Oversharing: Unfortunate Observations From the Bathroom

You know how sometimes you just click with a person you’ve never met and know very little about? Yeah. That’s me and Mommy, For Real‘s Stephanie. I can’t confidently say that she returns my feelings, but every time I read her work, I love her a little more. I completely identify with her as a woman and as a mother, and her writing is incredible; it’s the perfect mix of deep thoughts and off the hizzy-ness.

Off the hizzy: [his-ee]

adjective

Cool, hip, pleasantly surprising, awesome

Did you go to Sean’s party with fireworks, strippers, and tigers on chains?! It was OFF THE HIZZY!!!

Definition and example provided by Urban Dictionary.

 

I am honored that she has stooped to my level and provided a fantastic Oversharing story which, by the way, is the first of its kind. Rather than experience the following events first-hand, Stephanie became privy to the details after the fact. As parents, we can appreciate our children’s ability to humiliate us when we’re not even in the same room with them.

OversharingPresents Mommy,ForReal

 

Several years ago, when my oldest daughter was 3 ½ and my youngest was just a gleam in my ovaries, we took a family vacation to Mexico. We had pretty high hopes that in addition to the sand-castle building and family frolicking, we’d get some quality adult time. With some (questionable) quality adult beverages. You see- we brought backup. To protect the innocent, I will refer to these “older family member vacation assistants” simply as Grammy and Papa.

One evening, my husband and I were given an incredible gift: our daughter would be having a sleep-over with Grammy and Papa, and we were free to dine alone, sleep late into the morning, and meet up with them the next day. High fives and Hallelujah!

I will spare you the details of our exquisite 15 hours of freedom, to prevent potential jealousy and subsequent hate mail. I will leave it at this: everyone should go to a beach resort without their kids, even for just one day. But, I digress.

When we met up with the grandparents the following day, Grammy regaled me with this story about their evening:

My young daughter, along with other members of our party, had been experiencing some, ahem, digestive adjustments, during our vacation. I mean, it was Mexico. That evening, Grammy was sitting on the toilet, doing her business, when my daughter barged into the hotel bathroom and informed her that she needed to poop. Immediately. “I can’t hold it Grammy,” she whimpered, “It needs to come out!” Grammy, always the obliging martyr, abandoned her post on the porcelain throne and generously stood by while her granddaughter barreled past her onto the toilet.

Nearly thirty minutes later (I have been assured that this is not an exaggeration) my daughter continued to sit on the toilet, swinging her legs during her leisurely defecation. Grammy stood hopelessly nearby, her undergarments pooling around her ankles, having not even been afforded the dignity of wiping herself before the young crap machine sat down.

My daughter stared up at her grandmother, all the while producing what I can only imagine was a grotesque amount of human waste. “Grammy,” she began slowly. “You have a furry bottom.” She continued her pontifications, stating, “Mommy also has a furry bottom, but yours is much, much furrier.”

I am unclear as to how Grammy maintained her composure during these detailed observations, particularly when she was in such a tragic state of partial undress, and likely rather uncomfortable after her aborted bathroom endeavor.

When I heard this story, after recovering from hysterical laughter, my first thought was, “Well, at least my regular bikini waxes are worth something- the difference in the spectrum of “furriness” was not lost on my preschooler!” Grammy, however, has subsequently began to practice the “60 year old bikini wax” before going on vacation.  This practice consists of, in her words, “A pair of scissors and a pile of pubic hair.” Hopefully next time, her granddaughter will be more complimentary when referring to her well-groomed “bottom.”

 

Stephanie Sprenger’s furry bottom is a music therapist, writer, blogger, and mother of two young girls. She is also the co-founder of The HerStories Project (http://www.herstoriesproject.com), a website dedicated to finding friendship, staying sane, and reinventing yourself during new motherhood. [Editor's note: FANTASTIC endeavor and site--get clicky with it.] In her spare time, Stephanie is often singing at the piano while being climbed on by a toddler, or typing frantically while swigging wine or coffee, depending on the time of day. Her blog is Mommy, for Real (http://www.stephaniesprenger.com) and you can find her spewing parental angst on FB here: (http://www.facebook.com/mommyforreal)

 

Hey you, wanna submit your Oversharing tale to the Oversharing: I Ain’t Scarrred series?! Click HERE and make it happen, cap’n!




You Will Find Him Next To Me

My husband kisses me every day.

