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

First Days

August 29, 2011 by Queen of Spain 6 Comments

There is something so hopeful about the first day of school.

New classrooms. New friends. A new beginning.

This year I’m just as worried as I was last, however I can make it up the stairs easier as I walk them in.

I’m trying not to be upset that I won’t be able to pick them up the majority of their very first week because I will have treatment. At least I will be able to drop them off. But even knowing I will be there in the morning and be there after they come home in the afternoon…I’m still upset I am not there for that moment when they exit school.

That’s so silly. I mean, my husband isn’t there for that moment. He works all day. I should be thankful I am there to take them and not overreact that I can’t pick them up for just a few, small days.

It seems like whenever I miss something because of Lupus, I get really angry about it. If I were missing picking them up because, say, I was having lunch with a friend…I wouldn’t be nearly as broken up. But because it’s treatment? Yeah…I’m mad.

And of course I was wringing my hands over telling the kids. Worried that they needed me this first week. Needed me to be there in the morning and right as they walked out…and upon hearing the news I got an ‘oh, ok…’ and their heads turned back to their games.

My shoulders slumped just a bit as I realized they weren’t nearly as upset as I was. I’m glad they are immune to much of what this disorder has done to us, but also a bit sad that they are so very used to treatments and doctors and hospitals. NO kids should be so immune to these things.

So once again it’s time for alarm clocks and lunch boxes and homework. Mixed in with carpools and iv band aids and side effects. A week’s worth of easy dinners I can make after being exhausted from a day of sitting and having meds pumped into to me, while they will have sat and had information and knowledge pumped into them. And we’ll sleep in a big pile on the nights I’m too tired to get them to bed, and they will worry less as friends and a new year reminds them of all the fun outside our house walls. And keeps their minds busy with the ‘new.’

I just hope that soon I miss nothing due to Lupus. And we have a million more first days that don’t have to include talks about why I won’t be there, can’t be there, or need to miss any little moments.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Stepford Crazies

11-years Later

August 19, 2011 by Queen of Spain 17 Comments

On the day of our wedding my Aunt offered me my choice of two handkerchiefs as my something old, something new, and my something blue. She had a blue bow and she was going to pin it to whichever of the folded, white pieces of fabric I chose. One was a new and delicate lace. Stunning for a tiny piece of cloth. She had picked it up at a store for the occasion thinking I would want something more striking than the other she offered. This one was a bit less sophisticated. An inexpensive fabric with large lace as a border. She explained to me that it was her mother’s. And it clearly was special to her.

She assumed I wouldn’t pick the worn handkerchief, opting for the more presentable, new one. But seeing the look in her eyes I knew she was secretly hoping I would choose her mother’s. A woman I barely remember but had very fond memories of. For a split second I considered the new handkerchief. It was sleek and perfect. But I instead chose the handkerchief you see above, the one already filled with memories and love. The one my Aunt didn’t want to assume I would want, but hoped I would carry down the aisle.

Wearing a beautiful diamond necklace given to me by Aaron as my something new, my Aunt pinned the blue ribbon to the handkerchief and then left another Aunt to present me with something borrowed. I proudly wore my Grandmother’s watch, loaned by my Aunt, on my wedding day. Another family heirloom filled with love and years upon years of ‘in good times and in bad’ between my Grandmother and Grandfather.

I couldn’t have asked for a better way to start my marriage to Aaron. Surrounded by family, friends, and the memories of the marriages and love that made up my heritage. My something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue represented so much. The relationships I watched as a child filled with hardship as well as celebration, and never, ever, lacking in love. The thoughtfulness of my Aunts, the promise of an amazing future from my husband-to-be.

11-years later and I have a better idea of what those small trinkets meant and why they were an important part of our start as man and wife.

It’s no secret we’ve had a tough time lately. ‘In sickness and in health’ isn’t just a saying in our home, and my husband has taken that vow to heart. Not only has he been my support and my strength, but he has embodied everything I hoped walking down that aisle, trinkets in hand, 11-years ago.

I’m not sure everyone can say that about their spouse. Recently we’ve watched as friends divorce and it’s been difficult to see the pain and fear in ending what was supposed to be forever. It’s made me grasp onto Aaron and bury my face in his chest, thankful for our friendship above all. Knowing it’s what sustains us over time and when things get hard. Of course friendship only goes so far as well…and that’s where the love comes in. It’s a balance of the two and how they intertwine that helps over the years, because we can always fall back on being the best of friends.

A love has evolved over the years. And grew stronger as I grew weaker, and as I relied more and more on my partner.

Which is why when I think back to those tokens given to me for our wedding day, I think about how perfect they were. And how thoughtful. It was like receiving the strength and wisdom of my grandmother and my great-aunt, along with the promise and hope and love of my husband. And even now, 11-years later, I hear their voices when things get tough, and all I want is to comfort Aaron or our children.

