Queen of Spain Blog

When CoSleeping Ends (Part II)

February 13, 2007 by Queen of Spain 18 Comments

Put on PJ’s. Brush teeth. Read stories. Get tucked in. Go to sleep.

It’s that FUCKING SIMPLE.

My kids don’t do that. They have NEVER done that. Well, expect for the past three nights.

Cue the choir of angles.

Having been breastfed to bed, co-sleeping babies, our bedtimes habits are a bit…umm, lax. Throw in the usual snots and sniffles and pukes and we had a routine of children either having been breastfed, laid with, or held to sleep.

We slowly made the transition from our bed to their beds with protests. Throw in some parental laziness and bam…four people in our king.

Now that I’m on the mend and the kids had a few night of Mommy gone at the hospital, we’ve decided to re-impliment the “kids go to bed in their own beds” rule. I automatically assumed this would be a total failure. Which is fine. I’m tired. I don’t have the energy.

Turns out we’re on night #3, as I type this…with kids asleep in their own beds. I nearly gave in to the Count because he has a bad cough and runny nose. But I held firm. KNOWING this could go on and on and on until they go off to college.

People TELL me co-sleeping kids eventually leave your bed, but really you don’t believe it. You just assume they will come and go and come and come and come and come and come. And just stay. Forever. Or until they decide to marry or something.

I am still emotional over weaning Princess Peanut. So this whole not sleeping with a kid-leg in my ribs is a little hard for me. I keep telling myself it’s fine. I keep telling myself not to get all crazy/protective/hover mommy.

But none of that really goes away until mindblowing sex, IN MY OWN BED, with the Kaiser.

Emotional crisis over. Cue the choir of angles again.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Kaiser, Princess Peanut, Royal Sexlife

Build A Bastard

February 11, 2007 by Queen of Spain 12 Comments

Have I mentioned lately how amazing my husband is? Well, in case I haven’t…let me just say the man is a wonder.

Since my surgery he’s been SUPERwonder Dad. From doing everything around the house to taking the kids everywhere from hair cuts to birthday parties.

Which leads me to today…and the Build A Bear Birthday Blowout.

I’m normally not an evil bitch, but every time my husband comes home from an outing with the children, I get all frazzled because they have such a good time with no problems.

What do you mean Count Waffles didn’t have a melt down in the produce section?

Really, Princess Peanut didn’t throw the red ball at you because she wanted the blue ball?

It drives me insane. They always seem to be bizzaro kids for him.

Except for today. When the Build A Bear Birthday Blowout had my sweet Kaiser twitching when they walked in the door. It wasn’t so much that the kids were bad, it was just one of those parenting situations where you wish you had never left the house.

The Build A Bear store was the size of a small bathroom stall. It was the Sunday before Valentine’s Day. One of our kids could care less he was there, and the other had no clue what she was supposed to be doing. Cue Chaos.

My defeated and disheveled husband arrived home with two large bear boxes and 40 more gray hairs. He sat in front of me and talked quickly about the too small store and the throngs of people and the clothing and the kids and the holding of the bears and the holding of the kids and the picking out of the outfits for the bears and how the Princess wouldn’t allow the Bear to be dressed and the Count wouldn’t pick a name and he couldn’t carry the boxes and the bears had to be out of the boxes to carry home but the kids wouldn’t carry them, they just insisted they were not boxed.

This went on. And on. And on. He talked and talked and shook his head and put his hands in the air.

It’s not that I was happy, per say. Just relieved it finally had happened to him. Now we can really share some war stories.

Filed Under: Kaiser, Royal Family Outing, Uncategorized

Women Bloggers ROCK

February 9, 2007 by Queen of Spain 15 Comments

As many of you know I’ve been recovering from major surgery and am full of piss and vinegar (as my mother would say) over a million things, none of them important.

I’m irked no one can hear from the kitchen because my voice is so weak.

I’m irked there has been limited chocolate available to me.

I’m irked Brett Favre isn’t retiring.

I’m irked when anything, even my shirt, grazes my neck bandage.

But all of that changed and my mood went from hating the world to loving the world with the postman. Or lady. Or postal person. Who knew mail could change your life?
People I have never met have taken time out of their lives and baked me cookies.They were packed in a box that arrived split with the contents mushed. But Gidge made one hell of an effort to get the blue, churched shaped cookies to my door. Yummy broken melted cookie goodness.

