“He’s Testing us!” “He’s testing us!” I can’t seem to stop thinking about FOOTLOOSE today. Hang on. Hang on. Hear me out.

Count Waffles the Terrible is truly living up to his name. And he’s making the Queen Google “animals that eat their young.” (Not surprisingly I found more articles on parenting than I did actual Discovery channel type stuff)

Exhibit A: That is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on my floor. A vast improvement from yesterday when it was smeared all over the television.

Exhibit B: “Count honey, please stop playing with your broccoli.”
“No Mamma…I want to do this…(makes a throwing gesture)”
“Don’t you dare. Now sit down and use your fork.”
“I don’t want too. (shakes broccoli so little broccoli thingies go everywhere)”
“I said NO. Now you’re making me crazy. Don’t shake your broccoli.”
“I wanna make you crazy Mamma. (Gets off chair, runs around kitchen shaking his broccoli)”

Exhibit C: As I sat down to type this my brother walked in the office to inform me the Count was squirting nasal spray onto the television. You know, where I left him to watch Thomas the freaking Tank Engine while I made myself a drink because I couldn’t take another minute of his Royal badness and retreated to play on the Internet for a few minutes to gather myself.

Exhibit D: I just walked back into the living room to check on the aforementioned squirting and he threw his hands and arm over his eyes. A sure sign he’s been rotten.

Its off to the chair. And he’ll be damn lucky if its not off with his head before the day is out.

My son has taken to calling me “Mamma.” He gets it from his West Virginian father, who to this day when he’s really revved up, has an accent. Unfortunately, no matter how cute they are when they say Mamma, it makes me fell like a very large, very old, black woman or a very skinny, very trailer trash, white woman. I’m not sure which. But either way, I’ve never been crazy about it. Maybe because I’m not southern. Sure, I pretend to be very Scarlett O’Hara…but really I’m as Midwest as they come. Beer drinking, bowling, fish-fry on a Friday night kinda gal. Yes, California living for 6 years now has softened my Canadian accent ( I am from Detroit, eh) and the only time I drink Molson these days is when the Kaiser brings it home as a joke. But my roots are my roots and I’m a “Mumma” NOT a “Mamma.”

What with hockey starting this week and my son’s preference for “Mamma” AND a Detroit-area wedding invitation I got in the mail recently, I’ve been a little homesick. I hesitate to call Michigan home, seeing as I haven’t lived there for 10 years now. But that hand shaped state has been on my mind a lot lately. And its got me wondering where home is for our transient society. Because I’m feeling a lot like a nomad lately.

Not many people live in the communities they were born and raised in anymore. Families are scattered. The Queen Mother is coming in from Florida next week. The Kaiser’s parents are still in WV. Grandfathers are in Kansas City. Brothers are in Germany. I guess home really is where the heart is…but half my heart is in Detroit.

I wonder what the Princess and Count will think of Michigan? Will they see it as they 7th circle of hell, like their father describes? Will they be as fond of the people, and FOOD, and communities as I am? Or will they simply see it as that odd place MAMMA makes us visit once every few years? Where everyone smokes and drinks and hunts and eats and eats and eats.

So as my son yells “Mamma! Mamma!” from the other room right now (the kid has a knack for timing), I think I’ll go call my Dad. We need to pick apart last night’s Red Wing game anyway. And while I’m at it I’ll put him on the phone with the Count…and have him say “Mumma” and “ha-aaaah-key” to him for awhile. Just in case.

Please. Please. Please. Let us out. We promise not to pass our snot on to the next family. Just please, for the love of God, let us out.

I know. I know. You are right. This would have never of happened to your brother. And while I won’t necessarily concede we missed one of your milestones, I will agree that it did lack a certain amount of fanfare.

You got your first tooth. Its beautiful. Its sharp. Its a glorious tooth and I apologize for not making a bigger deal of its arrival.

Now I’m not going to try and justify myself to you, I am, after all, the Queen. But the kingdom was extremely preoccupied with the Royal Snotfest still consuming this monarchy. You, yourself, are still infested with this evil invader the idiots at the pediatrician’s office are calling a “cold.” They obviously don’t understand its MY children that are infected, or else they wouldn’t treat me like every other neurotic mother in town calling to see what is to be done with this sleep-depriving, tissue consuming, demon of a virus.

I’m sure you are wondering what all of this has to do with the lack of celebration, as it were, for the new pearly white in your mouth. Afterall, had it been the Count’s first chomper, there’d be a parade, you’d argue. True enough my dear. True enough. Admittedly the Kaiser and I bestowed many a kudo for your sibling’s first milestones. And yes, they are documented at nauseum.

But I know you. And you are obviously above such typical parental accolades. You have held your head high (and without support) since birth. You have been talking to us for months. Crawling for weeks. And you are pulling up, standing, and nearly cruising–all before your brother had begun to sit. You’re special, my dear. And you’ve known it well before we figured it out, and certainly never needed us to point it out.

So please do not mistake the “second child” parental nonchalance as favoritism. We just know its a tiny tooth. And we’re saving our Princess Parade for the really big milestones. I’ll start planning the party for your first period now.

The Queen

Seriously. I’m gone for a few hours and all hell breaks loose.

Can THIS really be true? First of all, I thought Tom Cruise couldn’t reproduce. But I think that came from the same tabloid that informed me Hillary Clinton was an alien. And what about poor Katie’s parents? I mean, are they freaking out? Or are they like my Mother…who STILL tells us she used to live in the same subdivision as Tom Cruise’s mother. She was that excited.