He reaches for me in his sleep.

He is patient when I am not.

 

You won’t find him drinking at the table
Rolling dice and staying out ’til three
You won’t ever find him be unfaithful

You will find him, you’ll find him next to me

   


My husband puts up with my irrational fear of thunderstorms.

He works himself to exhaustion for our family.

He couldn’t pick Kim Kardashian out of a line-up, but he can solve a quadratic equation in .4 seconds. (I’ve no idea what a quadratic equation is or why I like that about him).

 

 

You won’t find him tryna chase the devil 
For money, fame, for power, out of greed
You won’t ever find him where the rest go
You will find him, you’ll find him next to me  

 

 


My husband doesn’t ogle over other women.

He is patient when I am not. That’s worth repeating.

He does silly things like puts random crap in our son’s t-shirt pocket because “who wears a pocket t-shirt with nothing in the pocket?!”

 

 

When the money’s spent and all my friends have vanished
And I can’t seem to find no help or love for free
I know there’s no need for me to panic
Cause I’ll find him, I’ll find him next to me

 


My husband is honest and true.

He makes me a better woman, mother, and person.

He supported my decision to have a VBAC and stood up for me when others said I was crazy.

 

 

When the skies are grey and all the doors are closing
And the rising pressure makes it hard to breathe
When all I need’s a hand to stop the tears from falling
I will find him, I’ll find him next to me

 


My husband makes me laugh every day.

He scoops up our kids and smothers them with kisses, and when they try to wriggle away, he holds them tighter because he knows the day will soon come where they’re not “scoopable” any more. 

He has integrity.  And a great smile.

 

 

When the end has come and buildings falling down fast
When we’ve spoilt the land and dried up all the sea
When everyone has lost their heads around us
You will find him, you’ll find him next to me  

 

My husband isn’t the only fabulous father out there. In fact, I’m blessed to have just about the best Daddy AND father-in-law in the world; they got a Happy “Fadder’s” Day video message from the kids, and they don’t like to be the center of attention, so I’m done talking about them.

I asked some of my Facebook pals to weigh in on why their husbands deserve the best Father’s Day EVAH and this is what you lovelies had to say:

 

Fathers Day Photo 2

Fathers Day Photo 1   Fathers Day Photo 3 Fathers Day Photo 4

 

And you knew someone would go there, and I’m so glad she did:

Fathers Day Funny 1

Happy Father’s Day to all of you amazing Dads out there! May your day be filled with golf, landscaping, and whatever else boring crap you enjoy. 

Are we friends? We should be! Click HERE to find my crazy on Facebook!

Next To Me lyrics found here




Great Diapers at a Great Price AND a Vera Bradley Giveaway!

Tracking Pixel
Truth: This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Rite Aid Tugaboos diapers.

More truth: If I didn’t like these diapers, I would not have written about them.

Listen, I am a diaper snob. It’s true. When I had my son in 2009, I firmly believed that cash-money beget dry bottoms; only the most expensive disposable diaper would do. Then when my little lady made her appearance 22 months later, I was still all she shall have only the best!

And then my bank account cried.

So when I got the chance to try Rite Aid’s Tugaboos, I was excited to get free diapers, but I didn’t expect to like them. Like, really like them. [Read more...]




Hiya New Pals!

Are you reading this from your mobile device whilst atop the porcelain throne? I’m not judging, just curious.

In case you were wondering, I am coming to you live from the bathroom, but only because I’m hiding from my kids. If I have to read The Little Engine That Could one more time today, I am going to scoop out my eyeballs with rusty spoons.

Anyhoo, I really just want to say HIYA! to my new pals. You see, someone over at BlogHer was crazy kind enough to feature my silly little Grandparent quiz in their Family section! While I am absolutely honored and thrilled to be among the greatness that is BlogHer, I’ve gotta drop some real talk on you: I’m afraid people are going to hate me after they read it. The post was inspired by conversations with other Moms (who will remain anonymous lest they are barraged by phone calls from Grammy). The piece is very snarky and tongue-in-cheek, which is basically me, BUT that’s not all I have to offer. Have you ever seen me dance? When I’m six beers deep, I’ve got more moves than Amanda Bynes got wigs.

AmandaB wig

Source

 

So, to counteract the judgy wudgy comments I will inevitably receive, I thought it best to formally introduce myself. If you still want to hate me after that, it’s cool.