They felt my chocolate pain and sent the most wonderful box of amazing chocolates ever assembled. EVER. (this was added tonight, as they just arrived! Those Ninja Poodles are so dead on when it comes to getting my taste right ;))
They’ve felt my screaming pain and sent me a whistle.Which is now shrieking it’s whistling goodness across the house. I am the Queen Referee and everyone is in the penalty box.

They’ve sought me out to talk about my missing thyroid, answered my insane questions about sleeping with an incision, and exercised patience as I’ve felt less than the writer I try to be.

Thank you. All of you. I love you guys. And that’s not just the pain killers talking.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies

Oh, Anna Nicole

February 8, 2007 by Queen of Spain 18 Comments

I guess we all saw this coming.

Poor girl never got her act together. I have no idea why, but I always liked her.

I realize that’s ridiculous. She was not the smartest. She used sex to get ahead. But it was all she had. Literally. I always gave her a pass.

Britney never will get a pass from me, but Anna Nicole always did.

I’m an enigima enigma.
I think I always thought of her as the really stupid, “bad” version of me. Life out of control. Drugs everywhere. Boobs all over the place.

Rest in peace Anna Nicole.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa

Queen Amplification

February 6, 2007 by Queen of Spain 23 Comments

As a mother, I have certain rights.

One of those rights is to drink at a playdate.

Another is the right to yell at my children whenever and wherever I see fit.

One of my 57 doctors (yes, I have 57 doctors…all younger than me and all following around the Chief just like on Scrubs) told me I can NOT raise my voice or yell for 4-6 weeks. Flippantly he added “So the kids and the husband get a pass for a good month.”

I didn’t laugh.

This is a problem. This is not going to work. How in the hell does a mother NOT raise her voice for 6 weeks? Just this afternoon the kids were in the playroom getting into trouble and my “please stop jumping on the couch” whisper from the living room was ignored. Or not even heard.

I need a megaphone. Or a microphone. Or some sort of bullhorn. 6 weeks of the Queen not yelling is just not going to cut it.

Email me at queenofspainblog@yahoo.com and I’ll give you my home address. I’ll take anything you’ve got.
Anyone with kids understands how dire the situation will be once the children (and husband) realize they won’t get a good Mommy Dearest screetch-fest when they do something awful.

Filed Under: Holding Court, Stepford Crazies

Damn Pirates

February 5, 2007 by Queen of Spain 23 Comments

Filed Under: Royal Pain, Stepford Crazies

Thyroids are for Suckers, II

February 2, 2007 by Queen of Spain 20 Comments

I talked to the kids every day on the phone while I was in the hospital. They missed me, or so they said.

When I arrived home last night, the Count’s preschool class had helped him make me a sign and it was decorated in hearts-the symbol of love,or so I thought.

The Kaiser and the kids also made me a sign that seems to be colored with care and thoughtfulness, or so I thought.

As it turns out, not only were the kids TOTALLY FINE without me, it seems they were BETTER behaved and happy as clams minus el Mommo.

But it gets better, now that I am home and wanting to hug and squeeze my little bundles…they want nothing to do with me. I look scary, or so I am told. They are freaked out by my bandage and they would be even more freaked out if they caught a glimpse of the frankenmom stitches that are under that wrap.

I look like a gangsta mom that got cut. I look like someone tried to slit my throat. And so help me if anyone asks, I’m saying I tried to kill myself from the stress of two young children and a husband that wanted to PICK UP CO-EDS on the UCLA campus while I was being operated on.

He had the nurse in love with him in 2 minutes. She gave him one of those cool scrub hats to aid in his co-ed hunt. And we all figured the pick up line “hey, my wife is undergoing surgery, got a few minutes?” was a winner.

The only silver lining going on here is I have mass amounts of pain killers and actual real money coming in from my Second Life real estate ventures…which I will tell you more about later.

Just to review: the kids won’t come near me, I look like frankenmom, the Kaiser is picking up Co-Eds, and I hurt.

Boy, my vicoden-laced blog posts are going to be f-u-n. I may even skip the spell checking, you know…to keep it real.

Filed Under: Royal Pain, Stepford Crazies

Pain in the Neck

February 2, 2007 by Queen of Spain 18 Comments

It hurts.

I have many stories, including my roommate and her family’s fondness to use the word “pussy” while I lay next to her in shock.

I’m still in too much pain and too groggy to do much but say a quick hello. I got home late on Thursday after getting my calcium and magnesium levels stable and today I get to shower. I’m very, very excited, because I am one stanky bitch.

Thanks for all the happy thoughts.

Filed Under: Royal Pain