Princess Peanut

Just Because

August 31, 2012 by Queen of Spain 17 Comments

I touched on something in my last post I want to circle back around on, because it deserves a post of its own and a discussion of its own.

My daughter’s reaction upon hearing we’ve never had a woman president.

I guess it just didn’t really occur to me that she had thought about it yet, or noticed. Or hadn’t noticed, as the case may be.

The questions came fast and furious and I didn’t have many answers.

Why hasn’t there been a woman president?

Why aren’t there that many women in Congress?

Why don’t people elect women?

Why did they not give women the right to vote?

Why did it take so long?

Why would they tell women no?

Why would anyone DO THAT MOM?

I did the best I could. I explained to her, as well as I possibly could, why our history was unkind and still can be very unkind to females. I tried to explain the patriarchy. I tried to explain what we face as women.

But I don’t feel I told her everything or anything close to what she needed to know.

The look on her face said it all as we talked. She was shell-shocked. I had shattered her fairy tale. I had shattered the way she thought the world worked.

I had been the one to break the news to her that because she was a girl, her life would be different. Even if every word I said tried to convey that she could do anything, be anything, go anywhere.

I also did my best to empower her. Steel her. Strengthen her and hold her close. I told her of amazing women who fought to make sure we were given equality. So that SHE could vote, run for office, become the first woman president.

Yet I feel, as I told her these stories, I stole a piece of her innocence.

As we hugged and kissed goodnight, and I scrambled for even more words to try to comfort the look of disbelief in her eyes…it was she who comforted me.

Mom, I know I told you I wanted to be a cowgirl, and maybe a Mom, and maybe own a ranch. But I think I’ll be President too. I just want to now…just because.

And I understood, perfectly…just because.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Obama2012, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

The Mom Nagging Machine

August 17, 2012 by Queen of Spain 8 Comments

There was a time when ‘back to school’ meant nothing more than a new backpack and some crayons.

Today my daughter and I looked, and bought, some ‘undershirts’ as opposed to ‘training bras’ because she has reached that age where she needs to wear something under her sundresses and under her white t-shirts.

Her brother, blushing, rolled his eyes and turned around to try to ‘unsee’ the girl things we needed to accomplish while at the store. Being the pain I am, I explained to him this was a great learning experience about women and he needed to understand that his sister was growing up and she couldn’t be flashing the top half of her body to strangers.

After doing his best to squirm and avert his eyes from the display of training bras and bras for tweens, he actually agreed…

Well, boys look at those things. Yes Mom, I know, girls look too…you’re right, she needs to make sure she’s covered.

Hmmm…wait, Did he just call breasts ‘those things?’ And was this the message I wanted to send? That the women of the family had to cover themselves in order to be proper?

I stopped myself as we looked at undershirts and talked to them both as they again rolled their eyes and leaned against the cart.

It’s not that we want her to cover herself. We know being naked isn’t a big deal. And she’s beautiful. It’s just that in our society there are some people who will try to look at her inappropriately, just like we talk about private areas and who can see them and touch them…

Oh man, now I’m getting way off track. This is hard.

…and we’re just making sure her privates are covered as she wears certain things, that’s all.

This parenting stuff is ridiculous. I’m flunking this. Please God let this moment go away forever because right now it seems like nothing I say is right, or coming out right…or what I’m trying to convey. I’m just trying to buy her a few more undershirts, THAT IS ALL.

Then I glance up at the display in front of us. I hadn’t really studied it until now. Bras, training bras, what look like sports bras, undershirts. And then…what I swear to God are PADDED BRAS FOR LITTLE GIRLS.

My daughter is handing this like a champ.

Mom I already have that white one at home, so how about these pink and purple fun ones that are like half undershirts… and let’s go.

Sold.

My son can’t get out of there quick enough and leads us to semi-safety where we have to then pick out underwear. This seems like nothing compared to bra-hell.

But I can’t keep my mind from going back to what I am pretty sure I just saw. Padded bras.

The Judy Blume years of my life come rushing back.

I was never in need of KLeenex. I developed well before any of the other girls and I had plenty to go around. A blessing and a curse for a young girl. The boys ogled and feared me. The girls hated me. All because I had big boobs.