Ahem…

Hello, my name is Stephanie and I am a blogger. Few in my life truly understand what blogging is, but most of them pretty much hate  it anyway. They say I have “no limits.” They call me “inappropriate.” They claim I’m “insufferable.” They are boring.

My math teacher husband and I, our two adorable children, and our two crazy dogs call Pennsylvania home. We are not Amish. I, too, am an educator, but since I can barely balance my checkbook, I teach English. There are few things I love more than a good laugh, chocolate, or naps. Except my family. I love them the most. Be nice to them or I will cut you.

Girl power, honest conversation, and sunshine make my heart happy. I also dig human rights because we’re all human and we all have rights. I shouldn’t even have to write that, but you would not believe how many people don’t understand tolerance and acceptance. If there were a math word problem attached to the concept of kindness, I would totally get why some of us struggle with it, but c’mon.

I enjoy snuggles (but only when I’m in the mood), a good book, and date nights. I feel like a rock star when my kids remember to say thank you without me having to prompt them, and I’m an honest to goodness Daddy’s Girl. I have a younger brother who is the funniest person I know, and my mom calls approximately 24.5 times a day to see if I caught “The Ellen DeGeneres Show.” I am truly blessed and I’m not above complaining about it.

I host a weekly series here on my little blog called Oversharing: I Ain’t Scarrred. If you would like to read some other bloggers’ funny or submit your own story (that would be thrilling, by the way), click HERE.

Do you know who Jill “Scary Mommy” Smokler is? Well, she’s my BFF (she doesn’t know yet, so don’t spoil the surprise), and because I won her Book Tour Contest, I get to have dinner with her on Saturday, June 29. Every time I think about it, I pee a little. Jill has actually agreed to submit one of her Oversharing tales to my series and her story will be featured right here on the last Tuesday in June!! Did you just pee a little, too?!! No? Still just me, eh?

So, pals, that’s me in a nutshell. If you’re up for more reading and or want to stick around for the after party (it consists of me, Lysol, and latex gloves), feel free. A few of my favorite posts are listed below, and I hope you enjoy them. I also hope you know how much I appreciate you stopping by. I love to write and the fact that people out there are reading my rants makes me smile the kind of smile that hurts your face. I imagine it’s what Paula Deen feels like every day. So, thank you.

 

PaulaDean Smile

Source

 

Some of my favorites…

Project Optimism: We All Survived

10 Signs That My Frat Party Days Are Over

Letter From a Friend

An Open Letter to Suzy Weiss, Bitter High School Brat

 

HEY!!!! Wanna be friends?! 

facebook twitter




Oversharing: My Pee Tests

Do you find that sharing one too many personal details brings you endless delight, much to the dismay of your parents or spouse?

Is your goal in life to make those around you squeamish and/or run to the bathroom to either laugh-pee or vomit in response to a story you’ve told?

Do you believe embarrassment is a relative term?

If you have answered yes, sure, maybe, or I don’t know to any of the aforementioned questions, you are an Oversharer by nature and I love that about you. Now hurry! Go to my OVERSHARING PAGE <—- just click those words, mmmkay? to submit your funny ha-ha. You will be featured right here on my blog which has won no official awards and boasts an audience of 16 people.

Not enough to interest you, eh? How about if I told you all of the cool kids are doing it? Here’s proof: Dani from Martinis and Minivans is here today. SO THERE!

OversharingPresents.MartinisandMinivans

 

My period was three days late. This was the first month my husband and I were trying and people had warned us that it can take months when you first get off the pill to get pregnant. So when the picture on the stick showed a positive sign, I did what every freaked out girl does – I took out the second, third and fourth test and took them all at the same time. Then, I did something that most freaked out girls don’t do. I drove directly to the OBGYN’s office.

Yes, I drove right there without even an appointment. I walked up to the receptionist and said, “Uhmmm…I’d like a blood test because these say positive and there’s no way that can be right.” Then, I did the grossest thing you can imagine. I dropped my pee sticks on her desk. Yep, dropped them right there for her to see. She stayed very calm, looked down at the sticks, and said, “You’re pregnant, now would you please remove those?” I sheepishly picked up the sticks as she started using the antibiotic wipes next to her to clean her work area. I proceeded to go on and on to her about how there was no way I could be pregnant and that I desperately needed a blood test. Thankfully, she called a nurse (probably more for protection against the insane girl who wouldn’t leave her alone) and they quickly took me in the back to do a blood test. However, while taking blood the nurse did say to me, “You know sweetie, you are pregnant, you’re going to have to accept that.” No, no, no, why did they keep talking this nonsense? I mean, I knew I wanted to have a baby, but heck, I thought I would have a few months to get used to the idea.

