The Queen and the Crazy Fat Bitch

I've been trying to get my children to take it easy on me, just for these last few weeks of my pregnancy. It's for their own good, really. I don't want the crazy fat bitch terrorizing them anymore than they do. And while I can see the light at the end of this looooooooooong tunnel, I am also at the end of my rope.

Entirely unlike my usual self, I am impatient, intolerant, and irritable, to say the least. And while I am riddled with guilt over not having to super human strength it takes to be super mom to three little ones, I am done trying for the next few weeks.

A friend suggested that I ask my children to treat me like a queen now. I knew it wouldn't be quite that easy, but I make a heartfelt plea to my darling children:

Me: "I just need you to take it easy on me now, to be gentle with me. Try to remember that I am very big and uncomfortable and I have an actual little baby inside of me who often feels like she's trying to kick her way out of me. Keep in mind that it's very, very hard to bend down, and it would be very helpful if you would not leave a trail of your stuff everywhere you go. Try to pick up after yourselves so that I don't have to do it all day long. And then, if you pick up your own stuff, maybe you won't have to come to me a million times a day to ask me where everything you want or need is when you want or need it.

And when you do want or need something a millions times a day, perhaps you could ask your dad, rather than walking right past him and searching the entire house for me just to make me do it. He can do most things almost as well as I can.

Or, maybe you could even try doing some things for yourselves once in a blue moon. Perhaps you could move an item or two and look around a little when you can't find your mitten, boots, book, toy, shirt, homework, brother, sister...........!

It would be nice if you could try not to fight with each other too because the whining and blood curdling schreeches kind of make me feel like my head is going to explode.

Maybe, on the rare occasion that I ask you to do or get something for me, you could do it without the dreaded MOMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! and the angry foot stomping.

If you could try not to follow me into the bathroom every single time I have to hide, I mean use the bathroom, that would be nice. That twenty seconds of alone time would be very useful right now.

And finally (for now), if you could please remember that I am very fragile right now, and please not run at me full speed when I'm not looking and fling your little body into me just because you "love mommy sooooo much!", that would probably curb my urge to want to body slam you. A gentle hug would be very nice (if you insist on touching me at all).

Basically, just treat me like a Queen right now, ya know, like I've been doing for you every single day of your lives?"

Madeline: "But Mommy, I'm just going to look at you and see that you are CLEARLY
NOT a Queen."

CLEARLY, I'll just have to suck it up a bit longer.

Ma'am who?

I don't care for Ma'm. And I don't think it's the hormones talking. Don't get me wrong, I've used it plenty, on women my age i'm sure (when i was NOT my age). But now that I have become a Ma'am target, I would like to apologize to all those women.

Bottom line is, it implies "older". And who needs that implication thrown in their face. I'm well aware of it already, thanks. I have no problem being older. In fact I quite prefer it and wouldn't change a thing. But I am MISS Castle, and if you don't know my name, you can call me "miss" for short. It just makes more sense. As one fellow Facebooker pointed at in the midst of todays Great Facebook Debate "Ma'am or Miss", it's not "Driving Ma'am Daisy." That's just wrong. Just as calling me Ma'am is wrong.

Other Facebookers suggested that women are too sensitive about their age if Ma'am offends them (mostly men, obviously). While others claimed it is said out of respect. Trust me, no woman is going to be called "miss" and feel insulted. No woman is going say "excuse me, that's rude. It's MA"AM, not miss." No. In fact, they're going to walk away from that conversation thinking "Wow,what a sweet kid."

I can tell you that I do NOT feel like I have been granted some higher social status because some 17 year old kid called me ma'am. And to be honest, it wasn't THAT long ago that I could still make a kid like that nervous and tongue tied just ordering a cup of coffee from him. Now i'm ma'am? I certainly don't long for those days, but isn't there an in between that allows me go out into society and not be slapped in the face with the obvious? And why do men get the timeless "Sir"? Why don't they get a special title out of "respect", for their aging process.?

I am quite certain that every woman who hears ma'am for the first time (or even the first fifty or so times, or is that just me?)is going to instinctively look around for some other "ma'am" And will, in turn be baffled that it's her.

Regardless of all of this, one thing is for certain, "ma'am" is entirely innapropriate for a 30 something,even if she is driving a mini-van with 3.5 kids in tow. In fact, especially if she is has 3.5 kids in tow. Clearly that woman does not need another reminder that she is no spring chicken.

Call me miss until the day i die. I won't think you rude or be the least bit offended by it, I promise.

Madeline and the Red Ryder BB gun (or Easy Bake Oven, same thing)

Madeline and her friend wanted to use her easy bake oven just as i was about to go take a shower while the boys are napping.

Me: Not right now. I'm going to shower and I don't want you doing it by yourselves.

Granted, the thing bakes by the light of a 100 watt light bulb. Seriously, that's all you need to cook your disgusting little cake. But they are still "baking" and I can't help imagining all of the things that could go wrong if i leave two seven year olds alone with a lightbuld powered "oven". I guess i better lock them all in a room with no lamps while i shower too.

The girls emphasize that it is called EASY BAKE because it is EASY and kids can do it all by themselves. I have no energy or desire to debate that kind of logic, so, I left them alone to" bake" so i could go enjoy a relaxing shower. I reminded them to just unplug it when they are done (and make sure all the lamps are off too, i guess) and walked away thinking "they're never going to remember to unplug it", and suddenly i could hear those wicked ladies from A Christmas Story, only instead of "you'll shoot your eye out" they were heckling "you'll burn the house down, you'll burn the house down." I couldn't relax in the shower because the whole time i kept listening for smoke detectors or screams from second degree burns, or a child trampling through the house screaming "fire!".

Madeline walks into the bathroom in tears.

Me: What? What happened? You burned yourself didn't you? See! I told you...

Madeline: NO MOMMY! I BENT DOWN TO UNPLUG IT AND WHEN I STOOD BACK UP I BUMPED MY HEAD REALLY HARD!

I felt so bad for immediatly assuming that, as usual, I was right, and she indeed could not handle cooking by lamp light. Not only did she handle it just fine, but the only injury that did occur was from her obeying my one request to unpulg it when she's done, so let's be honest, it's my fault.

But I am again reminded of the kid with the Red Ryder BB gun who did, in fact, nearly shoot his eye out with that thing, just as his mother had known he would, and then concoted the phony story about the icicle falling down from the house and smashing into his glasses. It would be just like Madeline to make up that story about hitting her head just to avoid confessing to my being right, again. And she is just clever enough to find that one version of the story that makes it all my fault.

But I have no proof yet. So I kiss her little head a few times and tell her that I'm sorry (because it's my fault and all), and send her on her way. I'll be on the lookout for burn marks. And if I find any, I guess I'll have to confinscate her lamps and the sconce in her room too. Oh, and her new lava lamp. Who knows what damage a seven year old can do with one of those things if she can't even handle an EASY bake oven.