My daughter isn’t built anything like I was at that age. But with any hope she’ll be able to talk to me about body image issues she may come across and we can giggle over the difference of being one of the girls who could give herself a black eye in gym class or one of the girls who was flat as a pancake.

I want, so badly, to ask the kids if they saw the bras hanging there. What they thought about them. But I know the agony this will cause my son, who is working through his prepubescent feelings. And I know it will only cause my daughter to think about it MORE, and her body MORE…which I don’t really want her to do just yet.

Not because she shouldn’t explore what’s going on with her body, or question why she needs to cover her nipples or any of those things…but because there is so so so much time in a woman’s life to worry about what we look like. To think about our breasts, our noses, our asses. If I bring up the padded bras, that just gets her thinking about it all. And I really don’t want her going down that road. Especially when I seem so ill prepared to discuss and help her young mind through all the bullshit.

Sigh. I just wanted to buy some crayons. A pack or two of pencils.

Instead I feel like I had this perfect opportunity in front of me to teach both of my kids about respect, beauty, and body image…and I stumbled and stammered and wished one of my son’s inventions had become a reality.

He has this idea for a hook up between our brains, so I can automatically give him all my knowledge and he doesn’t have to listen to me explain or make guesses when I can’t seem to phrase things in a way he can grasp.

I think the idea actually came out of Mom Nagging, but whatever. I’d take it right now.

I’d even wear a padded bra on my head ala Weird Science. Although, there is no way my very embarrassed son would.

We might have to give that invention a few more years.

Filed Under: By Order of the Charter, Count Waffles, kill me now, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

March Madness

March 27, 2012 by Queen of Spain 3 Comments

My husband and I not only share the same name, but we also share very close birthdays. Granted he’s two years older than I am, so he will always be my old man…but since meeting nearly two decades ago we’ve usually combined our birthday fun.

As fate would have it, our children are also two years apart in age and share very close birthdays. Luckily they still are the best of friends and want their birthdays to be celebrated together. So on an unsuspecting weekend day in March we have tended to unleash hoards of boys and girls upon our home and cul de sac where giggling and squealing can be heard from blocks away. Being unable to leave anyone out, and always justifying to myself it is the nice thing to do, we have invited each child’s entire class to join us for the fun.

Yes, I am stupid.

Yes, I know. I know.

But regardless of when that chaos-filled Saturday or Sunday has fallen on the calendar, I have always found myself a little bit more sensitive during those six days between when my eldest turns a year older and my youngest turns a year older. Spending those days thinking about when I was pregnant, when we brought each of them home from the hospital…you get the idea.

Having had our double-birthday insanity this past weekend, where it seems both of my children were exposed to the puking flu, my kids are home, snuggling in bed with me despite having grown older and more independent in just the past few days.

My son having just turned nine on Saturday, my daughter getting ready to turn seven on Friday…and here we are cuddling as though time is standing still on a Tuesday night. Tucked away in our bed, legs and arms tangled between towels and wet wash cloths, stuffed animals and nerf guns.

Both of them want me. Both of them need me. Both of them are stuck to me like velcro as they battle a bug and beg their Mamma to rub their back or lay ‘just a little closer’ as they doze off clutching me with one hand and ice chips with another.

My six days of contemplation, where I get misty over where all the time went, and how they won’t need me soon, have turned into something entirely different this year. I couldn’t be wanted more. I couldn’t be needed more.

During one of my daughter’s puke sessions this morning she asked me to promise to always be there to help pull her hair back. As my son fell into a nap shortly after lunch he asked me who took care of all the kids who had to stay home from school sick if their Moms didn’t have Lupus.

Dads, grandparents, babysitters, uncles…all sorts of people.

I’m not glad you have Lupus Mom, but I’m glad you have it today because you are home with me when I’m sick.

The funny thing is…my Mom left Sunday night after having stayed awhile taking care of me. The past 18 months I can honestly say I want two people when I am sick ( in other words-all the time)- I want my husband and I want my Mom.

