When Martians Attack

January 24, 2008 by 9 Comments

Minding my own business yesterday and half watching/listening to the local news I hear “Do images from Mars show life on the Red Planet? Take a look and decide for yourself.”

Thinking I had lost my mind I glanced up at the tv to see THIS.

Ummm. Ok.

Now none of this would be a big deal except my son is really, really, really, really into Mars and the Mars Rovers.

Spirit and Opportunity are household names around here and Count Waffles, at not yet 5-years old, is convinced he will one day retrieve his buddies from Mars. He’s serious too. He also thinks his Mom gets to go with him, but that’s another story.

So when I saw the images on the news I debated showing our budding astronaut. Here’s the problem though-he’s afraid of aliens.

He has nightmares about them and they totally freak him out.

I didn’t post the pic here because I’m afraid he’ll see it-that’s how bad he MIGHT freak.

So I stopped myself from showing him these rocks that look like a person, because I thought he would cry or scream or be convinced there are aliens on Mars and we all need to run and hide.

Does that make me a hover-mom?

Should I let him see them and explain they are rocks?

I KNOW he’ll be totally fascinated by the photo and the shot from Spirit (which we’ve look at a million times anyway) but I’m so afraid I’ll add to his fears.

I’m a big geek, aren’t I?

We’re going to watch the Disney documentary Roving Mars. Again.

I need a hook up at JPL. Or something.

Done babbling now.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Stepford Crazies

Doggie Doo Doo

January 23, 2008 by 10 Comments

My daughter woke up screaming today yelling “THERE IS DOG POOP IN MY BED! GET IT OUT!”

We don’t have a dog.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I rolled over to find my husband walking into the room, “it’s cat puke. And it’s on the floor.” And then he proceeded to go about his morning routine.

Apparently it’s just assumed I’m the cat puke cleaner-but whatever.

Despite 10 minutes of telling our little peanut this was cat sick and not dog poop-she still insisted it was dog poop and insisted it was in her bed. Again, whatever.

I cleaned, she cried, and then she told me how her stuffed dog poops.

Oh goodie. More beings to clean up after.

I’ve never really worried about my daughter’s animal fetish until now. She wants a horse, and since that’s totally out of the question it never really spent much time in my mind-but this new puppy fetish is getting out of hand.

She asked her DAD for a puppy the other day and I swore he couldn’t even LOOK at her when he said “no.”

Yeah, Daddy’s cracking.

But more importantly-she’s carrying a puppy everywhere. School, wherever. And while I’m thrilled it’s replaced the horse-head on a stick she was RIDING everywhere-I’m not liking the idea of being cat sick cleaner-upper and dog poop cleaner-upper.

Or am I?

Friends with animals-how old were your kids when they started REALLY taking care of them-or let me rephrase that-how old were they when you MADE them do it?

Don’t get me wrong, I highly doubt any new animals are entering this home anytime soon. But if I’m cleaning up stuffed dog shit from the carpet, anything is possible.

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Royally Screwed

Tomorrow

January 21, 2008 by 10 Comments

Tomorrow my friend WhyMommy will undergoing surgery.

Tomorrow I’m going to remember that a bald avatar in SL, wearing a Queenly tiara, means a Mom with cancer can still attend BlogHer and have some fun. It means I made a new friend who will be on my mind as the day passes into night.

Tomorrow I’m going to send all my thoughts and love to WhyMommy and her family.

We’re all here and we all love you and we know you‘re going to kick  kicked cancer’s ass.

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Queen Tureaud

An open letter to pollsters, stat takers, and survey pimps

January 19, 2008 by 15 Comments

What the HELL is this crap? Are you serious? A poll asking South Carolina voters which presidential candidate is the SEXIEST. Really?

I’m just curious what is accomplished by a poll like this, why any polling company would ask this question, and why the hell they think I care.

