Stepford Crazies

Basketball Jones

October 2, 2012 by Queen of Spain 2 Comments

I’ve never had to hold inside this much excitement in my life.

Go ahead and laugh.

It’s such a small, small deal in the course of things…but I am so, so, so excited I can’t contain myself and I KNOW I am setting myself up for total disappointment here.

You see, my daughter has decided to play basketball. I know, not a big deal, right?

Wrong.

I played basketball. And I don’t mean I played basketball as in- when I was a kid I dabbled in basketball- I mean from about 4th grade on I devoted every summer and fall and winter and I’m pretty sure parts of spring to nothing but basketball practice and games.

By the time I entered high school I had been playing for TWO teams (my public school junior high and the catholic school’s team) and made Varsity as a freshman. And eventually started. As a freshman.

So you get what I mean when I say I played basketball then, right?

There is a pee-wee team just starting out at our tiny little school and I asked my daughter, as casually as I could muster, if she wanted to try it out.

She said yes.

I made sure.

She said yes.

I gave her every out imaginable.

She still said yes.

Practice starts tomorrow. They play four games total. I’m fairly certain I’m more excited than she is and I’m fairly certain I’m going to have to sit on my hands and put duct tape over my mouth on the bleachers.

Hey…maybe that’s a good strategy for Republicans and my mouth!

Anyway…like I said. Practice starts tomorrow. Wish us luck.

Actually, wish her luck. Wish me Xanax.

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

CONVENT

September 25, 2012 by Queen of Spain 2 Comments

I know we joke about it from time to time at our house, but recent events are actually making me consider sending my seven-year old to a convent.

Stop laughing.

Somewhere in Florida my mom is cackling.

As if it weren’t bad enough that my darling daughter was embarrassed to have me take her and pick her up from a friend’s birthday party this past weekend, she also has decided I know NOTHING about fashion, and she knows everything.

I hear this ‘knows everything’ thing gets worse with time, by the way.

You see she actually needed jeans for horseback riding and new boots. So we began the hunt long ago, with me picking out what I thought were some really cute and damn cool boots.

Apparently whatever I think is cute and damn cool is just the opposite.

So she picked out her own, with me zipping my mouth shut tight. Ok, maybe I didn’t zip that tight. I TOLD her the pointy ones would pinch her toes. She didn’t care.

I told her how dusty and dirty the black pair would get while riding on the ranch and wouldn’t brown make more sense?

…bad move Mom. You know what that wins you? That wins you a daughter who orders EVERYTHING in black.

Like I said…CONVENT. Anyone know a good one?

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

One Small Step for Boy, One Giant Leap for Tourette Syndrome

September 20, 2012 by Queen of Spain 40 Comments

My son has gone back and forth about wanting to talk about his ‘ticks.’

That’s what we call his Tourette’s and OCD in our house. They are simply known as ‘my ticks, Mom’ or ‘…because of my anxiety.’

So when a writing assignment came along in school this week- very innocently, just the usual daily few sentences with a writing prompt to get them going- he froze.

He tells me some kids were writing about beating bosses on video games. Something he has done over and over again and is very proud of.

He tells me some kids were writing about no longer being afraid of spiders, or in the case of one kid, getting ‘bumped’ by a shark.

You gotta love 4th graders.

And there sat my son, debating with himself back and forth and back and forth if he should tell his teacher or his class or anyone that every single day he battles and overcomes all the zigs and zags of his brain. His brilliant, sensitive, amazing brain that causes him to (currently) do everything in ‘3s’ and mutter the last word of a sentience under his breath three times or hand wash and hand wash and hand wash or hand wash.

His ticks come and go with his anxiety level and he can control them very well with all the tools from our therapist. His ticks also change constantly. Sometimes they rotate and a new tick I’ve never noticed before is suddenly very prominent while another has faded. Some fade and never return. Others seem to be on a regular rotation. Regardless, he handles them with more grace and ease than any child should have to and he has zero shame or embarrassment.

At least, he didn’t. Until he began to mature and realize not everyone does what he does. Not everyone flaps their hands and jumps up and down while playing a video game, simply because it’s exciting. Not everyone covers their ears during a school play, because the cheers are too loud. Not everyone cries while looking out the window of an airplane, simply because the earth below is so beautiful.

Not everyone would take an in-class writing prompt home, so he could talk to his Mom about whether he should tell everyone he has Tourette’s.

I think they should know, but I’m not ready to really talk about it. I don’t want to give them a speech or anything. But maybe they won’t bug me so much then.

My stomach did a flip.

What do you mean ‘bug you’… has anyone said anything?

Well no, not really. But you know my friends they don’t care but some of the other kids might look at me and think I’m weird. You know Mom, I know I’m a wimp.

You are not a wimp. Why would you say that?

Well, I don’t mean that like a bad thing. I like video games and I’m not into like sports and stuff. And I’m a geeky wimp kind of kid, not like a kid that pushes other kids outside and plays those games where you punch arms and stuff.

There are LOTS of kids at your school like you buddy. LOTS. It’s great to have all kinds of friends and maybe it’s time to find some more of those kids that are like you.

But if I tell them about my ticks, they might think I’m even more weird.

Or maybe, they will better understand you and like you even more for who you are. But you can still write about anything you want honey. Anything.

…and he gets up and does this thing he does…his running from our front door to our back door. Something he just does that I’m sure is a tick, but we’re so used to it that it doesn’t register. He’s thinking. This is how he thinks. Sprints in my living room. Always having to touch the door a certain number of times. Always needing to ‘balance’ it out with exact same number of touches on the opposite wall.