So as I spend the last few days thinking about how badly I want for these children of ours to stay children, for them to always need me and want me, I know deep down they won’t ever really stop needing their Mamma…just like I haven’t stopped needing mine.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

The POUT Face & Why I Must End It…NOW

January 17, 2012 by Queen of Spain 7 Comments

I really don’t know why I’m surprised. My six-year old daughter was pulling out her full on POUT face (see above) for $99 Prada frames at the eyedoctor…even though her vision was deemed 20/20.

That’s right, she has zero need for glasses yet walked out of her exam having decided she needed a pair to go with ‘just some outfits’ and because several other little girls in her class had gotten glasses. Cue my very unoriginal ‘and if several other girls in your class decided to jump off a bridge…’ which then I immediately turned into a seemingly unoriginal rant about how she should have her own, independent style and it should have very little to do with eyewear. Doesn’t she want to be a trend setter?

But Mom these are dark pink and light pink, no one has those.

Doesn’t she want to show off her pretty face and her great vision?

But Mom, did you see the little diamonds on the side?

We can find OTHER non-prescription glasses at another store much cheaper if you really want a pair to just ‘wear.’

But Mom, I want THESE and this is the EYEGLASSES STORE. I don’t want to get my GLASSES from the grocery store.

Ok that one I’ll give her, and maybe the diamonds thing (they were cute) but I’m not buying a ONE HUNDRED DOLLAR pair of GLASSES (Prada or no Prada label) just so she can maybe wear them to school a few times, get bored with them, and then put them on her American Girl doll with whom she is now, also, bored.

This is my fault. I know. I deserve this, don’t I?

My Mother is snickering in Florida somewhere reading this.

We can have this argument when she’s 16. But not SIX. Which is stupid for me to say because we’re having it and she’s six, so let me just say this argument will make more sense at 16. So I’m cutting it OFF at six.

Or trying to.

Oh who am I kidding. I’m screwed.

I’ll just hand over the $100 now and call it a day. And then throw in a goose that lays golden eggs and rename her Veruca.

And don’t tell her that her Mother got the Versace frames. Oh screw it, tell her. I AM THE MOM AND I CAN GET WHAT I WANT.

No really, don’t tell her. I’m tired.

Filed Under: kill me now, Princess Peanut, Royally Screwed, Stepford Crazies

Surviving Yet Another Holiday With Smiles And Duct Tape

November 1, 2011 by Queen of Spain 9 Comments

Sometimes it’s not the exact holiday you remember when your child has Tourette’s or OCD. It’s the tic or meltdown that comes with it.

After spending days deciding on his costume for this year, my son had to make sure it fit perfectly. And perfectly for him isn’t the same as perfectly for you and I. Oh no. He had to know exactly which shorts and pants felt exactly right under said costume. and how it felt zipped all the way up to the top. and now just half way zipped. And if it scratched him funny. And if it rode up on one side and not the other. And if he could run and bend his knees just right with it on, or if he had to stretch the fabric a bit when he walked. You get the idea.

It’s trying on his helmet and mouth piece over and over, adjusting, re adjusting, and then melting down because it wasn’t curving properly over his mouth. Of course the $19.99 cheap costume wasn’t curving properly over his mouth, but try explaining that to him. After what felt like forever of going back and forth trying to fix it and him declaring Halloween ruined no less than four times, I found duct tape fixed the matter to his liking enough to make him ‘uncomfortable’ but not ‘with a tic uncomfortable’ and we considered this a win and moved on.

He then dropped off his helmet that I painstakingly worked on for hours after just a block of trick-or-treating…yup. You read that right. He wore it for maybe 30 minutes. Total. But honestly, I didn’t care. He was happy and having fun and that was all that matter. I would have taped a million cheap costume helmets to see my kids smile and be excited like that again.

After adjusting his sister’s cheap headband a few times I was thankful she was happy with how it looked and off they went. She didn’t want make up. She didn’t even want her hair brushed. She threw on her ninja outfit and was ready to rock.

Of course there was also the shoe situation…his were uncomfy after breaking a few days before and his Dad, thankfully, fixed them ‘PERFECTLY’ – she just threw on her pink crocs and took off running. In fact, they both took off running this year so fast I was thankful to have been handing out candy at home.