The President of Public Policy Polling, Dean Debnam, agrees this is silly, “Politics doesn’t always have to be completely serious,” he says in the press release. “We did this survey to remind folks to keep their senses of humor during this intense election season.”

Yeah, I’m not laughing.

If you want me to keep my sense of humor, how about asking me which candidate tells the best joke. Or which candidate is mostly likely to have a beer at the local pub. Draw me a funny political cartoon. Let me just state I’m stretching with those examples, because I really am not sure this election needs to have a sense of humor. Some “light” moments-I’ll give ya’ that…but my sense of humor just doesn’t come into play with dead soldiers and Iraqis, families struggling to pay their mortgage, lives-hanging-in-the-balance, fate-of-our-country politics.

But let’s tackle the bigger issue here and why this poll makes me roll my eyes and want to move to Canada-ENOUGH with the sexy crap. Obama girl, Hillary boy, Edward’s hair, Clinton’s cleavage-ENOUGH already.

What does even discussing which candidate is SEXY accomplish in the bigger picture aside from the few chuckles the polling folks were hoping for?

It reinforces that “sexy” matters.

It reinforces the idea that Americans care more about Oprah than Obama.

It reinforces to my daughter she needs to be thin, beautiful, and slutty.

It reinforces to my son SEXY counts when trying to win over the world.

It reinforces to ME some voters care more about American Idol and Britney’s custody case and will actually cast their ballot for the candidate who has the best stylist.

It reinforces to the candidates the false notion 8.3 million readers of BlogHer.com care more about fluff than the issues.

Maybe I have no sense of humor this morning. Maybe I woke up to find this poll and am overreacting. I’ll admit I’m feeling rather cynical this weekend.
Or maybe I’m tired of some woman shaking her ass all over national tv for Obama and the media discussing necklines and skin.

We have quips about looking “too” feminine or “mannish”-leading to snark about tears in New Hampshire. We have polls measuring the next leader of the free world’s SEXY.

Enough. Please. Enough

crossposted at the Huffington Post

Filed Under: Hippo Diet, kill me now, Queenie Backup, War in Iraq Sucks It

Dear PBS & the Creators of Super Why!

January 16, 2008 by 44 Comments

Thank you.

One hundred times, thank you.

For those who haven’t seen it yet, Super Why! on PBSkids is “geared towards children on the cusp of reading.” That means preschoolers. That means, my kids.

Despite my best efforts, I have a stereotypical boy who loves his numbers and counting and math and, until recently, abhorred the alphabet. He had no interest in letters, in reading, in writing, in even LISTENING to books.His preschool teachers keep telling me not to push and in the same breath tell me he’ll need to write his name come the first day of Kindergarten.

We’ve tried flash cards. Different kinds of books. All gently, all without really making him squirm. But I’ve been worried he would never pick up a love of reading, a want of words and sentences and paragraphs that make your mind wander.

Count Waffles will be 5 in March and while he can invent an entire city with semi-working plumbing in my front room, reading about one just doesn’t interest him. When I told him he could learn how to build it bigger, better, stronger from a book-he rolled his eyes, looked at me with that “don’t make me I get so frustrated” shrug and I let it go.

Then came WordGirl who peaked his interest slightly. WordGirl accidentally led us to Super Why!

And today…today my son spelled RED in my front room while asking me where he could find “that one car, you know mom, the red one –r-e-d, red.”

Holy crap. Did he just spell red? Wait. Does he even know what that looks like on paper? Can he…I mean could he…might he actually be able to READ the word?

I showed him a red crayon. I asked him to read the label. First he looked at me like I was insane. He looked at the crayon. He looked at me. I showed him the r. I showed him the e. I showed him the d. His eyes lit up.

Red, mom. That says RED.

I cried. He again looked at me like I was insane, but in that…Mom stop GUSHING way insane. He was damn proud of himself too.

