Karen Chatters » things that stress me out

Nap-no-more

Karen — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 01:43:01 +0000

I know I’ve been holding on for a long time. Hoping and hoping and hoping that the naps would continue. That the quiet would continue. That the me time would go on. But alas, I think we’re done. Three years and two months into it and I’m pretty sure we nap no more.

Of late it’s been a battle. Not the act of going into Courtney’s room for nap time, she’s happy to go in there. But staying in and being quiet. Which is really all I want, some quiet. I want Courtney to have some time to rest and recharge. Because really, she needs it. She needs that time when she’s not doing 600 things but maybe one or two, in the confines of her bed, of her four walls. But I’ve taken away the diaper or pullup at nap time so if she needs to go to the bathroom, she has to tell me and I need to come and get her. So she screams. I mean, SCREAMS. This ear-piercing, window shattering, dog-calling scream. And I go RUNNING from where ever I am to make the screams stop because I don’t want her to wake her brother. Or shatter my her eardrums. And inevitably, we get in some type of a thing with me wagging my finger and telling her to Stop. Yelling. This. Minute. Which, of course, only makes her scream more. And louder. It’s a nightmare.

The thing is, she’ll stay in her room (mostly because the door is locked) and play quietly for a while. And maybe that’s all I’ll get. But on the other hand, I also think that Courtney waits and waits and waits UNTIL nap time to go to the bathroom. It’s as though she knows it’s her free ticket. Little devil child, she is…

So as of Friday, we’re going to play it differently. She’s still going to her room but I’m not shutting the door all the way. I’ll leave the light on and the white noise off and if she has to go to the bathroom then have at it. The question then becomes, how long can I expect her to stay there. Probably not long. I wonder if I were to set an egg timer or something if she’d stay in there until it dings. I wonder if I can set it to go off 5 days later… Wish me luck. I’m sure the force is not with me but we’ll see what happens. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get enough time to get into the shower and shave BOTH legs as opposed to the 3/4 of one leg I completed yesterday. Now the question for me is when will I shower again AND have the time to shave the rest?

Dear Playdough, I LOATHE you.

Karen — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 11:00:44 +0000

Loathe. Detest. Despise. I can’t vacuum you up quickly enough.

I bring you, the story: This past summer while on vacation, I purchased some “modeling dough.” See, there was a hurricane coming and we were on this fabulous little island and all I could think about was that if we got stranded there we’d need something to do. And since we hadn’t purchased any food or water or beer at least we’d have overpriced “modeling clay.” It turns out that we got off of said island before the hurricane and we didn’t open the “modeling dough” until at least a month later when Courtney had discovered the joy of it at school. So out came the “modeling clay” and Courtney spent hours and hours and hours entertaining herself and having all kinds of fun. And after every use, we’d put said modeling clay away and it would be excellently squishy for the next session. However, like all flour-made toys, it eventually started to dry out and so, like a complete ignoramus, I asked someone to give Courtney Playdough for Christmas.

Holy hell. Playdough SUCKS. It gets EVERYWHERE. I mean, it crumbles and falls to the floor and sticks to your clothes and to your shoes and WTF, who invented this crap. I mean, GAH! Clearly, some man* invented it because he had no intention of cleaning this crap up so who cares how messy it is, let’s make millions! Don’t get me wrong, I’m no neat freak and my house is NOT out of some magazine but little red playdough pieces all over the damn place are more than I can tolerate. And while yes, the colors are pretty and the cookie-cutter-shape-doohickeys are fun, the crap still gets EVERYWHERE. And seriously, at this point, I can’t vacuum this stuff up fast enough. The kids leave it out for an hour, oops, look at that, it’s all dry. Vacuum. Oh look, there’s some on the floor. Vacuum. Oh hey, that container is half empty (that shit is never half full), throw it out. Of the 6 containers Courtney received for Christmas, there’s maybe 3 left. Maybe less…

I’ve already ordered and received my new Modeling Dough ** And I can’t wait to break this out, see ya Playdough.

*Yes, it was a man in 1956 and he CLEARLY wasn’t doing to cleaning then. I mean, I’ve seen TV from the 50′s and I’m sure it was all true with women cooking and cleaning.

** Yes, that is an affiliate link and if you buy it, I’ll get maybe $.06. But seriously, that stuff is the bomb diggity and you’ll love it. Unless you make it yourself and already have a bomb diggity recipe then please share.

Holding on

Karen — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 11:00:34 +0000

Sometimes you just have to look at the pictures, the captured moments, the stillness of it all, to remind you that some of these not-so-great moments will pass. They will, honestly. The pictures of the smiles and new moments and excitement help you to hold on to the fact that your kids are awesome and you are SO lucky. Today is one of those days. And it’s not even that the entire day is bad. It’s that witching hour before bed, or even before dinner, where things fall apart. Where the independence and exploring toddler can push all your buttons and try and push you over the edge. Where the screaming and the yelling and the crying and the complete and utter disregard for what you say has you wanting to hide in a closet. Because it’s not all day, just those last hours of the day that can cloud the laughter and the fun from earlier. Pushing away the happy memories for those moments where you’re ready to lock the kids in their cage.