But now that I think about it…one more thing about that ‘shoe’ situation….why did my son make such an ISSUE over me fixing his helmet and didn’t even blink at his Dad fixing his shoes? The tools which help him run! I swear he just trusts the way his Dad fixes things more than the way I fix them because the man has tools. Whatever. I bet you some of those tools are mine.

While I am glad another holiday is in the books for my kids filled with memories and fun..I’m also glad we continue to find ways to accommodate and beat his Tourette’s and OCD, and not let it beat us. Sure, we all get a bit aggravated sometimes, but we NEVER say it’s his fault and we NEVER make him feel as though there is anything wrong with his body’s needs and his discomforts, doing what we can to make him comfortable in a world he would love to organize and make feel unscratchy and comfy.

But then again, given the chance…wouldn’t we all??

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies, tic-toc

Stylin’

October 18, 2011 by Queen of Spain 11 Comments

I think it lasted a year. Maybe two. In that time before they really could walk or talk and I had control.

Who am I kidding…even then I didn’t have control.

But I was able to dress them up in whatever I saw fit. My dream of frilly girl dresses and hockey jerseys lasted for such a short period of time that I’m not even sure many photos exist.

What I do know, is that my husband and I made a point to encourage our children’s individuality. Their creativity, and their own sense of self. That means that now, when picture day at school rolls around, I ask them what they want to wear and they choose. I don’t even try to sway them to the dress I would pick out, or the shirt I would prefer. This isn’t about me, and it never has been.

And I couldn’t be more proud of the independent, amazing, and totally stylish in their own quirky way kids we’re raising.

Rock on.

Filed Under: By Order of the Charter, Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Dancing with the Stars: A Great Opportunity to Talk to Your Kids

September 4, 2011 by Queen of Spain 23 Comments

I didn’t exactly plan on discussing ‘transgender’ with my children this morning. But it seems a movement of Christian mothers has forced my hand.

A group called the One Million Moms is apparently confused as how they will ever explain Chaz Bono to their children. Now, I’m not sure if their speaking skills are poor, or if their children are bad listeners, but whatever the problem these mothers can’t seem to grasp how to discuss transgendered with their wee ones. Why? ABC has cast Bono on this season of Dancing with the Stars.

Apparently this means some God-fearing women need to sound the alarm that Satan has entered their tv and for the sake of the children, this abomination must be protested. Or something.

On a recent news appearance these up in arms Moms spent the entire segment exasperatedly saying ‘But WHAT will I TELL my CHILDREN???!!!’

Might I suggest they start with the truth? And a simple definition? This really is NOT that hard.

I decided to have the discussion with my eight-year old son first, because I really didn’t want him hearing about any of this anywhere else. It seems if I left it up to groups like the One Million Moms or Fox News, he would come out of it thinking there is something wrong with being transgendered or gay or lesbian or bi. He might even do what kids do, and go along with what ‘everyone else’ was saying, so as not to seem like an outcast.

Being a responsible mother, I see it as my job to educate my kids on everything. The good. The bad. The ugly, and the very ugly- like hate groups parading as Moms concerned about the welfare of my kids.

But as always, my kids are smarter and more kind than most of the population.

So they don’t want him to be on a dancing show? Because he’s being himself?

Well, it’s not that simple. They think he is defying their God. And that you seeing him will somehow screw you up.

Me? Why me? That’s stupid.

But I know how I feel inside. And he knows how he feels. Mom, these people are really dumb.

Yes, I know. But they really think it’s bad.

If I saw one of them I would kick them.

Then we had to have a discussion about why kicking and hurting someone is just as bad. That’s not to say I don’t sympathize with my son. He was frustrated just trying to understand why anyone would have a problem with Chaz Bono. In his eight-year old mind, kicking seemed reasonable for these people intent on hurting someone else.

The conversation with his six-year old sister didn’t fare much better.

It seems these days any talks about love or marriage or boyfriends or girlfriends elicit nothing but giggles from her. So much so that as her father descended the stairs this morning as we talked it over she giggled and hid her face and demanded we continue our discussion later.

I obliged, and then picked up the discussion again with a different tack…

…and we would never make fun of or laugh at anyone different from us.

Of course not Mom. And if I hear someone else doing it, I stand up to them and make a new friend.

Yes. Very good. So what do you think of transgendered people or the people who are upset over this man on this show?

