The Poopsie Collective

Recipe: Snowflakes in Summer

Written by GWEN 

I’m not very neat (as Think Tidy can attest to). I’m organized, but in my own special, unorganized way. Erica, for one, might like to bring up the tornado that hits her guest room when I go to stay with her. (To which I might scoff, “5 minutes late? Try 20!” in response to her post this week.)

I wouldn’t be your first port of call to help out with an arts and crafts project…like coloring within the lines or cutting along the dotted ones. BUT, I do try and make an effort when it comes to food and decor! 

Last week, my mister’s parents were in town, and it happened to coincide with what will probably be the one week of summer in London. SO, we BBQed and picnicked. I baked, I marinated, I made side dishes and salads galore! Oh and I worked at my super demanding PR job (Yes. Super.) And I looked after Izzy! I was on FIRE. Toot Toot.

Anyhoo, below is a recipe for ‘Snowflakes’ which are basically white chocolate melted with Rice Krispies and peanuts. They are totally addictive, extremely easy to make, and a treat for the whole family—Izzy LOVES them! Plus they look adorable in a little glass jar (which I can’t take credit for, as my friend Christa gave them to us in a jar for Christmas.) Perfect for a picnic in Primrose Hill!

Izzy passed out after two days of fun in the sun!

Makes about 40 snowflakes

Ingredients:

1 pound white chocolate, chopped

2 1/2 cups Rice Krispies

1 cup salted roasted peanuts

Preparation:

- Melt the chocolate in a double boiler, stirring until smooth. Stir in the Rice Krispies and the peanuts, coating the dry ingredients evenly in the chocolate.

- Drop rounded teaspoonfuls of the mixture in little mounds onto a baking sheet lined with wax paper or parchment (no need to space them apart too much as you won’t be baking them, so they won’t spread). Refrigerate uncovered until the chocolate hardens, at least 30 minutes, before eating. Once they’ve hardened, store the snowflakes in the refrigerator in a sealed container so the chocolate doesn’t melt.

Positive Birth: from The Netherlands

guest written by Nicolien Sloot-Beekhof

Giving birth in Holland isn’t easy. I’ve been looking for positive stories but they’re hard to find. Most women don’t like to talk about their birth story, focusing instead on the positive result of it: their child. I wonder why most women in Holland are so negative about this life-changing and wonderful experience, so I have been searching for some facts and figures…

The Netherlands has one of the highest infant mortality rates in Western Europe, despite our modern health care and state of art hospitals. Some believe that our culture of ‘home-deliveries’ is one of the causes. In an emergency it takes too long to get mom and baby to the hospital. But this argument is controversial. Many Dutch women are happy to have the choice between delivering at home or in a hospital (of course with a medical emergency, delivery is always in the hospital). The Netherlands is one of the few (Western) countries where home-delivery is an option. In fact, when my Dutch friend, who lives in England, told her midwife that she considered having her baby at home, she was looked-upon like a lunatic. There are many highly respected Dutch midwives that claim that a home-delivery is better for mom and baby because having your baby in your own, private surroundings reduces stress. Plus, there is less risk of infection for the baby.

In The Netherlands an epidural was, until very recently, a rarity. Before 2008, it was nearly impossible to get one. “Pain is part of the game” was the common belief. Luckily, since 2008, it has become easier to get an epidural and now 1 in 3 women opt for one (including me!).

When I had my baby, I knew I wanted to deliver in the hospital and without PAIN. I was checked by a male nurse. He was tall, handsome and blonde, with hands the size of shovels. Not so comfortable. This Dutch McDreamy saw me at my worst: the size of a whale, no make-up, throwing up in a plastic cup… Between contractions I tried to put up my cutest smile, but after a while I couldn’t care less. After the relief of my epidural it was time to relax in our private hospital room. It had a couch and TV set to help my bored husband through the long night ahead. I got some sleep, luckily, because what I didn’t know was that there was no such thing as no pain. The last moments of labor were pretty tough, but I got my beautiful baby-girl with help from the awesome hospital staff and a lot of help from my man.

A point most Dutch women agree upon is that our system of maternity care is wonderful. You receive 16 weeks maternity leave: 4 to 6 weeks before your due date, and 10 to 12 weeks after the birth. After the birth, a professional Maternity Caretaker looks after mom, baby, other kids, and (in most cases) your household, for about 7-8 days. My Maternity Caretaker was the sweetest woman ever, and in my emotional state of mind I loved her to death! My house was never that clean, and my clothes were never that tightly-folded (and never will be). But everyday she made me a bowl of fruit and cleaned my toilet and bathroom. She made me lunch and did the laundry. She ordered me to get my rest, while she ordered my husband to do the groceries and some after-delivery errands (well, you girls all know what those things are, eh?). My husband drove all over town to get me some “nipple-hats” (things I didn’t know about before the baby but really the invention of the century, if you ask me). These little plastic nipple covers prevented my baby from biting me and made it easier for her to nurse. My “maternity-gal” showed me around in this new world of breastfeeding, burping, baths and (a lot of) diapers. During babysleeps we talked about our husbands and friendships. I really missed her when she left.

