How I wish it had went down

After having 7 children you would think that I would have the problem of taking toddlers into the bathroom down to a science.  But we are talking about toddlers and they have never been known to be particularly great about being consistent with anything, much less bathroom etiquette.

Today I went grocery shopping with #7.  Who had to go #2.  Of course before embarking on said trip I asked #7 repeatedly if he had to go potty.  Nope, not gonna happen.  Exactly 2 minutes into our grocery store expedition he pipes up from the backseat:  “Mom, I have to poop.”  Of course you do.

After assuring me that he could hold it until we got to the store he proceeded to talk about poop: how it smells, how it looks, how big his poop is going to be.  You know, the usual stimulating conversations you have with a 3 ½ year old.   He did hold it until we crossed over the threshold of the stores entrance.  Than it was a race to the bathroom.

Now, I have no problem taking #7 (who is a boy) into the women’s room with me.  #7 has recently developed a problem with me taking him into the women’s restroom.  He thinks that he should only go into the men’s restroom.  This is an issue.  I have seen #7 in his natural environment in the bathroom.  It involves a lot of running water, throwing toilet paper everyplace but in the toilet, and getting into everything that he can.  In the bathroom.   Not to mention the glaringly obvious point of that he is too young to go into a public bathroom unattended.  This particular grocery store does not have a family restroom so he was ushered, yelling and squalling, into the women’s bathroom.

Thank god it was empty so he was unceremoniously led into a stall and told to poop.  He got as far as pulling down his underpants when he decided that he wanted to go into a different stall.  I convinced him that the stall he was in was the BEST stall in the whole bathroom.  He grudgingly agreed to give it a go.  He kept up a constant litany of how he was pushing really hard, the poop wasn’t coming out, how bad the bathroom smelled, and why Chase from Paw Patrol is his favorite.   I’m tapping my foot and begging him to hurry up.  Mommy suddenly has to go to.

Then someone walks in.  That poor lady had no idea what she had walked into.  #7 immediately seizing up on the idea of an audience goes full bore into inappropriate conversation.  He talks about his poop being pretty, he tells me that his balls are huge, he starts to tell the story of when he peed on the cat and then decides to talk to the lady in the stall next to us.

#7 asks her if she is okay “Hey lady, are you okay?”   The lady does not answer.   #7 gets louder.  “Hey lady, are you pooping too?”   Still no answer from the neighboring stall as I am trying furiously to get #7 to quiet down and just finish.  “Mom, that lady is pooping.  It stinks.  Mommy, that lady is being rude!”

Finally, #7 is blessedly done.  I wipe him, let him flush, and help him with his pants even though he “can do it.”  Now its mommy’s turn and after #7 promises to stand still and wait until mommy is done, #7 lies.  He flings open the stall door as I am mid-squat and yells, “hurry Mommy, it smells really bad in here.”   Our neighboring bathroom guest is washing her hands and trying her best to ignore us. Great.

So, here I am, embarrassed, rushed and wishing to hell that I had made #7 go before we left.   And how has your day been?

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Oh, tax time.  It is that magical time of year when people are firmly divided into two camps:  those who get a return and are excited and those who hate taxes and tax season.   I do taxes as a hobby.  I know, I need to get a new hobby.  I enjoy going through the forms, finding exemptions and credits, lecturing people on how they should not want a big return as it means they are paying out too much in taxes through the year, I absolutely adore all of it.  My dad hates tax time.  My older sister doesn’t care for it as her husband is self-employed and they always have to pay in.  My little sister is okay with tax time but it was sketchy at best for her this year.  My little brother never listens to my tax advice and is happy with getting a return.

What I love most about tax time is all the fallacies that people have about taxes.  If you go to any webpage, Facebook page, twitter account about tax refunds that are not from a reputable source you will be highly amused.  Everyone knows an aunt, a friend of a friend, who works at the IRS and has the skinny.  They all know when returns are issued and how to read the codes in a transcript, and the schedule for tax refunds.  They know people who don’t work who receive huge refunds. They know of people who sell their kids information so that they can make money.   I mean, it boggles the mind.

