Using Fertility is Cool

It seems as though there is a misperception by some that people are using fertility measures as the “easy” way to get pregnant. Here's just how "cool" it is ...

Curse of the Mommy Nap

What happens when Mommy takes a 1-hour-nap the day before? Mommy pays for it the next day by unloading the clean dishes from the dishwasher, and having enough dirty dishes to completely fill it again ... and then some. I don't understand how just one hour can set me so far behind. Does this happen to anyone else?

For more Crap, visit www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou

Too Much Unwanted Advice

Here's some Crap No One Tells You about being pregnant when you already have two or three kids of the same gender. This is from a friend of a friend who has 3 boys and is currently pregnant. Totally appreciate where she is coming from here. Good luck, girl!

"Hormonal pregnant rant:

Don't approach me and tell me for my sake that you hope this baby is a girl. Would it be fun to have? Sure it would.... But, A: if you ever met my first 3 you would know that I would be a very lucky woman to have another. B: I know it's sounds cliche, the only thing that has been on my mind is that it's healthy. And C: if I have another boy do you honestly think I'll be disappointed?

Shut up. Just shut up. It's getting old. And I'm way to edgy to continue to be polite about it."

 

For more comments, go to www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou

 

A Snitch ... To Be or Not To Be

This came from a friend. Any advice?

"okay, so I just caught three kids from next door peeing on the backdoor of the house on the other side of us...three middle school boys, the lady in that house passed away and her husband already moved out, they are trying to sell the house and have been having a really hard time selling it because it needs some updating inside...I'm guessing smelling pee on the backdoor isn't going to help...so here's the question - Do you tell the parents of the boys? I let a lot of their antics go because kids are kids but this one seems like more of a correctable behavior situation...for the record I already ratted them out (to the nicer and saner of the two parental units involved, but still ratted them out)...right or wrong call?"

See more responses at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou

Where's My Hazmat Suit?

I’ve disinfected every doorknob, light switch, toilet handle, and sink faucet; washed all towels and sheets; steam mopped the floors; and sprayed disinfectant throughout the house. Aside from dunking each of the kids in a bucket of Lysol and quarantining them to their rooms, I’ve done about all I can to keep the third kid from getting pink eye. Maybe I can tether each of them to a section of the house so they can see each other, but not touch. And, what did I do with my hazmat suit? Oh Crap!


Like me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou.

For Moms of Sons and Mommy's Boys

How Did She Know My Daughter is a Princess?

We went to a restaurant where the waitress addressed my 4-year-old daughter as "Princess." When we left, she asked me with the utmost seriousness,"How did she know I was a princess?" What have we done???

Kids Are Positive

Kids are so positive, and I just finally realized that. Besides, “I don’t like okra” and “I don’t want to go to bed,” they really have no negative thoughts. My son said to me today, “You know Tick-Tock-Croc bit off Captain Hook’s hand?” I said, yes. Then, he said, “But, that is mean. Maybe Captain Hook’s hand is just hidden in his sleeve and he wears the hook over it.”

When do we become cynical and negative? Do we just get burned enough times or see enough horrible reality to make us realize the world isn’t gumdrops and lollipops, and it’s all downhill from there?

The Crap No One Tells You is how much of a schmuck you feel like the day you realize that everything out of your child’s mouth is positive and that you could take a lesson from that.

For daily Crap, Like me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou.

Picky Eaters

At breakfast, "Ew, Mom, what smells like eggs? A-sgusting!" If you have picky eaters, how do you handle it? I follow the practice of I make what I make and they have to try it. Then, if they don't eat, they don't eat. I won't make them a different meal even when it's something I know they probably won't eat. Sometimes they surprise me, like with the chicken sausage and shrimp jambalaya last night. They loved it!


For daily doses of Crap, LIKE me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou or enter your email on this page.

To One Condescending Career Mom

Let me preface by saying this is directed at one particular person (or anyone who thinks like her) who happens to work with my husband and belittled the fact that I do not have a career outside of taking care of my children. This in absolutely no way represents how I feel about children whose mothers have a career. Most of my closest friends are successful working women and their kids are amazing.

