I’m still not entirely sure what happened in this Royal Kingdom last night. It was chaos.

As I mentioned (I think?) in my last post…we had a party. The adults had some silly idea that small children would play together and eventually pass out into dreamland, while those of us with voter eligibility and driver’s license rang in the new year with many cocktails.

Well, the many cocktails occurred, but those little people never passed out. Or slowed down. Or sat for more than 10 seconds. Even the infants (2 total) remained awake for the ball drop.

Count Waffles the Terrible, seconds before midnight, was still full stream ahead (complete with his sister’s headband) chasing the big kids around the house and divebombing off the couch while Mom and Dad were too preoccupied (lit) to care or discipline.

(He also said “Blast Off!” instead of “Happy New Year” at midnight and was very confused the rest of the crowd didn’t say “Blast Off!” with him after the countdown. The Queen was still in shock at how far apart Mariah Carey’s boobs seemed, and how once again this year we knew no one on the MTV.)

I’m awake only because Princess Peanut has two new front teeth to ring in 2006 and is miserable. Its 10am and everyone else (including my usually-up-at-the-crack-of-dawn-toddler) is snoring.
I just quickly glanced at what will need cleaning once I’m alive today…and lets just say its not often you see martini glasses next to sippy cups, both looking as if they partied hard into the New Year.

Have a Happy New Year Everyone.

You will have to forgive me if there are mass amounts of typos and things that do not make sense…but it was a long night. Happy New Year, by the way. 8 adults, 2 big kids, 3 toddlers, and 2 infants all made it to midnight in the Royal Kingdom and I’m very bleary eyed.

This month’s Order of St. Anne contest is heating up! You have until midnight to enter to win a free t-shirt! So far, the contestants are:

Christina and her Gift Hall of Shame

KDubs tear jerker!

…and then ANOTHER tear jerker from Andria

And then three (updated at 3pm) entries via email:

From Running2K’s:

Uncle Jim and Aunt Peggy’s Annual Lettter of Woe:
My Uncle Jim, not his birth name, and his wife Peggy, not her birth name, are the doom and gloom couple. Jim was born Jewish, and is my mom’s youngest brother. He went through the Bar Mitzvah, he was the “mistake”of the family (born to my grandmother when she was in her 40’s and not expecting to expect).
As a result of his chronic low esteem, or perhaps his acne, he fled off to grad school to become a man of earth science. Problem was, he never could stay motivated or hold a job, ever. He eventually married a very controlling woman, a very large woman who ate all of my dad’s grapes in once sitting 20 years ago and it is still talked about (take a breath here). For some reason, after he became Christian, he and his wife changed their names to Jim and Peggy. I really don’t know why.
Jim and Peggy proceeded to have 4 children, each what they called a different failed method of birth control. So for the purposes of anonymity, I’ll change the names in their annual holiday letter of woe to the method of birth control. There is the oldest child, a girl named Pill. Then came their son Condom. Their next son is Diaphragm, and their last son is Sponge. Jim and Peggy could not afford their 4 children, ever, and would often ask my grandmother for “loans”(aka money never paid back). They lived in very bad neighborhoods in very bad apartments and moved from state to state. They never thanked anyone for the help received–only kept their hand out for more.
Most people send out brag sheets about their family every holiday season. Jim and Peggy are no different. Here is their Holiday Letter of Woe (I added the “of Woe” because it is very apt, as you shall see):
Dear Family,
It is another year in the Woe family. Right now, we are in the process of moving to Pennsylvania. Our rental in Buffalo, NY still isn’t subletting. This is a shame because the kids really don’t want to leave our house, that the church provided, in Ohio. We are trying to figure out how we are supposed to pay rent in New York and Pennsylvania. We would have preferred to live rent-free in Ohio, but Peggy lost her job. As you remember, she was working to teach kids in the church, so they let us stay in that house. But they found out that we were attending service somewhere else, and they wouldn’t renew Peggy’s contract.
I keep trying to get jobs with UPS or Fed Ex. I couldn’t work in the pet store anymore. Peggy got a great job offer in Pennsylvania to work at another church. I hope I can find something to do there. As always, we can really use the income. Pill is getting ready to go off to culinary school, and Condom is talking about college. I hope they can find scholarships or help somehow.
Good news! We were able to get the state to recognize Diaphragm as having ADD and a learning disability, and they are giving us money to supplement him in school. Maybe he’ll get to be in a special program. We are also happy to report that the state will be giving us money for Sponge. They were trying to call him ADD, but we were able to finally find a specialist to say he has a mild form of Aspergers. This is great because he’ll have an aid in class, and we’ll get money for treatment. It’s too bad we never got Pill or Condom diagnosed with anything.
How’s everyone else doing?
Jim