As I was leaving the dr’s office, the receptionist told me to go buy something for the baby while I wait to hear from her. They would call me in about an hour.

That was the longest hour of my life. I walked around Babies-R-Us and would pick up an item, then put it back. I repeated this process for over 59 minutes. As soon as the clock showed one hour passing, I dialed the phone and called the office. The receptionist starting laughing when I told her my name. She simply said, “I told you so.”

And that is how I found out I was pregnant – bum rushing a doctor’s office, dropping my pee sticks on an innocent party’s desk, then looking like a shoplifter at a baby store. And you know what? I wouldn’t change a thing. It was the best day of my life.
Danielle Herzog is the blogger behind Martinis and Minivans, a blog for anyone who has ever needed a martini after driving a minivan around all day. Or for anyone who has just ever needed a martini! A New Yorker now living the Midwest life as a somewhat sarcastic writer, mother and wife, Danielle has been a freelance writer for over seven years. Her work has been featured on The Huffington Post, AOL.com, What to Expect.com and Scary Mommy. She also writes a weekly parenting blog post and parenting advice column called “The Sassy Housewife” for the Omaha World Herald’s site, Momaha. If it’s part of her life, she’ll write about it, except if it is about her mother, she promised her she wouldn’t do that…

Connect with Martinis and Minivans on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.




Reliving My Childhood, One New Kid On the Block At a Time

 

Where: A third-grade classroom

When: 1989

Why: Valentine’s Day Extravaganza

There we were, decorating our shoe boxes with pictures of Edward Furlong and The New Kids On the Block. My man, Jordan Knight, was the focal point of my artistic creation, as Joey was much too “baby” for my taste, but I wasn’t quite bad ass enough for Donnie. Although, I would later come to lust after his younger brother’s “Good Vibrations” and Calvin Kleins. Holy Moses and the Red Sea that body. Mmmmmmmmm. Also in the unforeseeable future, I would fall head over heels for his legit Boston accent in The Departed.

Excuse me a moment, I have to find a cool cloth for my forehead…

Okay.

I was in the third grade when I began my love affair with NKOTB; those boys were my first ever concert (thanks, Mom!), and last night I got to relive that part of my childhood.

Where: Pittsburgh, PA

When: 2013

Why: Because we’re awesome

Two of my college roommates and my BFF celebrated 25 years of so-so music with some yummy Sangria, the kind of laughing that doubles as an ab work-out, and some weird ass food.

We thought we ordered nachos

We thought we ordered nachos

 

I’m disappointed that I didn’t have time to crimp my hair or grab something neon to wear, but my girls did me proud.

San Steph JessThrowback t-shirt and hot pink. Well done, ladies!

 

One of my favorite bands from the 90s, Boyz II Men, opened the concert and I’m proud to say that I remember every word to every song. And I proved it by serenading those around me. They loved it.

This is actually our response to 98 Degree's performance.

This is actually our response to 98 Degree’s set.

 

98 Degrees performed. No one cares. Let’s move on.

 

There we were, waiting for NKOTB to take the stage, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a man in a sweater vest offering to sit us near…er. My man James  upgraded our seats and BOOM! just like that, we were a stone’s throw away from the big screen and the stage!

James spelled of mints and Vicks Vaporub. And I loved it.

James smelled of mint and Vicks Vaporub. And I loved it.

 

 

And then it was time.

Time, ladies and gentleman, to scream sing along, dance like a fool, and muffle my embarrassment for Joey when he dropped to his knees and dedicated “Please Don’t Go Girl” to “every single one” of us. I guess I am growing up. Sigh.

Love is serious.

Love is serious.



The Kids’ sexy gyrations that once elicited screams from my adolescent self kinda made me cringe; that, coupled with the fact that the strobe light had me on the verge of a seizure, I felt “old” for a split second. And then the screen zeroed in on some adoring fans who were rocking out whilst plugging their ears. I couldn’t help but find the irony in it; our collective hope was to revive our childhood for just one night, but does our childhood have to be so loud?!