Twas the Night Before Break's End

Twas the night before break’s end, when all through our pad
not a preschooler was stirring … it was 8:05 … not bad!
The school bags were hung by the back door with care
in hopes that mom won’t forget snacks to prepare.

The children were half hanging off of their beds
While visions of the playground danced in their heads
And daddy with his beer, and I with my nightcap
had just settled down after a long day of crap.

When from the second floor there arose such a clatter,
I said, “What the hell? What IS the matter?”
Up the flight of stairs I flew like a flash,
tore open the bathroom door and … crash.

The moon from my son with his pants pulled down low
stared at me when I caught him having to go.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my daughter with her lovie covered in tears.

Seeing my daughter was about to get sick,
I said, “Daddy, you better get up here and quick.”
More rapid than eagles her dinner it came,
and she hurled and coughed and I cried, “Who’s to blame?”

This holiday break has broken me bad
Why couldn’t this have happened last week like her dad?
To top it all off, it’s all over the wall,
all over the floor, all over the hall.

We’ve spent every second of every day
Three weeks together and we liked it that way.
But as school is ready to start once again
I counted on our schedule resuming as planned.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard by my side
my husband with towels and spray and Tide.
As I wiped off her face and was turning around,
up comes my son’s dinner with a horrible sound.

He was covered in puke, from his head to his feet,
and his clothes were stained from food we forced him to eat.
A moment at dinner we wish we could have back,
Why didn’t we, for once, just cut him some slack?

His eyes – filled with tears, how sickly, how wary,
Her cheeks were like roses, her fever was scary!
His poor little hands were shaking below,
Her knees were too weak; she was moving so slow.

We leaned them over the sink to brush their teeth
And the stench encircled our heads like a wreath;
We looked at the floor, we looked at their bellies
Then we thought, “We shouldn’t have given them jelly.”

They were naked in the tub, those two kids of mine
And I laughed when I realized they were going to be fine.
The fight in their eyes and the cooling of their heads,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And cleaned up the kids; then turned with a jerk.
And pinching his fingers aside of his nose,
My husband scrubbed and deodorized with rose.

We sprang to our beds, this time with pails on the floor
Who had a crappy day? Well, we’re not keeping score.
But I sure know one thing as I turn out the lights
This break ain’t close to over … not after this night!

For more Crap, Like me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou or enter your email in the top right corner of this page.

Gift Repercussion

26 = The number of batteries required to run the Christmas gifts for 3 children. I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know that 85% of these toys were given by people who don’t live in this house. I’m sure it also won’t surprise you that 100% of these toys are noisy.


For more Crap No One Tells You, Like me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou or enter your email in the top right corner of this page.

Crap No One Tells You … Sometimes Your Family is Like the Griswolds

Oh, the holidays. I’m so happy they are over, but miss them oh so much already.

For some reason, my husband let me convince him to drive to my parents’ house in Nebraska for Christmas. We live in Virginia. Did you hear me? We live in Virginia and we drove with 4-year-old twins and a 12-month-old baby to … Nebraska … Western Nebraska … 1600 miles one way minus the many mile detours just to find a Starbucks or a gas station with a bathroom clean enough for my OCD daughter to go #2.

We’ve done it two other times—when the twins were 10 months and again when they were 3 (and I was pregnant). Both times were in the summer, where stopping for diaper changes and potty breaks didn’t mean freezing your tushy off (quite literally, poor baby Grafton). It also didn’t mean rerouting to avoid snow storms and/or being caught in snow storms where a 3-day trip turned into a 5-day trip. In the winter, there is no stopping at a city park in West Virginia to run around, or hitting Churchill Downs in Kentucky to see the horses, or touring the free zoo in St. Louis, or catching a game at the College World Series in Omaha. There are only the walls of the minivan as they close in on you with coats, blankets, flying pacifiers, repeating movies, crushed Goldfish, mounds of artwork, beeps from dueling kid tablets, and bickering of two patience-drained adults.