And from Amy at Everybody seems to be Kerbabbled:

Your Royal Highness,
I decided against posting this on my blog because well, you never can tell how someone might find a picture of my mother dressed like Yasser Arafat as offensive. Thus, here’s the story:

We’re at my oldest sister’s house in Michigan, in the town where I grew up, and we’re all opening our presents on Christmas Eve (by “we” I mean my two sisters, their husbands and 3 kids between them, plus my parents, my husband and myself). My oldest sister gave each of us “girls” (mom, other sister and myself) baskets with handmade tablecloths in them, covered by various colors of kitchen towels. Mine was solid red, my other sister’s was green, and our mother’s was white with blue trim on the edges. Since I had opened mine first, I was silly and put the towel on my head while I opened the rest of the basket. My other sister followed suit when she opened hers, and when our mother (who just turned 70 by the way) opened hers, we told her she had to do the same thing. It wasn’t until the towel was on her head for about 30 seconds that I grabbed for the camera after realizing she looked a little like a former Palestinian leader. I couldn’t help it, it was really very funny to see my life-long Southern Baptist mother from Kentucky looking a little Middle Eastern.
Hopefully this wasn’t offensive … the picture is pretty funny regardless of whether or not you “see” the resemblance.

And from Monica:

“None Of Us Are In Jail, Selling Drugs, Under theInfluence of Drugs, Have Killed Anyone, or Plan OnDoing Anything Illegal”

The title of this story is something my sister and I tell our dad, in some form or other, every time he starts complaining about how his children never seem to measure up…and he realizes that it’s true…we are really okay…really…anyway…

History: Parents immigrated from Germany at the beginning of the ’60s. Me, the first child, born in 1961, my brother to follow in 1963. One last additionto arrive in 1977. My darling sister, welcomed by the four of us with wonder and amazement…and a little bitof trepidation since she came packaged with a strong will and the knowledge that she was the center of attention.

The years have been good to us. And they have been filled with moments of puzzlement over each other’s behavior. There was the year that my father and I spoke not one word to each other for something no one can remember. There are the strict rules we grew up with that still, to this day, make no sense. There is my headstrong daughter who continues to challenge me and step out of the mold that anyone would have dreamed for her…and I wouldn’t change a thing about her. The list goes on and on as it does in every family.

We have those little disapproving things that we do…disapproving from our parent’s point of view. My divorce and return to school at the age of 38. My sister bringing home that third cat when they think she should be bringing home a baby. My brother sending his girls to French Immersion School. My own child’s multiple piercings and tattoos. It’s that parental thing that they impose…that I’m going through now myself with my 17 year old girl: “I love you and want the best for you so why did you do that without thinking about it more and especially why didn’t you ask ME what the best thing is to do since I’m sure I know and could help you do the best and right thing”. Ah…on and on the merry-go-round goes.

Through it all, we love each other so deeply and have come such a long way that it fills me with pride and love and such deep emotion that it’s sometimes hard to convey. The five of us are scattered around the North American continent these days. My parents and brother(and his wife and 2 girls) are in the city of Kelowna. My daughter and I are in Vancouver. My sister and her husband are in Atlanta. We talk on the phone every day, my parents now understand the magic of email and the net. We share the simple things eachday…such as…”how do I make the red cabbage dish?” or “what’s the name of the movie you watched last weekthat you liked so much?” But the biggest and most important thing is the phone three times a day…it ends with that “bye, I love you”. There was a time when it was hard for my father to say those words to his children…and for us to speak those words to him…and now, those words are the backbone of my days and support me during this time when I have to live so far from them all.

I think I’ll send my family these words that I’m sending to you…and to them all…”I love you so very,very much and am oh so glad that I can call you mine.”

With all the family in town, the Kaiser and I actually had an opportunity to go together to Princess Peanut’s 9-month well check. Together and without Count Waffles. Wow.

