The Count came home from nursery school recently with one of those book flyers. You know what I mean because YOU came home from school with them as a child. We all did. Anyway the Kaiser and I actually got him a few things because its pretty cheap (6 books for $20 for our order) and he can always use more books. Not to mention if I read Clifford’s Happy Easter or the Cat in the Hat one more time I just might explode.

So I’m turning in the little form at school and another Mom says (lets call her “just woke up” Mom, since we all have names at the school) “OH MY GOD! Are those due today?????” And she flies into a panic. Tracking down the director of the place to see if they are due today ( I told her they were due tomorrow, but who’s gunna believe “Tattoo Mom,” right?) and asks every other adult she can find. “Just woke Up” Mom finds out that they are, in fact, due tomorrow so she announces she will make a special trip over to the school (our kids only go two days a week) to drop off her order form. So why the freak out and big fuss, you ask??? I asked my friend (and fellow nursery school Mom) who said, very matter of factually “They make a big deal when the orders come in and the hand them out. You don’t want your kid to be the only one in class who gets nothing.” So now I’m picturing the Count waiting for his named to be called as they hand out shiney new books and him NOT getting one while everyone else opens their little packages. Devastation. Turns out my friend has been ordering for all her kids for years, even if its a 99-cent book, so they never have to feel left out.

This sucks. Do I now have to order something every single time??? I’m screwed, aren’t I?

Karma came and kicked me in the ass today. Last night, I had begun a post complaining about my mother. HRH Queen Mother has been in town since Saturday and she was beginning to drive me crazy with her “do you want me to wash those rugs for you? they are filthy!” and her “maybe you need to buy your children warmer clothes” comments. Then it happened. Karma. My COMEUPPANCE. Whatever.

I’m sick. I’m sick as a freaking dog. Things are oozing out me from all over. I couldn’t lift my head 4 hours ago. I certainly couldn’t care for myself or my children. In walks the Queen Mother.

“Its like your body said it was ok to get sick, because I’m here. Go lay down.”

I just came downstairs from a mid morning nap/pukefest to find my whole house clean. Children happily playing, rugs washed, AND my favorite sick drink VERNORS, waiting for me. How does she do that??

Such is the way of Mothers, though. They seem to pull it all together when the rest of the house has fallen apart. I hope I was that way a few weeks ago during my kids Royal Snotfest. I hope.

So I’m now erasing last night’s post. And I’m going to go lay on the couch and cuddle with my kids and my Mommy. I’m such a wuss. And today, I don’t care who knows it.

My son is using my Duran Duran “Seven and the Ragged Tiger” LP as a train track.

It was a weekend of food and football at our house. With the Queen Mother in town, mothering anyone and anything she could get her hands on. Poor Houseboy’s girlfriend tried her best to make that great first impression we all want with our mate’s parents. She baked amazing cookies (which the Queen Mother deemed not fattening enough and ended up sandwiching ice cream between two of them–does that paint a picture of what I’m working against here?) and she sat through a gazzillion football games with my sports-crazed clan. Somewhere in the middle of this I heard

“Its NOT a yellow ribbon.”

“Well it looks like a ribbon.”

“Its a FLAG. A penalty flag.”

“Ok, so its a bean sac with a yellow ribbon?”

Poor girl. She’s trying. She really is. She’s baking and attempting to grasp football. She’ll get there. I hope. Or she’ll be gone before Christmas.

I’ve gotten my very first bizarre Search that landed on my blog. Thanks to the sicko looking for naked Laurie Berkner photos???

freshman berkner naked picture

All other searches have, no doubt, disappointed many Spaniards looking for information on their monarchy.

The Queen Mother has landed. The whole “toddler holding up sign that reads, Nana in crayon” at the airport was a HUGE success. Even other random people from her flight were crying.

So far I’ve only wanted to kill her once. For commenting on how stained my carpet appears. I told her to feel free to steam clean it, or teach my toddler not to spill. Her choice.

Tonight you got ahold of a pizza crust. You got a hold of it, and you wouldn’t give it up. As you sat on the living room floor, dejected and ANGRY I took the crust away from you, a wave of panic came over me. PANIC.

I sincerely hope you never have to diet. I wish you your father’s metabolism and ability to use and eat food as it was intended-nourishment.
May you never use food for comfort. Or out of boredom.
May a family member never call you one of the “bubblebutt sisters” in our rather round clan. May you never, ever have to go with me (like I did with my mother) to a Weight Watcher meeting.
May you always fit into the clothes in a boutique.
May you always look forward to bathingsuit shopping.
May you continue with athletics AFTER college.
May you find a wonderful partner that loves you even if you balloon up or slim down.
May you never, ever know what its like to suddenly realize you are not a thin girl anymore. And panic about what to do about it.
And know that I did not take that crust away from you because I’m worried about your weight. You are a fat, happy, healthy baby. As you should be. May I NEVER do anything to make you even blink about your self image. I took that crust away because you are only 6 months old. And I didn’t want you to choke and die. Nothing more, nothing less. And while I also don’t wish your brother weight problems, I know all too well that us girls seem to deal with that subject differently. So here’s wishing its never a subject we deal with together.
As for your mother. The Queen. I’ll always strive to give you a good example. I’ll be healthy. I’ll be fit. I’ll never be fat again. For myself, but also..for you.

The Queen

That means I’m cleaning. Like a maniac. Because despite the fact that she is my Mother and will clean for me when she gets here, I still want this palace to sparkle…at least for the first day she’s in town. It also means there is an air of stress floating around.
I’m stressed with cleaning. And the fact the Queen Mother has no idea I blog. I don’t mean to hide this from her, but due to my father’s illness I wanted a place to vent. And I knew if she read it, she’d cry more than usual. And be upset that I was upset. And so on and so on. My mother and I are very close. So its a little difficult to hide this from her. But one post about how I’m having a crappy day because of my father’s leukemia and she’d be destroyed emotionally for a month. So I’ll spend the next week sneaking into the office to post here, or I’ll let the Kaiser post some. The Kaiser says he’s making no promises, but I’m guessing he’ll be making his own brand of blog wise cracks on here before Wednesday. The Queen Mother’s impending arrival also means the Kaiser is stressed. He loves my mother, but she also makes him insane. He KNOWS she will arrive and proceed to rearrange the entire kitchen he, himself, unpacked. She also has a way of getting him to not play video games and instead, say, clean the garage. Houseboy is also in freak out mode. Because he’ll be introducing his new girlfriend to my mother. The girlfriend is already baking in preparation for the big meeting. I gotta hand it to her. She’s no dummy. They way to this family’s heart is most certainly through our stomachs. The Count is also stressed. Last night I had him make one of those goofy airport welcome signs for his Nana. After art all day at school, he had about had it with my pushing of the crayons. But, I prevailed. And now my mother can cry like a baby when she steps off the plane and sees her grandson holding a big, crayola “NANA” sign. I think the Princess may be the only one not stressed out. But we’re pretty sure she’s getting an ear infection from last week’s snotfest. So she’s too happy and hopped up on infant tylenol to notice all the chaos. So. Welcome Nana. I’m sure you’ll make us all nuts before your week here is out. I’m sure you’ll blow my diet to hell with your midwest cooking all week. I’m sure you’ll give my son waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much sugar. And I have no doubt I’ll be simultaneously cursing and praising you for the next 7 days.