Baby Emlyn and the “maternity gal”. 

So, delivering in Holland is getting better. The infant and fetal mortality rate is decreasing every year. I think it is good that women in Holland have so many choices over how to experience the birth of their babies. You really can do it the way you want, if you don’t have a medical emercency. And when you get home (or are already home) the “maternity gal” will be there to introduce you to your most important job: being a mom.

Nicolien Sloot-Beekhof lives in Haarlem, The Netherlands, with her husband Gerben, daughter Emlyn, and two cats: Floortje and Rembrandt. She works part-time as a graphic designer. On her free days you can find her strolling around town with the little one and her husband, or sipping a cocktail with her group of long-time girlfriends. On Monday nights she works her hips with some bellydancing. Someday she hopes to be a skilled photographer and guitar player. 

Mommy Intern Wanted

written by STEPHANIE

Just last night, while biting his nailbeds and anxiously responding to emails, my husband said, “I don’t have time anymore for everything. I need to hire an intern.” Which got me thinking that I need to hire an intern too! So, I hit up Craigslist and posted my first ad for a Mommy Intern. Think anyone will bite? 

While I know it requires a little extra effort, I encourage you to read the listing in its entirety by clicking here.

It’s All a Matter of Perspective

Written by ERICA

I’d consider myself to be a pretty levelheaded person and generally speaking, I don’t sweat the small stuff. Unless you count frozen yogurt stores closing unexpectedly to be “small stuff”…which I don’t. Everyone needs their go-to fro yo joint! Anyway, before I had Owen it was a different story. Not that I was ever an emotionally charged psycho-pants who freaked out if someone cut me in line at the cafeteria sandwich station. Oh wait…that did kinda happen. Whatever that b*tch in 6” heels should learn to WAIT HER TURN! 

Where was I? Oh yes… so, before my eggo got preggo things were different. I stressed out over the following things, on a far-too-regular basis:

- The weather - specifically long periods of incessant rain (I have a case of self-diagnosed seasonal depression)

- My commute - sometimes cab traffic, sometimes sweaty/smelly subway crowds, always involving me being 5 minutes late to pretty much everything

- Work - mostly when I had too much of it and not enough time to get things done

- Missing a workout - mostly because sweating keeps me sane and some problems really can only be solved by a good long run on the Hudson

- TV - specifically skipping one of my fave shows and/or learning that my DVR deleted a recording of important programming, like say, The Bachelor (I mean, I HAD to know which douche got sent home, it was important!)

I could go on. But looking back at this list now I can admit that they were all trivial, ridiculous occurrences to lose my cool over. There was no reason to lose sleep over a missed training run or the fact that my skin tone was slowly resembling the pale complexion of a vampire after a week of solid downpour (as a wanna-be-vampire I should haven been psyched about that last one). I see that now, but at the time I was so wrapped up in the little things that I lost sight of the big picture.

It wasn’t until an experience early on in my pregnancy that I was able to take a step back and regain a little perspective on my life.

When I was 11 weeks pregnant I went to the hospital for my routine nuchal exam. For all those non-mommies out there, a nuchal is a prenatal ultrasound and blood test used to help identify higher risks of chromosomal defects such as Down’s Syndrome. I was an active 27-year-old with no medical conditions and an extremely healthy lifestyle. It didn’t even dawn on AJ or I that we might not pass the test with flying colors. We are over-achievers after all. So when we got the call that the results were abnormal and there was a 1 in 52 chance that our baby had some chromosomal disorder, we were in shock. (Note: normal, healthy results typically indicate a 1 in 10,000 chance of some abnormality.) We were devastated and confused. Sure, it was just an indicator that something might be wrong, not a definitive prognosis. But still, it was in no way good news. 

The next step was a CVS test, where the doctor takes a sample of the placenta, in my case, by inserting a needle through your abdomen, through your uterus and into the placenta while you try desperately to lie still and not lose your sh*t. I was crying the entire time and AJ tried to stay strong as he held my hand. The next 3 days while we waited for results were brutal. And the worst part was trying to pretend everything was fine to the friends and colleagues who had no idea what we were dealing with. Remember, no one ever knew I was pregnant. 