 

Shhh

 

 

I shook it off by dancing to “Hangin’ Tough.” I am tough enough.

 

Jordan dazzled us with his falsetto cover of Prince’s “Kiss.”

Danny’s (remember him?!) steroid use allowed him a brief break dancing interlude.

Jonathan has a beer belly and I admire that about him.

Donnie served as the ringleader, but I couldn’t get his creepy character from The Sixth Sense outta my mind.

Joey still sounds good and gurrrrl he look GOOD, too!

 

I imagine there were quite a few women who left the concert feeling hot and bothered. And that’s why I have to give this guy props:

photo 2 (3)

The only dude in the place, but you know he’s gettin’ the good stuff when he gets home. Well played, sir. Well played.

 

 

I had forgotten how much I love going to concerts, especially with my girls, and last night was not only hilariously nostalgic for us, but so much damn fun. If you haven’t  spent quality time with your pals lately, please get off of your computer and GO! RUN! It just may be the best cure for raging PMS or an overwhelming day on the job. And even though I didn’t return home with the skin or figure of my former self, I definitely recaptured some of that youthful glow that is only found in the company of good friends.

Me and the BFF; she just had a baby--doesn't she look great?!

Me and the BFF; she just had a baby–doesn’t she look great?!




Everything I Know About Kids I Learned From Dogs

Being trapped indoors with two feisty toddlers is about as much fun as a pap smear.

Western Pennsylvania weather is constantly kicking us in the crotch with blankets of snow in the winter, gallons of rain in the spring, and drastic temperature changes from day to day regardless of the season. I actually have a picture of my kids in t-shirts and sunglasses standing in still-melting-snow. WTF, Mother Nature?!

Because of this atmospheric assault, I’ve had a lot of practice entertaining my offspring in inclement weather. My infinite wisdom (lie) and I are going to let you in on a little secret. Come closer. Closer…

Little kids are pretty much like dogs; they want to run like maniacs, stuff their faces, and subsequently pass out on the floor.

Easy to accomplish outdoors, but when the winds are topping out at 50 MPH or there’s a frostbite warning, we’re inevitably stuck in the house because I can’t go to the indoor germ infested playground where I inevitably eat my weight in Auntie Anne’s pretzels every day. So here for your parental pleasure (and maybe benefit?), I’m sharing a list of indoor activities because if you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change.

Sorry, Michael Jackson flashback.

Indoor Activities
1. If your children are ages can-sit-on-their-own to approximately 5, they will chase the light beam from a laser pointer or flashlight, as well as bubbles.  You sit, they go crazy, you’re all entertained. P.S. They should wear helmets for this event.

 

2. Make the mundane mah-velous. Lunch time is turned on its head by having a full-blown picnic on the living room floor. Pack a basket or a cooler, break out the checkered blanket, and put something outdoorsy on TV. “Kids, did you see that alligator attack the unsuspecting antelope?!” Okay…maybe not that outdoorsy.

 

3. Two words: movie marathon. I don’t know how to talk to you if you don’t use the television as a babysitter for at least 5 minutes each day to take a poo in private. The movie can be educational, okay? Geez…

 

4. Create an obstacle course with pillows, boxes, and other stuff you know you have crammed in your closets. Kids are running and jumping and then hopefully napping. And then you can Pin more outfits that don’t fit your birthing hips on Pinterest.

 
5. Don’t hate me for saying this, but CRAFTS. Play-Doh sucks, but kids love it. Man up and make stuff. Little painting projects, stickers, homemade cards for family birthdays, and other artistic endeavors that you can pawn off on lovingly bestow upon the grandparents are clutch.

 
6. This is a little known fact about toddlers, but they love cleaning as long as you don’t call it cleaning. Give them a dust rag or a hand broom and watch the magic unfold.

 
7.  Hide-and-Go-Seek is 100% hilarious when played with toddlers. Please anticipate the children hiding behind you, like, literally right behind you, and then announcing their hiding spot. Now laugh because it’s awesome.

 
8. Read a book or surf the web for kid-friendly jokes. You know you’re sick of hearing the same unsuccessful knock-knock jokes, so take the bull by the horns and teach the kiddos some new funny ha-ha’s. They’re adorably proud of themselves when they deliver the punchline.