I turned on auto-pilot, which included these programmed phrases:

“If you throw your paci one more time, I’m gonna …”

“I know, sweetie, you just want to get out of that chair. Just hang in there another few hours.”

“We were just in the bathroom 10 minutes ago. You seriously have to go AGAIN?”

“Stop touching your brother.”

“Stop touching your sister.”

“No, we are not even close to Grandma Pat’s. The next person who asks me that is giving their LeapPad to me for the rest of the day.”

“Sure, I’d be happy to relieve you of driving conveniently during the kids’ nap time.”

“Oh, the baby is awake? Oh, you are ready to drive again? Sure thing.”

You would think all would be better by the time we arrived at our destination. But, the next day, the rest of the family arrived. Now, with 20 people living under the roof of one modest farm house, the fun would begin … and so would the stomach bug. We shared our Virigina germs, as well as those obtained from bathrooms and hotels from the Mid-Atlantic to the Midwest. One brother and his family threw in California germs, and those picked up from their airline trip. Add in Colorado and Kansas, and we concocted an unstoppable virus that swept through every family in the house. Suddenly, mom’s home cooking and fresh-baked goodies didn’t sound so good … nor did they look as good the second time around all over the parents of the sick kids who couldn’t quite make it to the bathroom. My baby had it come out the other end, leading to the worst diaper rash I have ever seen. Even sitting on my lap was excruciating for him. Poor little guy.

At one point, my only reaction was to laugh hysterically. I don’t know why. But, I couldn’t stop. A few others joined me until all of our stomachs hurt from laughing so hard, while one of my sisters-in-law started crying and planning her immediate escape. About 5 minutes later we were in a full-on discussion regarding our future plans to celebrate Christmas in July.

You’d think we would have learned from two years ago, when everyone ended up with strep throat, but no one knew it until we were all back home with our airways nearly blocked from the swelling. We flew that year, which was a catalyst for driving this time. My daughter got sick while were at my parents’ house and was already about 2-3 days into it when we boarded our flight. My husband and I started feeling it that day. My son didn’t complain of any symptoms, but when we landed in Chicago O’Hare, we were just steps off the tarmac when he threw up all over the floor and himself. I swept him up and off to the bathroom, when—lucky me—he threw up again on me. There I was in the airport bathroom throwing a perfectly good size 2T outfit in the trash, leaning my hair under the faucet to wash out the vomit, and doing my best to wipe my clothes down as I only packed extras for the kids.

Then, because of bad weather, our flight was cancelled back to Newark, where we left our car after seeing my in-laws in New Jersey. We had them route us to Richmond (home), but when we got there at almost midnight, we had to rent a car and car seats, which took just long enough to then miss the after-hours clinic. Can you see now why we thought driving would be less hassle?

We tried to take precautions at the house, changing out bathroom towels on the hour, intermittently spraying Lysol, and sending everyone outside to run around (though when it’s 12 degrees for a high, those excursions were brief).

Though, as bad as all this sounds, we still look back on it and say it was a great time. The child-like male adults got in their game of snow football. A couple of the cousins enjoyed some sledding. All of the kids and adults participated in a roughhousing session at some point during the trip (most certainly contributing to the spread of germs, as well as being the culprit for a black eye and a couple goose eggs). The adults discovered new holiday cocktails and sat down to many competitive card games. The oldest nieces played Christmas carols on the piano for my 100-year-old Grandfather and the residents of his assisted living home, while the little ones sang under their breath, tucked under the arms of their moms. And, the kids played with their cousins as if they have played as best friends every day of their lives. And, that’s really what I want to remember about these trips. That’s why we continue to do it, knowing the consequences, too, will be memorable. I love my family and ALL that we share (almost all)!

2012--The Year of Guilt

Guilt for not taking enough pictures or video

Guilt for having my kids do too much organized activity

Guilt for not having my kids do enough organized activity

Guilt for feeling sad about something that happened to someone else

Guilt for eating too much and exercising too little

Guilt for not playing with my kids enough

Guilt for having a messy house

Guilt for not making dinner for my family every night

Guilt for not being intimate enough with my husband

Guilt for thinking, “Thank God that wasn’t my child” when tragedy struck someone else’s family

2012 was the Year of Guilt.