Then he asked to watch Super Why! (horray Tivo) and asked to play the Super Why! games on the office computer. Could he get a computer like Whyatt? Could he get books like the Super Readers have? Isn’t his cape cool? I wish I could spin like that and make my clothes change. Did you know Mom you can have an adventure by reading? And on. And on. And on. And on.

It’s my understanding the creators of Super Why! are the brains behind Blues Clues. I just want to say publicly-

Angela C. Santomero and Samantha Freeman Alpert– this Mom thanks you.

Sincerely, (and I mean it)

Queen of Spain

p.s. not to be outdone, the 2.5 year old spelled SMART and pretended to read 3 books today. Show off. I have no idea where she gets it from.

Filed Under: Count Waffles

The Fort That Ate My Front Room

January 15, 2008 by 12 Comments

I’ve come a long way baby.

There was a time any sort of mess freaked me out. If you came over for dinner I would take and clean your glass before you were finished drinking.

Now I can hang, to a degree, with toys all over and various forts in each room. I really need to vent about this latest Count Waffle’s creation though-as it has now consumed every square inch of our playroom (aka the front room) and every pillow, blanket, toy in the house.

It has plumbing people. Tubes that used to be wrapping paper holders and a toy keyboard stand. While I applaud and encourage my son’s inventions, I need to draw the line somewhere. I’m thinking this thing can’t expand beyond the playroom. I’m also going to need to vacuum, eventually.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Stepford Crazies

Spawn of Satan

January 14, 2008 by 28 Comments

There has been much discussion in our house as of late regarding the 2.5 year-old and if and when she’ll grown horns and a tail.

That’s not really true, there is actually no real dispute over whether she is the spawn of Satan.

She is.

The end.

The dispute lies in the question: “If Princess Peanut is the Spawn of Satan-which parent is Satan?”

Yeah, that’s the sort of dinner conversation we have around here.

I would have to argue that Kaiser is Satan, as no one as angelic as I could ever be compared to Beelzebub . I’m sure he’ll disagree and give you some nonsense about my wild ways. Don’t believe a word.

In the meantime, while we decide exactly which parent is the devil…I’m picking up a copy of “Parenting the Strong Willed Child” and probably some more wine. I’d love your discipline advice if you have any. Last night she threw a boot at my head and didn’t seem to care I took away her puppy. Time-outs seem to um, only enrage her further and entrench her defiance. I’m getting a lot of typical “NO!” “I WILL NOT” and “NO YOU CAN’T!” which is usually accompanied by her arms folded or her hair flip. Sassy. She’s sassy.

I need to break her will.

I’ve pretty much done it all-taking away toys, time outs, etc. etc. She sleeps in the same room as her brother so that can be a problem at bedtime. Either way-I’m out of ideas and am going to resort to duct tape and a strong box to ship her to a convent if you guys don’t help me.

Hellllp meeeeeeeeeee interwebs…you are my only hope. Not to mention, her father is Satan.

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Cows Make Milk

January 11, 2008 by 10 Comments

My not-exactly 5-year old loves cows. He sleeps with a stuffed cow named Kaiser (that’s the name he came with, I swear) and begged me to take him to the county fair so he could see cows live and in person.

He likes their teats.

Go ahead-make the “you breastfed him too long” joke or the “a man who knows what he likes” as I’m over it. Whatever the reason, the boy really, really, really is udder obsessed.

Thus began my (and Nana’s) search for a stuffed cow with udders. It’s been a good year of searching, at least. You’d be surprised how many stuffed cows are out there, and how zero of them have udders.

Enter Sim from Utterz.com. I met Sim at Blog World Expo in Vegas and while I was *supposed* to be talking business, I was instead explaining to him how his company’s mascot, Bessie, would make my son the happiest little boy on planet earth.

Time passed.

I continued to use Utterz (if you haven’t yet, go check it out, it’s fun) and exchanged a few emails with Sim here and there.

Then a box arrived at my door, and my son’s world changed forever:

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Kaiser, Queen's Photrade
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