Anyway, at some point during the visit my God-like pediatrician (go ahead and click that…she writes and serves as an expert for Parenting Magazine, head of peds at UCLA, writes books, etc.) asks us if the Peanut is our “caboose” child, or if we will grace her practice with more royal children.

I hate this question. I hate it almost as much as “so, what do you do?”

I always hesitate answering someone, waiting to see what the Kaiser says. I don’t know why. I KNOW what he will say. Its an emphatic “yes” on his part. He’s done. This is it. Two kids. Finished. Over. He has extremely practical, logical, and well thought out reasons to back up his position. Solid reasons. Not really arguable reasons.

And let’s face facts here, I’m pretty much with him. I can barely hold this royal kingdom together as it is. I can barely keep the dishes from piling up in the sink, laundry clean, small people fed, hair combed, etc. The thought of adding another boob-sucker to this train wreck is clearly insane. Clearly.

So how come, now that the Kaiser is scheduling his vasectomy, am I totally, 100%, sure I want a third child? Clearly we cannot afford a third child. College, diapers, what not. Clearly two is more than I can handle on a good day around here. Clearly both my pregnancies sucked ass. Clearly I was miserable while pregnant. And I am not kidding you, when I say I just had to get up from this computer and tear my two children apart while they both screamed at the top of their lungs. Its as if Saint Anne herself is telling me two is plenty.

Maybe its because the doctor told me I am only capable of carrying one more child. Maybe its because I’m only 31. Maybe its because I have hopes I’ll get this two-kid thing under control soon and three will seem like fun.

Whatever the reason, I’m clearly insane. But that chubby, yummy, 9-month photo of Princess Peanut up there makes me want to make sure there is always a chubby, yummy, baby around these parts.

Always.

I’ve paid my dues
The trenchcoat is off. They are gone. They are allllllllllll gone.
Time after time
Took the last batch of sugar-pushing grandparents to the airport at 530 this morning. When the back gate of the mom-van closed I swore I heard angels sing.
I’ve done my sentence
But committed no crime
I love them. I really do. But Jesus F’ing Christ they make me crazy. And not crazy in a good way. Crazy in a-I’d be an alcoholic, pill popper -way.
And bad mistakes
In fact, they make me so crazy that as I type this I kinda miss them. What the hell is that crap?
I’ve made a few
Despite my Martha-ness taking a hit with my mother-in-law’s improvised, used wrapping paper tablecloth, the Queen Mother’s constant baking and cooking and cleaning after I cleaned, the odd and sometimes uncomfortable melding of my swearing, football watching father with my ax-wielding (not kidding, they brought us wood all the way from West Virginia) outdoorsey father-in-law, and the added bonus of one teething baby and one over hyped, over stimulated, over indulged toddler….we survived.
I’ve had my share of sand
Kicked in my face
In the end it was all about the kids (when is it not, I ask?) and they were spoiled. I went overboard. The grandparents went overboard. Consumerism ran amok.
But I’ve come through
The Kaiser and I even escaped for a quick date and some naughtiness (wink, nudge, wink, wink) AND I had a spa day.
And we mean to go on and on and on and on
So as I sip coffee from my new coffee pot, pop in a new DVD for Count Waffles the Terrible and plot what to do with the thong, nativity, and 1980’s tracksuit I unwrapped Xmas morning, I’m feeling rather victorious.
We are the champions – my friends
And we’ll keep on fighting
Till the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
‘Cause we are the champions
of the World


****I revised this month’s Annie’s Knight contest, EVERYONE should be able to play now!

It appears many of you are not at liberty to post your crazy family stories on your blog to try and win a free shirt from the Queen Store. So, here is your revised challenge:

Post a photo or story that shows your family at its best, or at its worst. Same rules as below apply, but I will extend the deadline to January 1st, 2006 with the winner announced January 2nd, 2006. Crazy ass family stories are still welcome. But it might be easier for everyone to post sappy, happy, or inspiring photos or stories.

If you have already submitted an entry, feel free to change it or contact me if you no longer want it posted!

Have fun!