2013 will be the Year of Confidence … Confidence that I’m doing my best, even when it may not be enough. As every mom knows, the hardest thing to tell yourself (and believe it) is “I’m okay that it isn’t enough … as long as I have loved enough.”

Happy New Year, Crap Lovers! Thank you for being with me my first year. It's been fun.

My Tears Do Mean Something

It’s been over two weeks since sadness fell over Newtown, CT, and the world. I haven’t felt much like writing since then, and it took me a week before I could begin reading the social media. Every post, every tweet, every blog, every comment, every picture sent tears down my face and weighed down my heart with an ache almost unbearable. I knew I was not alone. I knew that every person around the world who heard this story felt the same way. I knew because I read, and I read, and I read.

It was story after story of parents who were terrified to drop their children off at the doors of their schools, moms who slept with their children as to not allow even an inch of space between them and the monsters that may prey upon them, teachers who played out scenarios in their heads as to how they would protect their students if they were called to action one day, and people of all kinds who just couldn’t get a handle on the grief that set over them and the sadness they felt for the families who lost their precious loved ones in one of the most unimaginably, horrific acts to ever touch our lives.

Some people’s way to express emotion was to write poems, draw pictures, or offer prayers. Those all choked me up, too. But, then, I am so upset to say that some of my feelings of heartache and sadness turned to anger and resentment. For, as I read the comments to some of these beautiful messages, I found that not everyone was “agreeable.” I found that some people decided to use the comments section as their soapbox for their views on God and gun control. Here someone was trying to offer sentiments in the best way they knew how, and someone else had to poo poo on it with their social, religious, or political views.

I am all for freedom of speech, but come on folks, let’s practice common human decency here. If you want to start your own post or blog on how we should get rid of all guns or how God doesn’t really exist, go for it. Don’t dump that on someone else’s heartfelt message—whether you agree with what they wrote, or not. Of any time to show kindness and compassion, this is it.

I saw one message that questioned why people were expressing their emotions all over social media. This person said it seems like these people are trying to make this all about them when it has nothing to do with them. This person said, “Pick up a phone and call your mom or your friend if you need to get it off your chest.” In so many words, this person said, no one wants to read about you feeling sorry for yourself when it wasn’t you who lost a child or a family member.

My first reaction was to be angry and defensive, but I did not react at all. Instead, I went off and thought about an appropriate response. I decided maybe it was unfair for me to be angry with this person’s attack. I knew this person felt as sad about what happened as the next person. But, still, I do feel the outpouring of emotion in the social media does need a defense.

I use Facebook as part of “my community.” I won’t share everything with this community, but it’s nice to know I have its ear 24 hours a day, even when I do not require a response. For many, including me, it’s nice to know that other people have the same feelings and are grieving, too. When I try to sleep at night and can’t stop thinking about how scared those children were or what they were witnessing before their own lives were taken, it helps me to open my computer and see that a friend has written on a similar struggle.

Yes, we could call a friend or family member and get some of this off our chest. But, I’m a little different. I will admit I am not great about getting “deep” with people. I am a little guarded and don’t usually let people see the vulnerable side of me. But, when I write it, it feels safer. Sometimes I want my loved ones to know I am hurting, but blogging about it is my passive-aggressive approach.

I saw a college friend over the holidays, who happened to be friends with the sister and brother-in-law of the Sandy Hook Guidance Counselor who lost her life. I’ve known this friend for 20 years, and we are very close. But, we both hesitated bringing up the topic because we knew what it would lead to. A couple of glasses of wine later, we dove in. The tears flowed and the hours passed. It was cleansing, but exhausting. Writing is definitely the easy way out of our emotions, for many of us.

Do I expect sympathy? No, of course not. Nor, do I believe, do the others who express their feelings in writing. But, does it provide comfort to know there are many others out there feeling the same? Having the same sleepless nights? Shedding the same tears? Asking the same questions? It does to me. And, person who questioned motives, please find compassion in you to avoid judgment this time.