Not a day goes by that I don’t remind myself just how lucky I am to have found my perfect partner in life. A man who has carried me though the good times and bad on his strength alone, for which I am forever grateful. And I hope I show my love and appreciation enough.

11-years later and we still laugh before bed. The giggles always vibrate the entire mattress and shake my whole body, making me laugh even harder.

11-years later and we still dance in the kitchen, either while cooking or simply cleaning up. Always instigated by my smooth yet white husband who grabs me and holds me close while we sway.

11-years later and he is STILL the one I most want to tell everything, or the FIRST one I want to tell any news.

11-years later and I love him more each day, and hope to see a million more days with him by my side.

11-years later and I still feel surrounded by those memories and those lessons of love that enveloped me while walking down the aisle, and embraced us both as we walked up the aisle as man and wife.

Happy Anniversary

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Kaiser, Stepford Crazies

A Kiss is Just a Kiss

August 17, 2011 by Queen of Spain 7 Comments

I kissed my son on the top of his head tonight.

Doesn’t sound like a big deal, right?

Except something was different.

I didn’t bend down.

I just put my chin to my chest and kissed him.

I didn’t bend down.

I realize in just a few short days he will be entering the 3rd grade. I also get that he doesn’t want me to ‘do that kissing thing in front of the guys at school.’ Or in front of anyone else, for that matter. Unless it’s his family.

I get it. I understand what is happening here. But at least when I had these conversations I had to bend to see eye-to-eye. I had to hunch over to hug him. Lean down to help him get dressed. Bend to give him a kiss.

And then, just like that…I didn’t bend.

I should have noticed. He’s started blushing when people kiss on tv. He laughs harder at jokes his father and I get. The ones we felt safe laughing at, knowing no one else in the room understood.

He studies comic books longer, now reading and reading instead of just glossing over the pictures. He reads instructions to his sister, who is still struggling with big words. He’s quicker to help me if I need my cane, or something from the fridge. He asks me why I look upset when reading the news, and truly wants to understand some of the world’s more complicated issues.

And still, so long as not too many are watching, lovingly accepts a kiss on the head from his Mom…who didn’t have to bend to give it.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Stepford Crazies

RIP Murphy Brown

July 31, 2011 by Queen of Spain 36 Comments

Murphy has been with me from the beginning. He was there for my first apartment. My first dates with my now husband. My wedding. My babies.

He has been my companion in life even if he gave the world an attitude and struck fear into the hearts of vet techs from coast to coast.

Yes, Murph was an asshole cat…but in a way only MY asshole cat could be. He was so jealous of Aaron for the first several years of our relationship I slept on the COUCH if Aaron stayed the night because Murphy would make so much noise in a jealous fit no one would get any sleep otherwise.

He also would wake you up with meows if he was hungry and swipe at your ankles if he didn’t like you. But he always cuddled my toes at bedtime and never once opened his claws to the kids.

In his last days he endured a new dog in the house and his kitty body’s ongoing thyroid and kidney problems.

For those shaking their heads wondering why all the fuss over a cat…well, to you I can never explain. Because in our home the pets are family, they are woven into our daily lives from the time we bring them in as babies to when they finally leave us in their old age.

He wasn’t just a cat, he was the old, cranky man in our house whom we all loved… and will sorely miss.

Filed Under: Sir Murph, St. Nicholas Hoots Toots McGee Vest, Stepford Crazies

The Coupon Hottie of the Suburbs

July 21, 2011 by Queen of Spain 17 Comments

My hottie husband has all the check-out girls at our grocery store smitten.

They giggle and bat their eyelashes when he pushes his cart down their candy-laden aisle. They fight over break time and who’s turn it is to bag his produce.

Bag his produces. I’m not kidding. Barf.

They even gossip about his ‘spendy’ wife and how his family would be broke if she did the shopping.

Yes, you read that right. The women at my local Ralph’s actually gossip about me and I caught them red-handed.

I was innocently picking up a few things for dinner when I overheard two check-out girls and a male customer-

Oh, yeah…my wife usually does the shopping and I don’t know where anything is around here-says the man wearing a suit and tie.

We have a guy that does the whole families’ shopping! He comes in every Sunday with his coupons and his list- says the brunette ringing up the man while she pops and cracks her gum

We call him the coupon hottie – says the college aged bagger with a giggle

He says he can’t let his wife do the shopping or they would be broke- says the brunette who is now about to get an earful

Enter the wife.

Does he have dark short hair? Glasses? Always brings his canvas bags?

Yes! That’s him! You’ve seen him before?

Every day. I’m the wife who would make the family broke if I did this more often

Silence.

More silence and glances back and forth.

Continued silence and a very nervous check-out girl very quickly scanning my items while trying not to make eye contact with me.

You see this isn’t the first time I’ve heard the Ralph’s groupies fawn over my husband. I had gone in once before with our canvas bags and the bagger chick actually recognized our SXSW bag and asked if my husband was the ‘Coupon Hottie.’