And so we waited, and while we waited I got a real glimpse into what’s actually important to me in life. I wasn’t bugging out because I was missing 2 unplanned days of work, or because for 2 days I wasn’t allowed to work out. I wasn’t even interested in watching reruns of 90210 on SoapNet. All I wanted was a healthy baby. I wanted good news of a future filled with poopy diapers, middle-of-the-night screaming sessions and breast pumps. All the things I now joke about hating, I was desperate for during those long LONG days.

And then, finally, on one of the happiest days of my life (closely followed by my Bat Mitzvah, my wedding and the day that Damon & Elena first kissed on The Vampire Diaries) we got REALLY good news. Our doctor told us that not only was our baby perfect, healthy and 100% fine, but it was going to be a boy. I cried, AJ cried, and our doctor teared up though she’d never admit it.

I wouldn’t wish such a scary experience on anyone. But I do know that becoming a mom, and having my first real test of motherhood forced me to find some perspective. I started to focus on the things that really mattered to me, and not freak out over the small stuff. And that attitude has stuck with me. Once upon a time I would have flipped my lid if I spilled coffee on my nice white pants or realized I was walking around with a splat of purple paint on my face all day (both of which have happened numerous times in recent months). I would have been pissed if someone dumped out the contents of my wallet into a puddle or eaten the granola bar I had been looking forward to all morning. I would have lost it if anyone uttered so much as a “hello” during an episode of Pretty Little Liars, let alone interrupted my viewing entirely to demand cartoons and attention.  

A mess that the pre-motherhood me would NOT have been happy about. Post-baby, I snap pictures instead of stress.

And now I just smile and laugh when any of the above happens. Things go wrong all the time. Things get messy. Life rarely goes according to plan. As a mom you’re going to be disappointed and frustrated from time to time. You’re going to get your hands dirty (literally and figuratively). You’re going to get bad news and be faced with situations that make you feel like you’re not good enough. And that’s OK. Because at the end of the day if I can climb in bed and know that I was the best mom I can be that day I’m happy. And I know that when I wake up I’ll have a smiling kiddo screaming my name wanting nothing more than to kiss and hug me. And maybe even get some pee/poop/food on me, if I’m really lucky.

Orchestrating Family Memories

Written by BROOKE 

Making memories…

What makes a family memory? What are the things my kids will remember 20 years from now? Do they happen spontaneously? Are memories just “made”? Or as parents, is it our job to “orchestrate” them?

I think it’s a mixture of both. I think that some memories happen spontaneously. I can still remember dragging my baby sister around the house in an empty box while she laughed so hard that she couldn’t stop. I remember sliding down our stairs on pillows and climbing up the door jams in our rooms when we were supposed to be asleep. I hope that my boys remember giggling so much at night that we have to come up three or four times to tell them to go to bed. I hope they remember the living room dance parties and singing songs in the car. 

But I have been feeling lately the need for more. I’ve been feeling like my strong desire for my kids to like each other and end up friends depends a lot on them spending time together in a fun way, not in a “waiting to hang out with my friends” way. We are the only members of either side of our families who live in California. That means that when we “vacation” it usually involves trips with family or trips to see family. Which is great, we are lucky to get along well with all of our siblings and our kids love their cousins so family time really is a treat. But what about real vacations? You know, the kind we did as kids where you are stuck with no one but your siblings and parents for hours on end and you ended up having to play together because there was no one else to play with? I felt like we were missing out on those types of trips. 

So I decided it was time to orchestrate some family memories. I decided that, no matter how budget conscious it needed to be, we were going to go on a family vacation with just our little family every year. Last weekend, we packed up the car, the hubs and I each took a day off work and we headed only two hours away for a long weekend in Palm Springs. Was it extravagant? No. Was it fun? Yes. Did we fight (all four of us)? A little. But I think the good times outweighed the bad. 

I think I learned a few things. My boys will play really, really nicely when they have no one else around. It doesn’t have to be expensive. We got a hotel with a kitchen and I packed sandwich stuff, milk, yogurts, breakfasts, etc. from home. We went out to eat twice and ordered cheap pizza once. We did one activity that cost money but the rest of the time we played at the hotel’s pool (and waterslide, which was a huge bonus). My boys were almost as happy just to play in the hotel room as they were to do anything else. One night we rented a movie, bought some candy at Wal Mart and lay on the pull out couch together. It cost about $5 but there was just something super fun about being in a hotel. We had a blast. The kids both got tons of attention from both of us which I think was needed since we’ve both been really busy lately. It was nice to just be together as a family. Even if after 3 days I was ready for a break because orchestrating memories is hard work. It was definitely not a vacation for either of the adults but that was ok. 

And I feel good about orchestrating some memories. In fact, I think we’ll do it again next year. 

A family memory in the making…courtesy of our hotel water slide.