How cynical are you to think that people have an ulterior motive here? I have faith in human empathy. If you don’t feel the need to discuss your feelings in an open forum, that’s fine. I hope my friends and digital acquaintances continue to write about this. We are a community. The more we talk about this, the more it will stay to the forefront, and the more we will fight to protect our children from potential future indescribable acts. I refuse to sweep it under the rug. We owe it to those babies … and to our own.

You are right. These were not my children. These were not my brother’s children. These were not my friend’s children. But, these were children. And, my tears for them do mean something.


To follow daily posts, LIKE me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou or enter your email on this page.

Talking about Violence with Kids

Here is a piece on talking to your kids about violence. Please pass this along to anyone with any age school kids. Shared with me from a Henrico County teacher today. Thanks, Misty.

Talking Violence with your Children



For Daily Crap, Like me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou.

Happy 1st Birthday, Bear!

My bear's cake and cupcakes. Might be a little salty. I'm having a really tough time with the fact that my baby is 1. Boo hoo. No one told me how hard it would be when my baby turned 1. Dang.

"I CAN DO IT MYSELF"

Let your kids do things on their own before you think they are ready. I have made many assumptions with my 4-year-olds over the years that they were not ready for the next thing. I guess a lot of the time it’s just easier and faster to do it myself—and, I know it will get done the right way. I have had to force myself to step back and let it play out. More often than not, I am shocked by their abilities. It starts when you give your baby the spoon and the bowl for the first time. It won’t end pretty, but the sense of accomplishment you see on his face is worth it.


For daily feeds of Crap, Like me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou or enter your email on the top right of this page.

Twins and Their Artwork

I asked my 4-year-old twins to make a Christmas card for their teachers. Now, I’m not sure if this is a boy-girl thing or a Weber-Capri thing, but, as you can see, there is a stark contrast between the two cards. Capri drew a picture of the night Jesus was born (on the left). This was the third piece of paper she used because she didn’t think the first two were perfect.

Weber drew a heart in the middle of the paper and said he was done. I said, “Do you want to put a little more effort and thought into it?” About 90 seconds later, he said he was really done (picture on the right). He explained it as “a Christmas heart maker that shoots out hearts onto a birthday cake.”

This is pretty typical for both of them. Capri puts a lot of effort into her artwork and gets weepy if it isn’t just like she wanted it. Weber speeds through the project so he can move onto the next thing. But, to give him credit, he comes up with the most amazing stories about what his scribble is. I’m sure this says something about him … and, I’m not sure if I want the answer.

What do you think? Is this a boy-girl thing … the 4-year-old girl who loves to color rainbows and hearts versus the 4-year-old boy with little to no attention span? Or, are these more personality-based traits?

 

 

For daily feeds of Crap, "like" me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou or enter your email address at the top of this page.

Oh Crap! Realization of the Day … Go the Furb to Sleep!

Furby does NOT have an off switch! Furby does NOT have an off switch! Furby does NOT have an off switch!

I wish someone would have screamed that at me a couple weeks ago when I purchased this popular Christmas toy with, I quote, “a mind of its own.”

We had an early Christmas celebration and this was a toy my daughter wanted. It sings, speaks Furbish and English (in a Valley Girl sort of way), snores, burps, purrs, and is flat out sassy sometimes. It’s actually a pretty cute little toy, except that the only way to shut it up is by putting it in a quiet room for a couple minutes. Then, whatever you do, don’t touch it, because that wakes it up.

My daughter wanted to show it to her teachers this morning. We took it in, then I took it with me to save the teachers’ sanity. I put it in the car seat and shut off the radio. It babbled for a minute, started snoring, and fell asleep. It was harder to get this thing to sleep and keep it asleep than an actual baby. I’d hit a bump in the road, and there we’d go again!

How do you say, “Go the F*** to sleep!” in Furbish? Go the FURB to sleep!

My answer: A Phillips-Head Screwdriver!

For daily Crap, "Like" me at www.facebook.com/crapnoonetellsyou.