 
9. Snuggle. Really, just snuggle.

 
10. “You can do it, put your back into it.” When Ice Cube raps that line, he’s referring to acting out your kids’ favorite book. Use varying voices for the characters, dress the part, stand in the middle of the room and get your drama on. Unlike the drama on Facebook, these antics will be well-received and leave you feeling satisfied instead of stressed.

 
11. Teach your kids something new. Write your names, memorize a poem, or my husband’s favorite: subtraction. We’re a rowdy bunch, try to keep up.

 
12. If you were irked by my craft suggestion, then you’re going to throw shoes at me for this one: bake cookies together. Listen, I’m not going to lie: it’s a bit difficult managing dough and kids and the mess. But the end result, warm cookies and happy kids, is worth it.

 
13. Fill up the bathtub and play the Sink or Float game. Will that Matchbox car sink or float? What about dad’s toothbrush? Possibilities–endless.

 
14. Throughout the year, write down random indoor activities and put them in a jar. On days where the weather prohibits you from enjoying nature’s splendor (sarcasm unless you’re at the beach), let the kids pull out a slip of paper and decide your course of action. When they start fighting over who gets to choose the slip of paper or whose activity will come first, it’s nap time.

 

Mamas and Papas, add to the list; what do you and your little ones do to pass the time indoors? 

 




Oversharing: Group Poop

Good Friday, ladies and gents!

I do apologize for making you wait until the end of the week for some good Oversharing, but to make up for it, one of the authors of I Just Want to Pee Alone is here to share her funny. Amy’s blog, Funny is Family, will make you laugh, cry, and then eat. No, really; she feeds my family every Thursday with her Crock Pot Thursday Recipes. See why I dig Amy? I also applaud her open-door policy whilst making a number two…

OversharingPresents.FunnyisFamily

My brother-in-law is everyone’s favorite. Babies adore him, he never gets involved in family squabbles, and he’s hilarious. He’s my husband’s little brother and he does things like draw birthday cards for his niece and nephew that they carry around until their next birthdays. He laughs at my jokes (which is an outstanding personality trait) and plays with my kids. My college friends still ask about him, and moms love him. The only time he gets mad is when someone has wronged a person he cares about. Then he can be a real asshole. That just makes the rest of us love him more.

But the reason I love him most is because he doesn’t talk about that one time.For a few years, my oldest friend was living in the same town as my in-laws. We were in town for Christmas, and my husband, his brother, and I popped in to see this friend at her apartment. This was before my husband was my husband, and my friend and my brother-in-law had met a few times. We planned on having a few beers and some laughs.
It was a cute little place, and we were having a nice time. Some people are just easy and fun, and this tiny  apartment was crammed full of four of those folks. I was a happy girl, until my tummy started to rumble. It was churning in that “it’s not super urgent, but you’re gonna need the bathroom soon” sort of way. Since my friend only had one bathroom, and it was damn near in the living room, I decided to wait till we got back to the safety of my in-laws’ three bathroom house.
As it usually is in those one bathroom situations, my gut had a different idea than my brain. It became clear that there was absolutely no way I was making another hour, and I started doing some reasoning in my head. Taking care of business around my friend was no big deal. She already knew how disgusting I was. My brother-in-law was another story. I mean, he was cool and welcoming, but maybe he was one of those guys who didn’t think girls pooped? This was stupid of me, as he has two sisters, and is definitely aware of how we girls can annihilate a bathroom.
I made my way to the bathroom, and that’s when the severity of the situation hit me. The bathroom door was propped against the hallway. It was broken, and completely unattached to the door frame. My friend laughed and gave a halfhearted apology. That bitch didn’t even feel bad that this was going to be a group poop. No door to muffle the sound or the smell. I had no choice. What was this? A frat house? I know that some of you fellas are used to stalls with no doors, but us girls are accustomed a modicum of privacy.
They tried to ignore me, but the conversation kept faltering, and bursts of laughter hit me, much in the same way that the odor must have been hitting them. This was before we had smartphones to entertain us while dropping a deuce, so all I could do was sit there and listen to the people I love laugh at me and my rotten ass. I yelled at them to shut up, but that only made them laugh harder. They finally went outside to give me some privacy, but the damage had been done.
I reemerged, sheepishly, and everyone acted cool, but no one looked me in the eye. I was ready to go. It smelled inside, and I was exhausted.
Attention single ladies: My brother-in-law is still up for grabs, and if I haven’t made it perfectly clear, he’ll put up with your shit.
*******************
Amy and her husband made two kids, a four year old girl and a six year old boy. She does not consider herself a housewife, as she owns no pearls and only one apron. Amy has been featured on BlogHer, Aiming Low, Mamapedia, Scary Mommy, and Bonbon Break; and is a contributor to the best-selling book, I Just Want to Pee Alone. You can find her laughing at the absurdity of parenting on Facebook and Twitter, and pinning things she’ll never do on Pinterest. She writes embarrassing stories about herself and her family at Funny is Family.