The Popular Girls

Written by GWEN 

I don’t know about you, but when I was in high school I couldn’t wait to graduate and move on from all the cliques and popularity contests! I mean, not that I was a loser… but I wasn’t a cheerleader either. A LOT OF MY FRIENDS WERE CHEERLEADERS. I SWEAR! Moving on. Unfortunately, when I got to college, I realized it was exactly the same. There were fraternities and sororities, cliques, cool kids, clubs, cliques within clubs etc. AND then, once I entered the ‘real world’, it was no different. Groups of friends in the office, cool departments (i.e. PR, duh!), cliques in your gym classes (how do those form by the way? I can never seem to break in!), who got into the good bars or clubs, blah blah blah.

Now that I’m a mother, I realize mom cliques are actually THE WORST of them all. In London, in particular, there are swarms of mom groups running around, and if you’re on the outside, many of them give you the cold shoulder or a catty comment. WHICH, I don’t really get, since we’re all going through the same thing, aren’t we?? I try not to compare the US to the UK too much (okay, I kinda do), but I have to say, Americans are so much more open and inviting. They want to chat and exchange stories—to commiserate when necessary.

Yesterday, I took Izzy to the park. Ordinarily I travel with my own crew, but for one reason or another we were solo.  Izzy, per usual, ran over to various mom groups, trampling on their blankets, drinking from their kid’s bottles, stealing toys, the usual mischief. It was adorable. And more to the point, totally normal toddler behavior. My fellow park-goers, however, seemed less thrilled. One woman saw Izzy coming, and literally covered her baby’s head with her hand while she mouthed to her friend, “OH god! I really don’t want him over here.” HIM??  Another mom, at one point, told me, “Sorry. I would let him play with this, but it’s her favourite.” I mean… I get it lady. Perhaps you’ve heard of a little lion round these parts named LEROY! Just don’t give me your fake smile and bullsh*t.

 Later in the afternoon, I found myself in a bakery surrounded by three ‘yummy mummies’ all in their heels and silk scarves, babbling about Verbier and whether they would bring their nannies or not. It was slightly nauseating, although I had just spent the last thirty minutes on the bus listening to my friend complain about her cleaning lady.

My point… I hate the cliques. I like to be all welcoming. BUT, you are friends with your friends for a reason. And yesterday’s outing certainly called for backup. Next time, Izzy and I will not be leaving the hood without our own mommy posse!

One of my fellow posse members and Izzy with his bestie Jakey.

RECIPE: Eat Your Greens

Written by ERICA 

I’ve always been a healthy eater. Well, maybe healthy isn’t the right word, and maybe always isn’t appropriate either. When I was younger I’m pretty sure I ate about 2 bagels with cream cheese a day and saw nothing wrong with downing a massive bag of gummy candy before dinner. (And yes, I still do the latter.) So I guess a more accurate statement would be that in my adult life I’ve become a very aware eater. I am extremely aware of what I put in my body. I’m not a crazy obsessive health nut—I would live on nothing but ice cream sundaes, cookies, pick n’ mix candy and wine if I could—but I do enjoy fresh, balanced meals. I feel better after I eat them and I feel way better serving them to my family.

And this poses a slight problem. Because typically healthy foods have zero flavor, and naturally kids are smart enough to know what tastes good. Even when Owen first tried semi-solid food at 5-months-old he knew that plain rice cereal tasted like cement and banana puree was a slurp of sweet heaven. And now, at almost 18 months, he’s got opinions. Not only does he know what flavorful, delicious food tastes like (damn you grilled cheese!), he also has enough sense to reject everything else.

So what’s a mom to do? You want to serve balanced meals to your child (and your entire family for that matter), but you also don’t want to cook up something they are going to toss back in your face, literally.

Anyway, I think I’ve found a way to solve this dining dilemma. It’s a little thing I like to call trickery. Kids can be sneaky…hiding their veggies under their legs, behind their back, even in their shirt during dinnertime. Well guess what? Moms can be sneakier.

Here’s a recipe I made recently that I can vouch is delicious, healthy, easy to make and sneaky enough that even your kids will like it. I originally found it on epicurious.com but amended it a bit to suit my needs…

Pasta with Broccoli Pesto

Ingredients:

- 1 Box of Whole Wheat Pasta (I like Barilla Plus Rotini or Penne, it’s easy for little fingers and it traps just the right amount of sauce in all the nooks)

- Broccoli (about 1 pound, cut into small florets with the stems removed)

- ½ Cup of Extra Virgin Olive Oil

- 1-2 Cloves of Garlic, minced (fresh is best, pre-minced is OK too)

- 1 Tsp of Onion powder (or about ½ a finely chopped onion, if you’re not lazy like me)

- 1 Tbsp Pine Nuts (optional, but highly recommended)

- ½ Cup Parmesan Cheese (ditto)

- Sprinkle of Chili Flakes to taste (optional, I add this after removing a portion for Owen)

- Salt & Pepper to taste

Preparation:

1) Bring water, seasoned with salt, to a boil and add the pasta. Cook the pasta according to the box’s directions.