Mom, I’m going to write it, but I’m not going to write a lot. My teacher might be the only one who sees it anyway, but maybe not. And maybe someone will ask me what I wrote. But I don’t want them to know too much. I will just write one thing about what I overcame and that’s it.

..and with that one thing, he took one very big step.

Filed Under: By Order of the Charter, Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies, tic-toc

Our Trip to the Democratic National Convention- Part 1

September 7, 2012 by Queen of Spain 9 Comments

An Open Letter to the Anti-Abortion Protesters at the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte:

Hi. You might not know me. I was the Mom who was wheeled by with her two small children yesterday somewhere between 3-4pm eastern. My beautiful and smart-as-a-whip little girl was on my lap, as my father-in-law pushed my wheelchair. My son was holding his grandmother’s hand and my hand on the wheelchair as we crossed the street onto your corner.

We needed to enter the convention center to get our credentials to see the President speak and there was no way around you.

I saw you when we parked. I mentally calculated how to avoid your area. Not because I have any trouble teaching my children about abortion, or about differing opinions, but because they did not need to see 9-foot tall posters of dead fetuses while you screamed about me being a murderer through your megaphone. Scare tactics meant to frighten me and my kids.

On our first trip past, we avoided you. I gave myself a Mom pat on the back, but then quickly learned we had to doubled back and head right through you in order to get where we were going.

So I did what any Mom would do and explained to the kids, quickly, that we needed to walk near ‘a bunch of idiots’ who had ‘scary pictures’ and were yelling ‘very mean things.’ I then had them both cover their eyes.

We nearly made it past you, but my son, who was walking, had to look up every so often so as not to trip.

He happened to look up just as you put one of your horrible, misleading, evil, shocking for the purpose of shocking, posters in front of him.

He recoiled and yelled out. I held his hand tighter and said ‘It’s ok, we’re nearly through’ and we went as fast as we could past you.

Mom, why would they even do that? What is WRONG with those people?

They think they can change people’s minds about abortion. They think they can get women to give up control of their own bodies by shocking them with those pictures. They think if they are loud and they scare you they will get you to vote their way.

Mom, that is horrible. They are horrible. I HATE those people.

I don’t like them very much either honey. And normally I would tell you not to hate anyone, but I think in this case it’s ok. These really are some awful people.

So you see, guy with megaphone, lady holding baby, men with signs…while you have every right to be there and every right to scream and shout and shock your message from that corner- it didn’t work.

My daughter was horrified to the point of hiding her face, my son was disgusted and angry. He was angry you were trying to get people to vote your way by showing them those pictures. And once I explained to him what he was looking at threw his squinted eyes, he became even more angry you were flashing those fetus photos for the world to see.

But Mom, I thought you said girls had a real hard time with that, and it was sad. Why would they think it is easy?

Honestly honey? Because they are jerks. I know that’s a bad word…but they are. They didn’t care that you saw those photos, in fact, you saw how that man tried very hard to get in front of you and show it to you.

Yeah, that made me sad.

Do you want to talk about it?

A little. I’m sad those people are so mean Mom. And I’m never voting for what they want because they are so mean.

There you have it protesters. If you were out there to try to change the hearts and minds of those willing to even slightly consider your point of view, you failed miserably. As it turns out, you may have made sure to have driven away an open-minded young man.

And for all your talk of loving babies and children, you certainly showed zero love for the ones right in front of your face as we passed your way. You needlessly frightened little children, the same children you swear you care about so much you are compelled to stand on a street corner to preach about their souls and the soul of their mother.

Consider yourself at least two more votes down.
Oh, and you are still jerks. And I’m using my nice words.

Erin Kotecki Vest
Mom, Wife, Angry Democrat working hard to keep abortion safe and legal

Filed Under: #suckit, Obama2012, Stepford Crazies

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

12

August 19, 2012 by Queen of Spain 10 Comments

Happy Anniversary.

I’d like the next 12 to be filled with more laughter, love, and just plain old fun.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Kaiser, 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

Water Worries

July 1, 2012 by Queen of Spain 4 Comments

My nine-year old son’s swim trunks are the ones on the left. His father’s hang on the right. As I wandered into the bathroom this morning and looked up at them both I nearly fainted when realizing they seemed the same size.

How can that be?

I was just in the community pool, him in swim diapers, sitting on the stairs holding him tight because he was afraid to go into the big pool. He had a denim hat and adorable little swim trunks and I would slather him until he was he color of paste with sunscreen.

Now he jumps in and can grab the ring at the bottom of the deep end…on the first try.

His nine-year old mind has been hard on him lately. Much like swimming, it can bog him down and pull him under as he wrestles with all his ideas and thoughts and confusion. His sensitivity and intelligence are like weights around him. But he’s learning to use them as easily as he uses the pool noodles and kickboards instead of letting them tug him down.

And boy do they tug.

As I watch and listen to him struggle with pre-tween, pre-puberty and pre-those years…I am reminded so much of all those feelings and issues and thoughts from when we were all children and our chests felt heavy and there were a million butterflies in our stomachs. And I want so badly to pull all the weight off his chest and free every butterfly from his belly. I guess that’s what any parent wants.

But I can’t.

Instead I found myself feeling the silky fabric of his swim trunks this morning, knowing he’ll buoy himself up and down a lot for the next…oh….decade. And wishing him all my knowledge and his fathers and hoping it will help keep him above water for the majority.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies