Princess Peanut

Ballots and Hickeys

November 8, 2006 by Queen of Spain 11 Comments

I took my 19-month old along for my “I meant to mail it, but ended up dropping it off at the polling place” absentee ballot vote. She got a sticker. She didn’t actually vote, but the nice lady gave her sticker. Which meant I heard “Oh! The baby voted!” at the:

polling place
music class
preschool
bank
toys r us
escrow company
burger joint
grocery store

The sticker was in her hair by the preschool stop. I nearly had to cut it out. Why is it that damn “I voted” sticker fell off my shirt in 10 minutes yet stayed in my daughter’s hair ALL DAY LONG???

So while my little girl spent the day laughing about the sticker in her hair, my husband spent the day trying to hide (in bizzaro 90 degree weather) the hickey I “accidentally” gave him. He nearly made it all day without a comment, and as he walked out the door heard “Aaron, is that a hickey on your neck???”

I know. I know. Tacky. Totally tacky. But sometimes things happen. Normally I would just giggle about it, but instead I rolled with laughter because my husband (and his sweet, sweet ass) had to give a tour of his place of employment and then have dinner with members of a certain state’s film commission. With a hickey on his neck. From his wife’s hot, hot lovin’.

Wanna know what kind of man I married? His response to those who noticed:

“10 years and a hickey! That’s good, right??!!“

Filed Under: Kaiser, Princess Peanut

BUP!

September 3, 2006 by Queen of Spain 13 Comments

BUP! (go ahead and click)

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Royal Hooters

Whip It Out And Let Me Suck It

September 1, 2006 by Queen of Spain 49 Comments

I’m starting to get looks.

The questions are becoming more frequent.

And I really couldn’t give a fuck, other than I think you are all morons.

Maybe it’s the new push by our government to get you to nurse longer, and (hold onto your bras) exclusively. Maybe it’s all the lactavists out there shunning you if you don’t.

Whatever the reason, excuses for bottlefeeding seem to be around and accepted much easier than my VALID boob giving to my toddler. A mother says “I just couldn’t do it anymore” and she’s patted on the back and told it’s ok. While those nursing anything past it’s first tooth are whispered about by waitstaff and given dirty looks.

Now that my daughter is verbal, she can publicly demand to nurse (or “BUP!” as she calls it) and lift my shirt. That means she demands BUP! in Target. BUP! at Ralph’s. BUP! at the park, wherever. And guess what??? I give it to her.

Go ahead, cringe. No one can see you.

That’s right. No schedule here. No bottles here. The occasional sippy cup of gasp! juice gasp! And unless my hands are full and I’m super busy, she gets BUP! wherever and whenever she wants it. At 17-months-old. With no real end in sight.

I know many of you are all pro-breastfeeding until the child can ask for it. I love to know your reasons for this. And if the best you can come up with is “it’s makes me uncomfortable” sounds like YOUR problem, not mine.

Every day there is another one of these stories, talking about how uber wonderful breastmilk is and how uber wonderful it is for you to keep at it like the rest of the world.

So I’m just asking here, outloud-what is your problem? I’m doing what the WORLD agrees is FANTASTIC for my child.

Tell me. I dare you.

Better yet…tell her.

Filed Under: Holding Court, Princess Peanut, Royal Hooters

Love Thursdays-Little Sisters

August 30, 2006 by Queen of Spain 21 Comments

She adores her brother. Breathes him like air. Follows him as though he were the second coming.

Some days he notices her. Some days he tolerates her. Most days, he’s annoyed with her. And then there are the days when he adores her. And you can see the joy in her eyes from her brief, yet powerful, moment of triumph.

Yet she continues. Always no more than a step behind, and always defiantly mastering whatever task he has deemed too hard for her to accomplish.

She is his stalker. She is his minion. He is her everything. She looks at him in a way she looks at no one else. Not her Mom. Not her Dad. Not her Uncle. Not even Elmo.

They are siblings in every sense. Brother and sister. Oil and water. Always together, yet never touching. Always right on top of one another, yet never touching.

Always together.

Join Love Thursdays!

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Princess Peanut

The Booginator

August 29, 2006 by Queen of Spain 25 Comments

I like to think of the blogosphere as my own, big, personal confessional.
I blather, you make me feel better. Or you make me laugh. Or you get me so pissed off I write more. Whatever. All I know is I tell you everything and somehow come out of it feeling clean.

So why stop???

I have a problem. A really, really big problem. And with school just around the corner, bringing with it the snot party of snotty snot goodness, I need to talk.

I can’t stop picking my kids’ noses.

I refuse to let them cry themselves to sleep-calling the practice “barbaric” and “lazy” parenting, yet I will hold my kids down, against their will, and pry boogers out of their noses while they scream bloody murder.
Yeah, I don’t get it either.
I like it. I like to dig in there and get out a real crusty one. I like to get my fingernail way up in their nasal cavity and jimmy the goo and crust clean, almost smiling at the “pop” when it breaks free from skin and hair.

I can’t stop.

The poor, poor little Peanut currently has a slight runny nose. Just enough to create booger, but not enough for constant tissue. The Perfect Storm, if you will, of goo and crust that makes that hard, green, gob on her inner, tiny, nose hole.

I am her torturer.

I can’t stop.

It’s no surprise I’m not a fan of runny nosed kids. They just look dirty.So it goes with my manic, stepford crazy, clean wife thing pretty well. The problem is ¦I will let them walk around with chocolate, cheese, and yogurt on their chins all day. But get a booger? Oh, hell no. And BAM, I’m on it.

I can’t stop. Help me.

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

I humped Big Bird

August 24, 2006 by Queen of Spain 10 Comments

Our affair was a long one.

He was big and yellow. I couldn’t refuse.

It started when I was about two. Laying around, hugging him. I soon realized laying on him felt good. And grinding him felt even better.

What he doesn’t know, is that he wasn’t the only one. I also humped a big bunny. A white kitty. A Pooh Bear. I think Bird would be devastated if he knew that my masturbation went beyond his yellow fluff.

I was the whore of the stuffed animal kingdom.

30 years later. My daughter is having her own affair. She likes them red, and of the monster variety. She calls him “MoMo.”

I’m not sure what she sees in him, other than he’s squishy in all the right places, with big, bulging balls on top.

I liked them Big and Yellow. She likes the Small and Red. I hear they both live on the same Street. Small world.

Clits Up, baby girl. Clits Up.

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Royal Sexlife

‘Cause they are liars

August 8, 2006 by Queen of Spain 18 Comments

2 dips in the pool.

1 shower.

1 washcloth wipe-down.

1 wet wipe scrub.

Johnson and Johnson Babywash. Dove soap. Shampoo. Mom’s uber-expensive face wash.

“Washable” markers. Crayola fuckers. Liars. Liars. Liars.

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Royal Pain

…and when she rules the world, they will call her a bitch

August 5, 2006 by Queen of Spain 10 Comments

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For her they say,

“My, you certainly have your hands full with this one.”

“She’s very talkative, isn’t she?”

“What a little troublemaker!”

“She’s so loud!”

“I bet this one causes you heartache when she’s 16!”

For him they say,

“What an active little guy! He’ll be an athlete!”

“He is upset, he must be tired.”

“He’s so vocal, and communicates so well!”

“It’s great he asserts himself in a crowd of kids.”

I really didn’t think this sort of gender bias started this young. But, here it is.

Hrrrmmmph

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Royal Family Outing