2) About halfway through the pasta cooking process (so for Rotini, after about 5 minutes), add the broccoli florets to the boiling water and cover for the remaining time.

3) While that is cooking, in a separate pan heat up the olive oil, garlic, onion (powder or minced) and pine nuts over medium-low heat until the garlic & pine nuts start to brown.

4) Once the pasta is done cooking, pour the pasta and broccoli into a colander, but be sure to use a wire mesh or fine strainer so the broccoli bits don’t fall through. Then return to the pot.

5) Add the oil mixture to the pasta and broccoli and stir vigorously until the broccoli florets fall apart and begin to mix in with the sauce. Add more olive oil as needed and season with salt and pepper. After a few minutes of mixing, the broccoli will be completely incorporated into the sauce and will look like a pesto sauce. Add the Parmesan cheese (and chili flakes if you choose), stir, serve and enjoy!

The broccoli is so mashed up in the sauce that your kids won’t be able to pick it apart, and they won’t want to because the pasta tastes so good they’ll be too busy inhaling it to care they’re eating their greens.

I told you… sneaky!

I Need a Vacation from Vacation

Written by STEPHANIE 

Aloha, folks. I’m in Hawaii and, from what people keep telling me, I’m on vacation. Typically, I get on the airplane and all my worries and stresses are left behind on the tarmac as I climb higher and higher into the sky. They all look so tiny, so silly, so very far away. With a drink in one hand and an US Weekly in the other, I relax quite easily and the pre-vacation stresses dissipate. Vacation means time “off” from work and real life, but when you’re full-time job is Mom, there ain’t no such thing as a vacation. 

The twitch I developed under my left eye last week while prepping for the trip is getting worse. The near-tears breakdown that ensued the morning we left for the airport when we lost the garage key and couldn’t get the stroller out, hasn’t left my nervous system yet. My husband and I are bickering. Marlowe isn’t eating. I’m exhausted. It seems that no matter what I do, or don’t do, it’s wrong. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I mean, I’m in an AMAZING location. It’s beautiful! And, my parents are picking up the entire tab! WHAT?!?! Yes, seriously. The only thing better than a vacation is a free vacation. But…

Schedules are thrown out the window which means that our days and nights are utterly unpredictable. For example, Marlowe looked sleepy yesterday about 4 hours from when she woke up. Now, at home this means nap-time. So, I put her in the stroller that we bought at Kmart when we landed here on Maui (because, remember, we locked ourselves OUT of the garage at home), tucked her in like usual with her lovey and milk. She sucked away on her thumb, sleepily smiled out at me, then 45 minutes later after walking up and down the beach in hot, blazing, scorching sun, she peaked out from under the blanket, smiled and screeched, “MAMA!” Let me spoil the rest of this nightmare for you: she didn’t nap. And here’s another spoiler alert, Mama needs Marlowe’s nap more than Marlowe does. I nearly cried sitting poolside while Marlowe giggled and jumped from lounge chair to lounge chair, including the one I was on.  

I try to take the inconsistency with a light heart. After all, we’re in Hawaii, right? How bad could any of it be? And it isn’t Marlowe’s fault. 99.9% of the time, she’s having the BEST time… far better than anyone else around. Vacation just doesn’t mean what it used to. It doesn’t mean quiet time anymore. It doesn’t mean throwing out a schedule. It doesn’t mean leaving behind “stuff” (both metaphorical and literal). It doesn’t mean relaxing. It doesn’t mean napping, drinking, wandering, lingering, savoring…I could go on.

If there’s any chance of “saving” this trip and making the most of a potentially wonderful experience, I’m going to have to figure out how to balance my responsibilities of motherhood with my own needs. And if I figure that out, I may have just answered every mother’s wish! After all, vacation or not, that’s what’s we’re all struggling with: balance.

My Proudest Mom Moments

Written by ERICA 

In the past, I’ve shared plenty of moments that I am NOT proud of as a mom. I’ve happily dished on things I’ve done that maybe I’m a little embarrassed about. I’ve talked about crapping myself during childbirth (3 times!), eating my son’s chewed up food, about my irrational fear of birds, my dependence on stretch pants, and my potty mouth. I would happily shout “I SUCKED AT BREASTFEEDING” from the mountaintops or tell you that this morning I let my kid eat food off the dirty (and very public) floor. I’m not exactly proud of any of those behaviors, but I can also share my faults with minimal humiliation because I’m a mom, and moms make mistakes all the time.

