Queen of Spain Blog

Gasping and panting I’m back from hell, er, I mean the mall.

One kid was thrilled to see Santa. The other, not so much. I have to admit, though, our mall has a really good Santa. That’s a real beard.

Anyway, after the big red guy experience we headed up to the play area where I witnessed the mother of a maybe 12-14-month old smack her kid’s hand-hard. His crime? He dropped his sippy cup. Then…get this…she says to the kid, “I forgive you.”

Needless to say I was shocked, appalled, disgusted, etc., etc., etc. All I could do was stare her down with the stink eye. She was with a friend, and as they packed up their kids to leave I heard her say “…you just have to get used to stares like that. We actually discipline our children and we certainly don’t nurse them at that age, in public…”

I had been nursing my 8-month old while all of this took place. And, for the record, my toddler was the most well behaved child in that play area by far. He was politely asking children if they would like to play with him. And saying “thank you” if they agreed.

Now, I am by no means a sit-down-and-take-it kind of girl. I’ll argue you to the floor on my right to nurse in public. In fact, I had been dreaming of this moment for years…a chance to defend my breastfeeding rights.

But all I did was sit there. Dumbfounded. I hadn’t planned on the attack coming from another mother. In a play area. In my family-oriented, California town. I thought this would happen back in Michigan. With a guy. Or at a restaurant. And all I did was sit there, speechless.

And by the time I realized what happened, they were gone. Dammit.

While everyone is rifling through their photos trying to WIN A FREE SHIRT in the Annie’s Knight contest, I’ve been trying to capture that one, precious photo for the Royal Family Holiday Card.

As you can see, its been a less than perfect process. Doing it ourselves was a great idea in theory…the execution has been a little difficult.

I have a cousin back in Michigan who’s holiday card I dread. First of all, after four children she’s still a size 2. But worse yet-her family is unbelievable beautiful. And every single stinking year they look like the poster children for a GAP ad. I know where she gets her cards printed too, and lets just say if she skipped the photo this year and donated the money, she could feed a small, third-world nation. To top it all off, they are the nicest people you could every hope to be related too. So I can’t even bitch about her behind her back.

But what I really want to know is how does she keeps those kids so clean? And combed? And free of peanut butter and jelly stains on the face? All their pleats are intact. No one has a runny nose. Everyone has an award winning smile. And they always look like they are having the time of their life taking the photo.

Look at the first attempt at our photo…my kids aren’t even wearing shoes. And I was jumping up and down like a lunatic behind the camera trying to get both kids to A) look at me and B)smile.

Sure, in the end we “got” the shot. But why do I get the feeling it wasn’t so hard for my cousin and her clan…

*just a reminder, get your Annie’s Knight photo posted by Saturday! And don’t forget boys and nonMoms can play too! Play! Win free stuff!

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 first ever “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.

Your challenge is to post one photo on your blog depicting your most “Mommylicious,” “Mommyfabulous,” “Yummy Mummy,” “Housewife,” “Fertile,” or (for the nonMom) “CountRock” moment. Once your post is published, let me know in the comments of this post along with a link. I will review all entries and choose a winner for this month. December’s winner will receive one t-shirt (in their choice of style and size) from the Queen Store. And a special link on the Queen’s sidebar for the remainder of December.

Now, don’t make me get all PriceWaterhouseCoopers on your ass with rules. You get the idea. Play fair. Post one photo. One entry per blog. And I get to pick the winner. 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 December. 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.

All entries must be posted by midnight Saturday, December 3rd, 2005. I will announce the winner December 5th, 2005.

Now, go make me want to Knight you…

Princess Peanut is 8-months old on Wednesday. And despite my pleadings with her to slow down, she’s very close to taking her first steps. I can prove it. I have video. Go ahead. Go click that highlighted part. I’ll wait….

So now that you’re back…WHAT THE HELL???? What am I going to do? I just now, 8-months later, felt like I was starting to get a handle on this two kid world.

I was just starting to actually be able to keep the house clean. And get dinner cooked, instead of ordered.

I was just learning to balance the whole –paying attention to one while occupying the other- thing. But the real kick in the ass is that I just was starting to feel like I might actually be good at this mother thing.

I get the feeling this new world of two kids running will send me into another tailspin that includes piles of dirty laundry, lego imprints on the bottom of my feet, and too many trips to get Happy Meals instead of healthy meals at the stove.

I need family, in particular some grandparents, to move their asses to California so I can get a little assistance here. Houseboy still holds her like she’s a bomb. So he’s no help.

The Kaiser just began another “crunch time” at work. Which means 12 hour days, 7 days a week for about 2 weeks. The holidays, and the gaggles of grandparents it will bring, really can’t come soon enough.

Gotta love the super expensive cape.

And the new “Yummy Mummy” design is up at the Queen Shop! Its selling like hot cakes (especially the thongs) so get yours NOW!

Not a day goes by around here that I don’t add a brand new bruise to my leg. Or arm. Or head. Or breast. I realize these children don’t intentionally mean to maim me. But, here we are.

Last night I was lying in bed with the Count. It was a lazy Sunday. And he had taken a long nap. So bedtime began later than usual. And the usual bedtime routine turned into utter silliness. We ended up giggling and talking until nearly 11pm. I know. I know. He’s only two and a half and he should not be up this late. But it was just one of those nights where the clock really didn’t seem to matter.

As we lay there playing our game of what clothes go on toes (turns out, only socks and shoes go on toes…and if you suggest that maybe pants or hats go on toes, you can send a toddler into hysterical fits of laughter) I made the mistake of getting him a little too riled up. This meant that when I suggested underwear might look nice on his big toe, he shook his head “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” and I shook my head “YYYYEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!” And our two heads collided somewhere in the middle.

Cue the cartoon birds with stars around their heads circling my head. Cue the screaming/crying/sobbing toddler holding his head. Once we both regained our composure and dusted off the cobwebs we decided we needed matching band aids. It seemed only right.

Granted this was one of the more extreme accidents around these parts. But I really am not kidding when I say these children hurt me all time. The Princess plays this fun game where she rips half my hair out. Its a “Mommy I love you so much I want to hold you as tightly as possible and pull you with me while I crawl,” thing. I find my hair in her poop. I find my hair cutting the circulation off her little sausage fingers. She sucks on the ends of my hair and then yanks on it, you know, to make sure its still there, I guess.

Princess Peanut also thinks its hilarious to bite my nipples. Well, when she first clamps down and I yelp, she quivers that lower lip of hers and pouts like she’s shocked and devastated she may have hurt Mommy. The remorse lasts about a second before she changes her mind and thinks its hysterical. A big, two-bottom-teeth, grin creeps over her face and she laughs. To add insult to the injury, she then fakes like she’s going to do it again by reaching out for another lick, only to pull back and smile, millimeters from the target.

Then there is the climbing on Mommy wounds. And the jumping out of the carseat onto Mommy bruises. Oh, and my favorite, the “I’m holding you so very tight I actually leave a mark” injury.

I guess this black and blue body of mine just means I am truly loved.

THE QUEEN STORE IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS! The Kaiser went crazy and we hope you like it.

I hate shopping. I haaaaate shopping. I’m not going. And you can’t make me.