Also, while my DSL, that’s not really DSL was taking a crap, our President thought it would be fun to scare the LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME. We just got our flu shots here, but apparently that whole regular flu is very last year. If I were any sort of mother I’d be tracking down that avian flu antidote as we speak.

To add to the fun around here, while I spent an hour on the phone with the DSL that’s not really DSL company, the Count got his entire arm STUCK IN THIS.

Oh, and someone or something is stealing tomatoes from our garden. We think it might be our neighbors my husband has named “The Courtney Love Experience” if that gives you any indication of what they are like.

Today we celebrate. Today we party. Today we open the Igor Larionov bottle of wine I’ve been saving. Today we dine out for hurricane relief. Welcome back hockey. Here is what you looked like in my house when you left us. Or at least, when I remember you last. And next to it…what you look like now. You are a completely different person. But I love you, just the same.
Now drop the puck.

The mucus is still flowing here in the Royal Kingdom. Boogers galore abound in our castle. Two miserable little creatures keep moaning for popsicles and Kleenex and the Queen is moaning for the Queen Mother to fly in from Florida so she can help. But, no such luck. Queen Mother does not arrive for 2 more weeks and by then, I have no doubt, the sea of snot will have subsided or this Queen will have drunk herself silly trying to forget the smell of Vic’s at 1am.

I’d by lying if I said this kingdom was a peaceful one. Because with two sick kids and two parents starting to feel a little unhealthy themselves, tensions are high. So high, that bedtime last night became a battleground. Thunderdome, really. A gauntlet was thrown and I have every intention of calling the Kaiser out to see just how much he really meant what he said.

Kaiser Ota swears he will never, ever put PJ’s on Princess Peanut again. Ever. Never. Ever.

It all started innocently enough. Administering night-time (knock out) medicines, brushing teeth, changing diapers/training pants, and then…the dreaded (duh duh daaaaaaaaa)
“Can you change Peanut too, please…she needs new PJ’s. They are in the nursery.”
“Sure.”

To be fair. The nursery is still a disaster from the move. Clean clothes have made it to the top of dressers but not, necessarily IN them. I also need to go pull out all the Princess’s 3-6 month clothing, as its no longer fitting. So sending the Kaiser to go get PJ’s is really an exercise in torture.

The Kaiser returns from the nursery with PJ’s I KNOW do not fit. Since we’ve played this scene out before, I humor him a little and say they might fit Maybe. I’ll try.

I don’t really try. I just announce, while he’s not looking…”Sorry honey, these don’t fit…could you grab another pair…” And this time I give him instructions on where to find a good pair.

He comes back with a perfect pair of PJ’s. And for reasons still unknown to me, I tell him to put them on the Peanut.

I’m fiddling with one thing or another…the Count’s toothbrush, his nighttime juice, his nightlight…whatever, when I turn around and see HE HAS PUT THE PRINCESS’S PJ’S ON BACKWARDS.

He’s struggling. She’s trying to crawl out of his reach. He’s trying to snap. She’s getting fussy, he’s trying to just finish the damn snapping. It looks like a nice little wrestling match is going on when I proclaim, “Those are backwards.”

No answer. Still snapping. Did he not hear me?

“Those are BACKWARDS.”

The snapping fiasco abruptly ends. The Kaiser hands me an unbuttoned, half dressed child and proclaims “I am never, ever putting PJ’s on her again.”

Bring it on. Bring it on. I give him 1 week. Then life and circumstance in the Royal Kingdom will dictate he PJ again. I’m sure they will be on wrong. Or not fit. Or be too hot of a material or too summery for 40 degree weather. But he’ll do it again. Oh yes he will.

In an attempt to amuse and delude myself from what is really going on here today (yes, the Princess is now spewing snot too) Here are some fun and mindless things to check out:

1) This moron actually lives about 5 miles from where I grew up. I would totally tattoo Steve Yzerman’s face on my ass, but this is just sad.

2) This political quiz called me a socialist. Too bad I like me some expensive stuff. But it would be a nice world if we could all have expensive stuff.

3) In case I haven’t mentioned it enough, HOCKEY IS BACK, BABY. We had our fantasy draft Sunday, but the Kaiser and I were dealing with the sea of snot, so our team got autodrafted. I will happily take your suggestions on what to do with this:
M. Sundin (Tor – C)
O. Jokinen (Fla – C)
B. Morrow (Dal – LW)
O. Kvasha (NYI – LW)
J. Iginla (Cgy – RW)
B. Hull (Pho – RW)
N. Lidstrom (Det – D)
B. McCabe (Tor – D)
N. BoyntonNA (Bos – D)
F. Kaberle (Car – D)
J. Nieuwendyk (Fla – C)
B. Gionta (NJ – RW)
A. Brunette (Col – LW)
E. Belfour (Tor – G)
D. Hasek (Ott – G)
J. Grahame (TB – G)
Obviously Brunette will be the first to go. I won’t even have a Fagalanche player on my fantasy team. You can take the girl out of Detroit…

4) I really want the entire family to dress like this for Halloween. But I know the Kaiser would kill me.

5) We purchased this little potty for our ongoing potty training fun this weekend. I honestly think it might be the single most ridiculous child-related purchase we’ve ever made. The freaking thing SINGS and the book its comes with is more than comical. The Count is entirely too sick for us to be trying it out all that much right now. But I predict it will be more than funny once we get going. Seriously. Its A ROYAL THRONE, what could possibly go wrong???