As it turns out, it’s pretty easy to recall and share your less stellar moments of motherhood. On the flip side, it’s a lot harder to think about the experiences that you ARE proud of. Maybe it’s because confidence can quickly become cocky, or because if you discuss your achievements you run the risk of sounding arrogant. I get it… nobody wants to be that girl. “Ooooh look at me… today I baked a pie and climbed a mountain and fed the homeless and knit a sweater and wrote a novel and waxed my own bikini and still managed to put a home-cooked meal on the table.” NOBODY LIKES A SHOWOFF.

But today I realized something: motherhood is filled with uphill battles, frustrating scenarios and no-win situations. Yes, you have to be able to laugh at your blunders. But you also HAVE to focus on the moments that make you feel accomplished. It’s OK to want to be praised for your good days and it’s not only OK, but also essential, that you be your own biggest supporter. After all, if you don’t give yourself a pat on the back for changing your kid’s poopy diaper while he’s standing up in the backseat of your car, who will? 

So, at the risk of sounding totally obnoxious, here are a few of my proud mom moments (not counting the obvious, when I actually squeezed a human being out of my lady parts)… 

Traveling Solo with Two “Kids” – When AJ was away on business I decided to take Owen and our puppy to New York, by myself. Sydney, our 17-pound Schnoodle, in her dog carrier on one arm, Owen in my other. It was exhausting, my back hurt, my head hurt and I had to go about 6 hours without peeing, which is hard when the only thing keeping you awake is chugging coffee. But I did it. And every time a passerby would say, “wow, you’ve got your hands full, you’re a brave mom” I would smile to myself and think, “damn straight.”

Anything to keep him happy at 35,000 feet…

Running My First Post-Motherhood Marathon – I had to take almost a year off from the adrenalin rush of running when I was pregnant. So when I completed my 5th NYC Marathon on the same weekend that Owen turned 11 months old, and finished with my fastest time yet, I felt on top of the world. But there is nothing like a sloppy kiss from your toddler, followed by a massive dirty diaper, to knock you back to reality when you get home.

Successful Mealtime – I am lucky…Owen is a really good eater. And he always has been. Pretty sure that has nothing to do with me or my cooking. But AJ has a much more demanding palette. So if I’m able to make a meal (after a long day of entertaining a 17-month-old, mind you) that both Owen and AJ devour, then I think I’ve earned that glass of wine I guzzle at dinnertime. 

Diaper Changing Combat – Owen will not sit still. Never. Unless Dora the Explorer is on, he’s moving around at maniac speed. So to change a diaper without the contents of said dirty diaper ending up on my nice white rug is a challenge. 9 times out of 10 I am sweating bullets by the time a new Pampers is covering O’s crack. So every time I find a new way to keep my kiddo occupied while I wipe his a$$ I get a huge sense of pride. 

Possibly the only time a toddler diaper change has been this easy.

Thank You Mommy – Owen has become very verbal over the past few months. He went from saying one word to full phrases to saying those same phrases at appropriate times, showing me that he actually understands what he’s saying, at least in theory. And one of his most recent favorites is “thank you” after I give him a toy, hand him his water, or put on his shoes. I swear to god I almost eat his face off when he says that. I honestly feel more proud when my little munchkin shows some appreciation and affection than I ever did when I got a promotion at work or an A in college. 

Bottom line: I am finally realizing how important it is to toot your own horn from time to time. I get that if you don’t relish in your own successes as a mom, you’ll surely feel overwhelmed by your failures. Because we do all make mistakes, and we do all have many moments we’re not proud of. But for every bad decision there are a million things we do right to make our kids feel special, safe and loved on a daily basis. So go ahead, share your proudest success stories below…Even if it’s just for a few minutes, take pride in your mothering! You’ve earned it!

Morning Routines with a Preschooler

Written by BROOKE 

I’m not much of a routine person. I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants person. I always have been. But there’s one thing I’ve learned as a mom and it is that in certain cases, a routine can really help with the screaming, whining, cajoling, begging and punishing that starts to happen when you have to be out the door at a certain time. 

For the first half of this year preschool mornings weren’t too bad. They coincided with the days of my early runs so I was up early and home by 7am. The kids were up and I had over an hour before we had to be out of the house—no big deal. Lately though, the early morning workouts are not happening. Instead I stay in bed with a pillow over my head until the last possible second (or until Brady insists that I come “downstairs, WIGHT NOW!”). Aaron gets the kids downstairs and usually manages to throw a piece of toast at them with some fruit, which will at least tide them over until I can drag my sorry pregnant butt out of bed. 