After she explained how girls fight over who’s turn it is to ring him up, she giggled and offered to tell me even more about what they say about my spouse.

As if hearing he had a nickname wasn’t enough.

I declined with a smile and told her maybe another time. As fun as it would be to tease my man when I got home, I had heard enough to prop up his ego for a lifetime.

I will be the first to admit I married a hunka hunka man, and I will also admit how very lucky I am to have a husband who does the grocery shopping, laundry, etc. But what irked me most about my encounters with his groupies were their secondary remarks as they drooled-

My husband doesn’t lift a finger around the house, are you kidding me? He would never shop for the whole family.

My husband doesn’t even know where the tomatoes are let alone how to buy a pork roast.

My husband hasn’t ever seen a coupon let alone used one.

My husband …. My husband…

…you get the idea.

For as many women as I know who talk a good game about equality and gender roles, there sure seems to be a whole mess of you who married men stuck in the 50’s.

I realize it wasn’t just Aaron’s good looks that had these women in a tizzy, it was the coupons, the list, and his ability to live up to the idea of equality every Sunday at register seven. Often times he brings the kids, further showing them what a great, hands-on Dad he is…and that he isn’t the type of guy to dump his kids on a babysitter or on Mom when he’s forced to do the shopping or some other household duty.

Granted my husband has taken on more since I have been ill, the majority of these errands and chores were done by him from the start. We both work. We both take care of the kids. We actually do share the household tasks. For real. He probably does way more dishes than I ever do, cooks more dinners, and definitely does more loads of laundry.

And this is just one example of why I married him…because he didn’t just talk the talk, he walked it by supporting his strong, career wife by making her a mother and changing just as many diapers, folding just as many shirts, and emptying the dishwasher just as many times.

He also does it without laying guilt on me. He sees it as his responsibility just as much as mine. It’s his job to raise the kids, scrubs the pots and pans, and go to work to bring home a paycheck. And since I have been sick, he’s pretty much turned into a superhero, doing all the everyday tasks as well as taking the kids to riding lessons, birthday parties, and everything in between.

Yes ladies, he’s my coupon hottie, spending his Sunday clipping the newspaper and buying extra paper towels when they are on sale and knowing exactly which Ben & Jerry’s to bring home to his wife.

But I think I might do the grocery shopping around here more often…if only to keep the mob of check-out girls in line. 😉

Filed Under: Kaiser, Stepford Crazies

The Bad Parent

July 10, 2011 by Queen of Spain 14 Comments

I’m the Mom, that upon noticing her son has left his laptop in the minivan, will turn around and drive all the way back to school to deliver it to him.

I’m not into teaching ‘lessons’ by letting him struggle during his story writing time by forcing him to put pencil to paper instead of typing, and I’m not into that whole ‘well he forget his lunch so he should just starve, that’ll teach him!’ school of parenting.

By some, this makes me a bad parent.

I also happily let my kids into our bed for almost any reason. We were, after all, co-sleepers for most of their lives and this is where they find comfort and peace. Nightmare? Come on in. Noises? Crawl on next to me. Bad day? A snuggle is just what the doctor ordered.

By some, this makes me a bad parent.

I want to be a safe harbor for my children, not someone they fear. I want them to know they can COUNT on me and their father, that we will always be there when they need us.

I triple check my son’s head after he scrapes it in the pool. Demand ice just in case.

I don’t take my eyes off my daughter when she’s in the middle of a riding lesson, reminding her to keep her heels down. Giving her other instructions when I see her slacking a bit, fearing her lack of concentration will lead to a fall.

The idea that they will learn not to do something…be it by hitting their head in the pool or falling off a horse…is absurd to me. Who wouldn’t learn that way? But more importantly how many other ways can we teach our children the ‘right’ way without allowing them to feel pain or get injured.

Again, by some, this makes me a bad parent. I’m not allowing them to experience certain things on their own, so they can discover on their own what not to do.

I call bullshit.

Why let them discover something I can easily teach them? Why allow them to have so much as a scrape when I can stop it from happening? I’ve heard things like ‘It’s good for them! Makes them tough! And independent! Builds character!’

Trust me. My daughter is plenty independent and she didn’t need to reach up to a burning stove to feel heat to know it. My son has plenty of character and knows exactly who he is and what he wants to be without having learned ‘the hard way’ what happens when he forgets something- absent-minded like his Dad, always so smart and focused to the point of missing some minor details around them.

No, I’m just not that kind of parent. It’s not how I operate and it’s not what I find acceptable when it comes to rearing trusting, sweet, and smart little ones.

For one, they deserve my best…and for another, they are intelligent people who deserve my respect. I’m here to teach them and protect them, not to rule over them so they cower when I enter a room.

So I guess that means they won’t go without lunch and they won’t be afraid to crawl into our bed when the thunder booms…and if that makes me a bad parent, then I’m happy to be the worst the world has ever seen.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, 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