The reality of the situation is that tax fraud on an individual return are mainly accomplished by hackers who have stolen someone’s identity or are claiming dependents that are not theirs.  It is impossible to receive a tax refund if you haven’t worked.  The income tax refund is based on, and bear with me people, income earned.   I had someone comment that people will fake a 10-99 misc form (independent contractor/self-employed version of a W-2) to be able to get a tax return.   A 10-99 would be hard to fake as the IRS has to have a copy sent to them to verify that the employer has sent them to the employee.  Plus, there are normally not taxes taken out of a 10-99 so you would actually start out the return owing money to the IRS.

Yes, there are people that get large returns back.  These are mostly based on credits such as EIC (Earned Income Credit) and Additional Child Tax Credit.  If you are getting a large return back and do not have these credits, than you are overpaying taxes out of your paychecks throughout the year and that is just fiscally dumb.   Also, if you file long form as opposed to taking the standard deduction, you have to exceed the standard deduction.  This is no easy feat.  You can claim work vehicles that you own, home offices, in some cases uniforms and meals along with tools and equipment.  The rules and forms to claim these and still exceed the standard deduction are hard to get through and easy to mess up on.   I have to explain this to my S.O. every tax season when he forgets that filing long form is only necessary if you have a lot of deductions.  We don’t.

So, rant over about tax time.  I feel for those of you who have to pay in and am rooting for those of you who don’t.  Just don’t tell me about your friend’s aunt who works for the IRS who told you that all returns will be deposited tomorrow.  Yeah, that ain’t gonna happen.


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♥So Valentine’s Day is upon us once again♥.

I see and hear stories about how single people hate this holiday because of the expectations of finding someone to spend this ONE particular day with but there is little information about the expectation you have as a married person on Valentine’s Day.

I actually have no expectations.  S.O. and I both have the same idea about Valentine’s Day: we don’t need one day a year to express our love to each other, we show each other every day by continuing to stay and work on our relationship.  Plus I do his laundry and bore his children so there’s that.

I have never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day.   In grade school it was all about the candy and which kids had the rich parents who actually gave Valentine’s Day candy instead of the just the paper Valentines.  In middle school it was all about who got the most instagram candies.  This was a particularly horrid experience:  you could for the price of .50¢ send your friends, crushes, and boyfriends/girlfriends a heart shaped sucker.  You didn’t want to be the kid that didn’t get a single one or worse: to get one from someone you didn’t like.  Than high school rolled around and it was about whose boyfriend/girlfriend did what for them.  My high school boyfriend broke up with me on Valentine’s Day to pursue someone else.  He came crawling back after a couple of days but that just cemented it:  Valentine’s Day blows.

It doesn’t help that I am not a traditional romantic type person.  The way to my heart is not through flowers and jewelry and telling me how nice I look.  The way to my heart is to take me out to dinner, look the other way when I eat a whole box of Little Debbie’s, and compliment me on my keen intellect. Let me sleep in, take a nap, read a book. Ignore the fact that I’ve worn yoga pants and the same hoody for two days and that my hair has possibly not been brushed in three.  These are the little ways that remind me of how much my S.O. loves me.   I show my love by making sure he doesn’t have to go to work in dirty clothes, making him things like sausage and potatoes when I think it’s disgusting, listen to him talk about work and tractors, and livestock and not nod off.  I let him know he’s appreciated and sometimes adored.  I point out the food in his beard and the hair on his back.  I think it works pretty well for us.

If you need someone to completely fawn all over you for Valentine’s Day, than more power to you.  I am not begrudging you this day, but I am not going to be an active participant in how one day of the year needs to be spectacularly over the top about how much you’re loved.

In short, some people view Valentine’s Day as the ultimate love letter to their beloved, their crushes, their epitome of what love should look like.  I prefer to remember that as far back as my memory allows, Valentine’s Day was the day that Al Capone shot up a rival crew in a garage.  And that sums up Valentine’s Day just fine for me.



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