At that point we only have about 45 minutes until we have to leave. And it is chaos. I am trying to get myself ready for the gym, get the kids dressed, everyone’s teeth brushed, backpack packed, eat my own breakfast so I don’t pass out, and get out the door. It is nuts. And I usually end up yelling. A lot. So I decided something needed to change. And it wasn’t going to be me getting out of bed earlier. Because really, all that meant was that I’d have an extra 30 min to yell and it wasn’t really solving the problem that Zach had no desire to MOVE in the mornings. Matchbox cars and TV shows were much more interesting than getting dressed and brushing his teeth. 

So I decided to put it in my four-year-old’s hands. He’s really in to responsibility. He loves it when I give him jobs like emptying the silverware from the clean dishwasher (he actually asks me multiple times a day if the silverware needs to be emptied). So I went online (what did moms do before Pinterest?) and found a chart. A sticker chart that has pictures and tells him what needs to be done each morning. There are lots out there but I found one that had the basics I wanted—-get dressed, brush teeth, eat breakfast (I told him that also means clearing his place), get hair combed, and backpack ready. I put it in a sheet protector, because I’m way too lazy to get it laminated, and found some stickers I had leftover from potty training (another time a sticker chart worked great for us). 

Now I’m not going to say this has solved all of our problems. But it has REALLY, really helped. It is nice to just say (even if I have to say it 20 times) “check your chart!” Instead of “GET UP HERE AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH!” Instead of feeling like I’m nagging him I’m reminding him how to get stickers, which he loves. He is much more motivated to get ready and I am much less stressed. It even motivates the two-year-old because he wants to do everything his brother does. 

I feel like one of the hard things about having a preschooler is reminding yourself that even though it might be easier to remind them or tell them everything, or even do it for them, all they are really craving is some autonomy and independence. I have to keep reminding myself that putting him in charge is exactly what he wants and the more I can channel it into something positive, the better. Otherwise he asserts his independence by fighting with his brother and defying me. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a few more charts around this house. 

Selective Memory: A Mother’s Gift to Herself

Written by GWEN

After I had Izzy, everyone told me I would forget the pain of giving birth and eventually I would feel ready to have another one.  I think that advice really holds true for most things with kids, not just birth. Somehow I can imagine having another baby now, even though in addition to the actual birth, the sleepless nights and year of lop-sided boobs definitely made me feel like once was ENOUGH! Likewise, every time I travel with Izzy, I think to myself, “That’s IT! We’re never leaving our flat again!” And yet, once the trip is over, I get home and start planning the next one.

Just last week I flew with Izzy, sans Adam, to New York for a friend’s wedding and to see my parents. It’s not that Izzy was bad on the flight. He didn’t cry or throw tantrums. He was simply a one and a half year old. He wanted to run around, explore and play games. So for two hours, I chased Izzy up and down the aisles, while avoiding eye contact with anyone in our path. At one point, he grabbed a mini whiskey bottle from the catering cart and before I could snatch it out of his hands, he was tearing through Economy, Economy Plus and Business. My reaction? Well, it was three-fold really: This sucks. This is kinda funny. What would happen if he drank a little??

Once we were in New York, things only sort of improved. It was great to see Izzy with my parents and to spend time with my friends, but his jet-lagged 4am wake-up times were less than ideal. We were only there for four days, so he never properly adjusted. At the end of the trip, a family friend looked at the bags under my eyes and asked, “Was it worth it?” If she had asked me this question on the plane, I would have said no immediately, but in retrospect, I would say of course! Just like giving birth, the plane was ridiculously painful, but obviously Izzy was worth every contraction (well, maybe not those last few. JK!!) and seeing him with his grandparents and watching them discover his amazing little personality and all his funny habits that I know so well, is worth the whisky bottle drama every time!

Izzy passing out in the car from the airport!!

Giveaway: Kidville Brentwood Grand Opening

Poopsie is pleased to be offering a giveaway, courtesy of Kidville Brentwood:
One lucky winner will be awarded one FREE semester at Kidville! 

To enter, simply leave a comment below telling us which Kidville class you are most excited to check-out. Please include your email address. Entries will be accepted through the end of day Wednesday, May 30th. Winner will be drawn at random and notified on Thursday, May 31th.

**If you aren’t comfortable publicly posting your email address, you can leave your comment below AND send us at email at poopsiecollective@gmail.com
*For a winner beyond the LA Area, a gift card good at any Kidville nationwide will be awarded
**Valued at approximately $500 

written by STEPHANIE

The second child often gets the shorter end of the stick when it comes to their parents’ attention. Being a second child myself, I can attest that while there are far fewer photos of me as a baby than my older brother, I turned out just fine. At least, I think I did… Feeling a bit guilty that her son wasn’t getting the same exposure to kiddie classes as her first-born, the owner of the brand-spanking-new-still-smells-of-fresh-paint Kidville Brentwood, Christy Desai, sought out classes that she and her 2 year old son could enjoy together. She saw that her new hometown of Los Angeles was missing a Kidville and hoped someone might open one up so she could reap the benefits. Then she realized that “someone” was going to have to be her.