No more babes in my woods, or uterus

Karen — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 13:47:27 +0000

As we turn the corner on a new year, I am brought that much closer to my 40th birthday. Forty. 4-0. As my loving and kindhearted brother would say, I’m 1/2. As in, 1/2 of my way to the grave. How’s that for love?

But one thing for sure as I near that milestone birthday, I don’t want any more kids. Two kids is perfect. One boy, one girl. Call me finished. The fat lady has sung. The finish line has passed. No more babies please.

And now comes the deciding factor, what do we do to prevent myself, us, from having any more kids? I went to the doctor yesterday to explore my options, some of which I knew about, one of which I didn’t. I could go on the pill (what a pain in the ass that is, not interested), I could get an IUD, or I could have thermal ablation. Option 1 and 2 would mean that I could still, in theory, get pregnant or decide in the future to have another kid. Not really an option I’m looking for. Option 3, which I didn’t know was an option, would mean absolutely no kids ever again, not even a chance. Which is what I want, but why is that option so scary? And why is 3 even really an option?

In discussing my options with my doctor, I happened to mention that my cycle is now insane. As in 10 days long and crazy heavy. (Hi baby brother!! Sorry I didn’t warn you first…) I mean, it’s not normal. He happened to mention that that is one of the awesome things that happens to women after they have babies – longer and heavier cycles. Joy. There’s a chance I could go with Mirena and my cycles would diminish to almost nothing or go away entirely. Or not. I’ve also heard stories of women having crazy side effects with Mirena but I’m sure there are more women that haven’t, they just don’t tend to talk about how great they feel. But with the ablation, I’m saying for sure, 100%, “that’s it, we’re done, no more babies here.” Which is what I want but that’s still very scary.

Now, sure, I could do Mirena now, think about it for a while, see how I feel, see how it goes and then decide to do the ablation. But let’s be honest, these things aren’t free and while we do have health insurance, to do both would cost us $1500 or so. And trust me, I’ve checked the sofa and there’s no $1500 in there.

So I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Are you loyal reader (all 4 of you but one of you is my dad and one is my husband and one is my brother) taking anything? Do you know anything about Mirena or have you had ablation? What would you do?

Please pass the…cauliflower?

Karen — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 03:08:38 +0000

There’s nothing new about a a kid who will eat something in earnest one day and then for the next month, they won’t touch it. You know, after you’ve gone out and bought a years supply of broccoli because one night your kid ate an entire head of it. Or, yesterday your son thought spaghetti was the greatest meal EVER but today he thinks it’s excellent as a decoration, hanging from the light over the kitchen table. Or, you put out a can of green beans (vomit, says I) and your kid eats the ENTIRE can and is potentially fighting her father for them. (Totally gross y’all, green beans didn’t grow in a can, why do they put them in there?)

I’ve decided that this week I’m going to attempt to meal plan. Sunday night I looked at a bunch of menus, mapped out the week and made a very detailed and extensive list of everything I was going to make. On Monday I went shopping, spent a zillion dollars and even used some shopper site to help me make sure I was getting the biggest bang for my buck with my coupons. ($60 saved, yo!!) I even remembered to take the food out of the freezer that needed to be defrosted for dinner on Monday night. I’m the winningest-winner!

Monday afternoon, after a failed nap time and an oddly warm November day, I decide to take the kids to the park. I get them out of their rooms and into the car in record time. I even remember shoes for the both – still winning! At 5:00 I shuffle them back into the car because dinner’s at 6 and I have a recipe to follow, a meal to cook! And then the bottom falls out. We walk in at 5:20ish and I look at the recipe – “roast the butternut squash.” Oops. If you know anything about BNS, you know you need to cut the damn thing into cubes (although, I could have roasted it by splitting the thing in half, huh, now there’s a thought) and just battling the squash is a 20 minute endeavor. Twenty minutes I don’t have. Courtney’s on repeat, “I want a snack” and Patrick is wailing for food. Screw the BNS, I’m going for cauliflower!! So I start cutting it and Courtney asks for a piece. I tell her I don’t think she’s going to like it and slap me upside the head if she doesn’t then eat 9 or 10 pieces of raw cauliflower. I then start cutting the mushrooms, “I want some” says the wee girl. And I know she loves her some raw mushrooms and she eats them all up.

I finally manage to assemble some tortellini cauliflower mushroom sage thing so that the wee girl can tell me the mushrooms are “gross” and she won’t touch the pasta. “Come on, just try it,” says the sage (that’s me, all). And damn if I don’t hear, “I like it mommy. This is goo-ood.” In the meantime, boy child is flinging tortellini around the kitchen and there’s no way in hell he’s touching a shroom.

You can’t win them all, I guess. I suppose it’s those nights where they DO eat the meal and tell you that it’s “goo-ood” that makes you go through the effort at all. Because some nights, I’d like to take the string bean and just stick it up their little….