Throughout history, monarchs realized the value and necessity of rewarding gallantry in battle and loyal service, often by awarding gifts of land or money, or some sort of title or sign of merit as a mark of distinction. This was particularly the case when the first sovereign of a new dynasty succeeded to or took the throne and therefore needed to ensure that their supporters’ loyalty was rewarded. – Monarchy Today.

In that spirit, I, Queen of Spain, declare open the second “Order of St. Anne” competition. “Annie,” as I commonly refer to her, is the patron Saint of mothers, pregnancy, housewives…and less notably, lace makers, Detroit, cabinetmakers, and miners.

Thank you to Dame Ms. Mama for serving as December’s winner, with her Mommylicious photo. Since I am otherwise engaged with my nut ball family until 2006, it seemed only fitting that I bring you, my blogging friends, into my own personal circle of hell and pit you against eachother in a battle to the death. Ok, not really death…but maybe you’d all fight to the death over a free t-shirt. You never know. I’ve seen them shoot crappy free shirts into crowds at sports arenas and grown men have fought over those. And my shirt designs are waaaaay better. So get out your brass knuckles and dump beer over eachother’s heads.

As per usual, winner gets a T-shirt from the Queen store. Your choice. Now, on to this month’s challenge:

Post about your crazy family. I KNOW I’m not the only one out there. And I’m guessing many of you have some fresh new stories to share since we’re knee deep in the craptastic holiday season. Give me a crazy family story. Or photo. Or inkblot. Or all three. Tell me in my comments section when your post is up and I’ll go check it out.

Once again, don’t make me get all PriceWaterhouseCoopers on your ass with rules. You get the idea. Play fair. I am the Queen. I will pick one entry for whatever reason I see fit. That blog will be named “Annie’s Knight” for the month, and featured here on the Queen and her Royal Family in the sidebar for the month of January. And you can pick a title just like Dame Ms. Mama did. Friends and relatives can play. I’m the Queen, I do what I want. Nonbloggers can e-mail me at QueenofSpainblog@yahoo.com and we can work to publish your entry or find you a blog to post on.

You have until the end of 2005…that’s December 31st to get your post up. I’ll announce a winner on January 1st, 2006.

Now, go make me want to knight you…

If I haven’t told everyone already…I was really excited to have purchased and used a tablecloth for Christmas dinner. I know, you’re thinking to yourself, what sort of f’d up nut job blogs about her tablecloth? Not me. Nope. Not me.

I will, however, share with you yet one more example of why I am very different from my inlaws. After breaking out the good china, the gold flatware, and actually buying my first fancy tablecloth…my mother-in-law thought she’d help out by using a piece of used wrapping paper from the morning festivities and covering the second table, added at the last minute.

I promptly opened a bottle of wine. And continued cooking. I thanked her for helping.

Before you tell me how nice I am, realize I shouldn’t even be telling anyone this upset me. And I’m feeling very guilty for even admitting that something this stupid made me want to scream….But isn’t that what family is all about? Taking those little quirks and saying, dammit…Merry Christmas and I love you too. And calmly eating my prime rib on the used wrapping paper, positioned so thoughtfully next to my nice, new tablecloth.

(I’m still in stealth blogging mode. I’ll be back to commenting on everyone else’s blogs as soon as the Queen Mother gets on her plane later in the week! I miss you all horribly…I bet you if you come kidnap me, you might get some cool wrapping paper or fancy paper plates as ransom…)

A scorecard update:

Queen Mother has made a total of 6 trips to the grocery store since yesterday.

Cats are being let out of doors that are supposed to remain shut. Prompting Houseboy to lose his shit. (his cats are the indoor variety, and his only real love in life)

The Kaiser’s mother rescued the gift I nearly botched for the Kaiser.

Everyone might as well just spoonfeed Count Waffles straight sugar. Despite my pleas to try and temper the holiday goodies given to the toddler, he’s being handed cookies and candy every other second.

Did I mention the Count has croup and Princess Peanut has diarrhea, a runny nose, a chest cold, and cutting her two front teeth???

I took an Imitrex and had some wine and could care less about anything.

Its anarchy. Fa la la la la…la la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

But actually, its turning into the fun kind of anarchy. Not the kind where people die and things burn down. So that’s good. I think I just finally had to let go and enjoy. Which is exactly what I’m going to do from here on out! Happy freaking Holidays! May you all enjoy your crazy ass family as much as I am going to enjoy mine!