 Share YOUR funny! Click HERE to find out how!




It’s Only Funny Until It’s Scary

 

I’m going to start things off with a healthy dose of TMI: I got my first period the summer after fourth grade.

RIGHT?!

I was at Seaworld with the effing Girl Scouts and thought I shat my pants. I was mortified and didn’t want to tell my troop leader because, helloooo?! I thought I soiled myself. I stuffed some toilet paper in my undies and carried on, pretending to adore being splashed in the mouth with whale piss.

That evening, all the girls got to call home and I ‘fessed up to my mom:

I think I crapped myself.

WHAT?!

But it can’t be crap. It keeps…coming.

……..

Is this bad? Am I dying?

Audible sobs. You got your period! And I’m not even there! What are you going to do?! Aren’t you swimming tomorrow? Do you know how to use a tampon? Should you ask someone to—

MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Audible deep breath. Okay, tell your troop leader to get you some pads. The ones with wings. And welcome to Womanhood. 

And so began my monthly journeys, most of which led me straight to the bathroom doubled over in the kind of pain that ended with vomiting. My boobs didn’t get bigger, my figure didn’t get sexier; I got zits and cramps. So far, Womanhood sucked.

To control the cramping, which was forcing me to miss at least one day of school a month, our family doctor recommended I go on a low dose of birth control. The look on my dad’s face upon hearing my name in the same sentence as birth control will forever be emblazoned into my mind.

Priceless.

My aunt actually called my mom “concerned” that I would take advantage of being on the pill. For those curious cats out there, of all the pill’s possible side-effects, “you’ll turn into a big fat whore” is not among them.

So there I was, not yet in middle school, menstruating like a sophomore in college, responsibly prepared for sex, but only interested in The New Kids on the Block.

Sigh.

Fast forward almost 20 years (holy hell! TWENTY?!), and after two kids, I’m left with a serious case of PMSS, or Pre-Menstrual Syndrome on Steroids. Here’s a brief rundown of the psychotic manner in which I conduct myself when under the influence of PMSS:

I put my kid’s sippy cup in the refrigerator and it fell over. I cried.

My already low threshold for stupid completely disappears.

 

In a rush to clean up, I grabbed for a toy and missed. I grabbed again. Missed again. Had this happened a week prior, I would have laughed. While suffering with PMSS? I picked up that sonofabitch and threw it outside.

I don’t care if my kids see me cry, but I HATE, I LOATHE this sudden burst of anger that hits me and that they bear witness to. I feel out of control for a split second, and that just ain’t me.

For the record, I have never taken out my anger on a person, especially my children. I do, however, have a patched hole in my wall that would love to chat…

If you’re on Facebook and have “liked” my WhenCrazyMeetsExhaustion page, you may have seen my plea for help or the outpouring admissions that so many others suffer with these intense and sometimes frightening symptoms. Some of you suggested cutting out caffeine during PMSS, others suggest regular exercise. I was surprised to see the number of ladies who recommended Prozac, Xanax, and other prescription drugs for relief. I’m a bit ignorant of meds like these; I thought they treated only severe depression and anxiety. That’s what leads me to:

Is this PMSS more serious than I understand?

or

Should we suck it up and drink decaf?

I try to bring levity to dark situations, but it’s only funny until it’s scary, and I don’t want to get to that point.

PMS




Grandparenting: It Isn’t For Everyone

Recently, I’ve been ignoring the love of my life (HG-TV) in order to devour The Honest Toddler: A Child’s Guide to Parenting. Between fits of giggles and poking my sleeping husband in the forehead to read him hilarious excerpts, I barely have time to put away the folded laundry that has been waiting patiently in baskets for the past twelve days.

Despite my affinity for The Honest Toddler, I have noticed a gaping discrepancy between her manual and reality:

The toddler believes the Grandparent, not cleanliness, is next to godliness. 