Mom…this is so stupid. I don’t know why we even have to talk about it, except that it’s because they are stupid. Everyone knows that everyone is different. I’m different. This guy is different. Dad is different. Nicky is different. Everybody is different.

For the record, Nicky is our dog. But her words remain true. And to my children, making a big deal about our differences, enough so to bar your children from seeing or experiencing these differences, is so alien to them that I got a lot of eyerolls and ‘why are we even talking about this?’ looks.

So thank you One Million Moms and Fox News for making a big deal out of all of this. It gave me the opportunity to discuss the transgendered community with my children. It gave me the opportunity to remind them that everyone is different. It gave me the opportunity to discuss bigots, hate, and evil. And it gave me the opportunity to show the world that some of us mothers are not afraid to talk to our kids and we know exactly what to tell them: the truth.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Night and Day

June 24, 2011 by Queen of Spain 6 Comments

As I spent the week fretting over my son, my daughter was thriving without my assistance. And by “thriving” I mean taking the world by the balls and enjoying every minute.

New camp? No problem.
New friends? Easy.
Transition from the casual and unstructured days to total structure? Zero issues.

They are so different, my two kids. While they can play together without argument for hours on end and enjoy a lot of the same activities, they could not be more opposite socially and personality wise.

Take this family’s very first foray into the world of summer camp this week: my son had his bumps and adjustments-very typical for him regardless of how awesome the counselors or kids. My daughter had her counselor skipping back to the minivan with her, both grinning ear to ear and a handful of phone numbers in her hand for all her new friends for playdates.

And of course she was unable to stop talking 400 miles per hour for the entire drive home.

and then we did this game with these hula hoops

and then I played this other game with these other girls

and they all want to sit by me and be my friend

and then the counselor said she would be my partner so nobody fought over who could be mine

and then we got in the pool and I sang the motorboat song the loudest

and did you know we did these cheers too today?

Finally she takes a breath long enough for me to ask her brother how his day went, and I get a smile and a shrug.

it was good I had fun.

I catch his eye in the rear view mirror as his sister then launches, again, into every detail of her very social day and how popular she was and how great she did everything and how her entire day was larger than life filled with excitement and adventure and fun! fun! fun!

My son just shakes his heads and smiles.

Later, he confided in me that he thinks his sister has more fun than he does at everything.

Even when she had lunch there was something special mom.

He can’t put his finger on it, but he can feel it. They are like night and day.

But instead of it bothering him, or creating competition…he seems to gain strength from her. She might be younger, but even with something as simple as the kids going to a new summer camp, she seemed to lead the way.

I don’t worry about her like I worry about him, and it’s probably very unfair. My stomach lurches at the slightest issue with my son, but if anything pops up with our little girl I don’t hesitate to assume she’s fine.

She is fearless. Everything comes easy.

She doesn’t need my help.

Nothing showed this to me more than the events of this past week. The ease of which she transitioned to new situations. The ease making friends. The…just plain ease.

They say a Father will be tough on his sons and a Mother will coddle. I can’t argue this point. But what about how a Mother treats her daughters? I find myself tougher on my daughter. Expecting things I realize I don’t from my son.

It’s not fair. And I need to stop.

Where was my worry for her first week of camp? Where was my concern over making sure she dressed right and packed her bag right and had chapstick, just in case, or just the right fitting bathing suit…just in case.

No. With her I knew it didn’t matter, and I ignored the minor details I never would let slip with my son. Granted he has his quirks that do need attending to…but that’s no reason to simply ignore hers.

I’ve made her much more self sufficient. My own expectations of making sure this girl could take care of herself and be tough while dazzling a crowd with her charm…this is my doing.

I need to start concentrating some of that attitude into my son, who would prefer to stay in his comfort zone with Mom nearby.

Yes a lot of these traits are just their personalities, I do realize I have had a major hand in shaping them. I mean, of course I have…I’m their mother… it’s my job.

But when I see the stark differences in just this one little childhood experience, I realize I can do better. I can try harder, or…try to notice when I coddle one and not the other.

And in the meantime I will celebrate their differences and be thankful they are both good-natured and smart and strong…even if their Mom is a bit neurotic.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies