Housewife Royalty

I have always thought blue blood coursed through my veins. I strongly suspected that a tiara rested on the regal heads of my female ancestors. I considered the possibility that my pedigree, somehow lost in the royal shuffle, had the noble family crest imprinted at the bottom….(in fine print)…for all to see…(provided they have a magnifying glass).

And, now I know it’s true.

When I enter a room, music plays.

“Can you tell me how to get
How to get to Sesame Streeeeet.”

All occupants of the room rise upon my arrival.

“Pick me up! Pick me up!! Mommmy! Mooooooommy!”

When there is a crisis, I am always the first to be beckoned.

“She BROKE my dolly!!! AHHHHH!”

I have a full wait staff.

“Ahh…So, yeah…hon, can ya pick up a pizza?”

My ladies in waiting circle when I call…

“Yeah! Ya better pick up those Cheerios, Missy!”

I live in a prestigious palace…

“I don’t know how we fit all these toys in this crackerjack box of a house !”

…surrounded by sprawling grounds.

“Babe, is that some sort of weed experiment gone wrong in the backyard?”

I gracefully rule while perched atop my throne.

“Close the door!! I am on the can!”

Of course, I always bow to the Queen Mum.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Blog less. Cook more. Gotcha the first time, Ma!”

And, it is my sincere hope that I pass my tiara on to my little princesses…

“Harvard Law. Harvard Law. Harvard Law.”

Here’s to all the other royal mommies out there.

Fake kiss. Stiff wave. Curtsy. Fake kiss. Stiff wave. Curtsy.