Look, my kids love their grandparents just as much as the next little ankle-biter, and rightfully so. Their grandparents, they’re good people; they spoil the kids with attention, they support me and my husband, and they’re always there when we need them. Does it get any better than that?!

Thing is, though, some grandparents…suck.

 

Wait! Don’t go!

 

Preschool drop-off, spring picnics, and countless birthday parties have thrown me in the ring with a plethora of parents this year, and I’ve heard some Grandparent horror stories that would elicit quite the “loud response” from The Honest Toddler’s red-drink-stained face.

Those of you who are all gasping, Stephanie! Have you no limits?! How dare you throw Grandparents under the bus?!, be about your business.

Those of you who are quietly nodding in agreement or who are resisting the urge to slow-clap, this is for you. It’s about to get interactive up in here.

Is there a Grandparent in your life who is less than grand? Does Grammy or Pappy need a reality-check? Are you a Grandparent yourself, presently preparing to leave a judgmental comment after this post? Excellent! Let’s take a quiz to see how bad you are failing!

 

Grandparenting

 

1. It’s your grandchild’s first birthday, Grandma! You are:

a. on your previously scheduled cruise. What?! Tickets were non-refundable.
b. holding the birthday child on your lap, smiling for pictures as though you’re working the red carpet.
c. puffing out your chest like a proud rooster for having purchased the most expensive gift at the party.

 

2. Your grandson’s mother is disciplining him for trying to ride the dog (again). You:

a. hurry into the next room lest your assistance be requested.
b. get in between mother and child and feed the boy raspberries straight from the carton until he is placated.
c. buy the dog a saddle and your grandson a helmet. Problem solved.

 

3. You’ve taken your granddaughter to the park to find the sliding board bully is there. When the bully starts cutting in front of your precious girl, you:

a. the park?! You don’t do the park. You have been confused with some sucker of a grandparent.
b. run to the rescue, gingerly elbowing the bully as you pass, and go down the slide with your granddaughter on your lap 37 times.
c. rent out the park for your grandbaby. If the bully won’t share, neither will you.

 

4. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve last seen your grandchildren. You’re feeling:

a. rested. They’re cute but exhausting!
b. concerned and weepy. How are they functioning without you?!
c. just fine. This is why you bought iPads in bulk. Facetime, anyone?

 

5. The grandkids’ parents are at their wit’s end. They could really use a break. You:

a. pfffft. You survived; they will, too.
b. rush to their aid with a home-cooked meal, Prozac, and a free-for-a-year Netflix subscription.
c. hire a nanny to help.

***************************

If you answered…

Mostly A’s: You (or the grandparent in your life) are a Free Range Grandparent. Your motto is “I’ve raised my kids,” and you prefer not to rearrange your life for anyone thankyouverymuch. That doesn’t mean you don’t love your grandkids; it just means you love yourself more. You’re the distant cousin of the Kodak Grandparent who readily shows off photos of her grandchildren yet regularly forgets their names. You are the opposite of the Helicopter Grandparent, which has its perks because that means you’re not all up in the biz; however, it’s worth noting that some may perceive you as not giving a flying fart. Just trying to paint a complete picture for you.

 

Mostly B’s: The Resuscitation Grandparent, you believe you are a necessity for your grandchildren’s survival. While you are helpful, your motives are questionable: do you really want to nourish your grandkids or are you simply trying to one-up their mother’s cooking? Take a minute with that one.

 

Mostly C’s: Affectionately referred to as the Cash Cow, you have been known to “make it rain” at Chuck E. Cheese and your motto for gift-giving is “go big or go home.” The monetary assistance is certainly appreciated, although equally overbearing and insulting. The grandchildren prefer your love over your stuff. That said, nothing says L.O.V.E. like replacing a certain mother-of-your-grandchild’s iPhone that done busted when it was *splashed* with some water droplets. Apple is trying to rape me for a new one. EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! I’m sorry. That got away from me. The point? The Cash Cow Grandparent spends money instead of time.

 

Let’s be pals! Find me on Twitter and Facebook

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Update: After publishing this post, The Honest Toddler actually started following me on Twitter!!! Why yes, that is my claim to fame. Don’t hate.

 

Another fun quiz that actually may help solve the iPhone Dilemma over at Jenn’s Something Clever 2.0