids she needed to avoid dehydration. Unable to make sure she had the only dropper with which she will take medicine from. Unable to check on her brother at a birthday party. Unable to do anything. Unable to even speak to her at the very moment. To kiss her hot forehead. To hold her as she sat in the chairs of the doctor’s office waiting. Unable to remind her that the doctor will check her ears and her nose and listen to her chest. Unable to reassure her. Unable to comfort. UNABLE.

1 hour and 22 minutes later the cell phone rang with news of bronchitis. Prescriptions. Breathing treatments. And one tired but upbeat 2-year old super excited about her new sticker.

Breathe Mommy. Breathe. It was handled just fine and you were not involved. It was taken care of and you were not in control. Everyone is OK and it was not YOU who saved them all. It was not YOU who found the sitter for the 4-year old and arranged to get the prescriptions picked up and administered the breathing treatment through the mask that normally makes the 2-year old freak out and it was NOT YOU who got her to sleep fever free and comfortable.

It all was done without any effort from you. None. Zero.

It’s hard not to walk away from all of this feeling as though I am NOT NEEDED, but really, that is exactly what this is all about. I spend so much time devoting myself to these children, this life, this family; I think I really believed I was the only one who could do what was needed to keep them healthy. To keep them clean. To keep them fed. To keep them alive.

Horrible of me, I know. But true. I AM THE MOM I DO EVERYTHING AND I AM THE ONLY ONE CAPABLE.

I’m sitting on the airplane now, headed back to my home and family, and am wondering how I got so very controlling. Is it because of this feeling right now, the one in the pit of my stomach? The one that screams to be the one responsible so that I KNOW it’s done the way I want it done. Not the way anyone else would do. Certainly not the way their father would handle it. Of course, he handles it perfectly and with ease, but it’s not how I would have done it. WHY DOES THAT MATTER TO ME SO MUCH?

It’s scary to give up any sort of control and when it comes to my kids, I almost can’t handle it. I almost lost my shit and found the next flight out. But I didn’t. I kept my shit together and tried my damndest not to think about what was going on 3-thousand miles away. There was nothing I could do – or was there?

Its funny, I almost didn’t make this flight. For those watching the news right now you can see this big ass storm over, oh, exactly where I was. And as I sat in the airport wondering if I would actually leave Boston on time or AT ALL, I took a deep breath and refused to let myself freak out. Just have a good time go with it you can’t control the weather.

Don’t get me wrong, there are days I think I can control the weather, but today I was living in the more sane part of my head, aware that today, at least, I was not Queen of the Clouds and it would all be ok if I had to stick around in Boston while this storm passed.

I realize many mothers and fathers don’t have the same fears and control issues that I have. Many of you learned in the very early stages of parenthood that leaving your children with grandma and grandpa for a quick get away or a night out was totally acceptable, much needed and (gasp) fine.

While I spent the past 4 years telling myself it was totally acceptable, much needed and (gasp) fine, I just recently started DOING IT. I’m still not exactly HAPPY they can live without me, but I’m learning to handle it. I’m learning that even if I don’t really feel like it’s ok—in reality it IS ok. For real. No lie. Even if it means I concede power, control, and miss a few of those moments and breaths my children take.

And when I get off this plane I will do my best not to speed home at 90 miles per hour and burst through the door just to make sure everyone is alive and ok. I’m going to be calm, cool, and maybe even try and drive a bit slower so I can listen to something other than children’s music and think an entire thought without it being interrupted by a flying French fry from the backseat.

Maybe.