An Angeleno by way of New York City, by way of Kansas City, Christy happened upon Kidville when living on New York’s Upper West Side. Her daughter first attended Kidville U (KVU), Kidville’s preschool alternative, followed by birthday parties, and other classes. Christy loved the warm atmosphere and admits, “Kidville really set the bar” for her expectations from a children’s educational center. Even though she had a great job at the time, working as a Talent Coordinator for The View, she fantasized about spending her day in the Kidville environment. 

With Kidville Brentwood owner, Christy Desai

Upon moving to LA and falling in love with the easy, warm lifestyle, she recognized that Los Angeles moms were savvy and appreciated quality children’s activities. Kidville and LA would make a perfect pair. With Christy’s family behind her 1,000%, her long hours have been well worth it. Even Christy’s 8 year old daughter pitched in handmaking posters to help spread the word! 

Kidville Brentwood opened its doors this week, offering free trial classes for the week of May 14th. The first of two Grand Opening Events was held this past weekend, and my family and I checked it out. One word: Adorable! It’s sort of the one-stop shopping of children’s centers, offering a gym, art studio, classes, shopping and a hair salon for the kiddos. 

If you missed last weekend’s festivities, not to worry…

Grand Opening events are this coming weekend. Enjoy a free concert, and use of the gym, art studio and salon. 

- Saturday, May 19 noon-3pm, Rockin’ Railroad Concert @ 1pm
- Sunday, May 20 noon-3pm, Rockin’ Railroad Concert @ 1pm

Kidville Brentwood
11740 San Vicente Blvd, Ste. 107
Los Angeles, CA 90049
for more information, visit: http://www.kidville.com/brentwoodla

And photos from my family’s day of play at Kidville Brentwood…

This Was My Life Before You

written by STEPHANIE

Confession: I am completely in love with Lena Dunham’s HBO sitcom, GIRLS. I find myself laughing almost start to finish, and proclaim several times every show, “She is SO good!” My husband giggles throughout, but admits that he likes it better because I love it so damn much. At the end of the first episode he asked, “So, does she write girls well?” Oh yes. Yes, she does. The show is the highlight of my week because it’s the first fresh, honest and real TV show that captures the inner workings of a woman’s mind with rawness and wit. I feel inspired after each episode to write better, because Lena writes so well. I feel more confident after each episode that I’m not alone, because there are so many utterly relate-able moments. And I eerily recognize younger versions of myself (and my friends) in the characters.

The cast of GIRLS

I moved to New York when I was 23. I was fresh out of college, starting a design program at Parsons, and I was insatiable in every way. For the first time, I felt completely untethered and recognized that my life was wholly in my hands. I felt so very, very young, in the best way possible. 

I waitressed to pay the rent. I rationed my weekly loaf of Wonderbread and stole rolls of toilet paper from public bathrooms (toilet paper is really expensive!). I lived in a flat on 18th Street & Broadway with 4 other girls (including Gwen). I interned for Marc Jacobs. I snuck backstage at concerts. I had sex in public places. I stayed out all night. I explored every corner of the city. I fell madly in love. I graduated from Parsons. I got a real job. I traveled non-stop for work. I had an expensive wardrobe. I went to fashion shows. I called my underwear “lingerie”. I moved in with my boyfriend. I got engaged. We bought a condo. I got a better job. I made a lot of money. I spent a lot of money. I got married. I got a dog. I grew up. I grew bored. I left New York. I moved to France. I got pregnant. I traveled around Northern Europe in a VW camper van. I longed for my family. I missed California. I moved to LA. I became a mother.

2007 — Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Then came a moment of sheer panic and confusion when at an uber cool LA party, an “It” girl who was popping Adderall and wearing a fedora and red lipstick asked, “And what do you do?” Too many answers flooded my mind. Unable to put together a coherent sentence, I blinked, staring out dumbly at the question. I knew what my career was, but I had left it behind in New York so many, many months ago, along with a version of myself who would have been wearing a fedora and red lipstick by now too. I knew where I’d been, but not exactly where I was at that moment. And I knew what I’d been doing (cleaning baby vomit off my left shoulder), but caring for a baby wasn’t yet an occupation I had accepted, neither as part of my identity nor as a viable job.

Now, my daughter is 18 months old. The age itself has caused me to take inventory. It came upon me so quickly. My pre-child ambitions ebbed and flowed during those 18 months with each of my daughter’s phases. Sometimes I ached for something else. I was impatient and lonely and frustrated. Other times I was utterly absorbed, unable to think of anything aside from the here and now. And then there were months when my daughter and I were completely in-synch, when I had this “motherhood” thing down pat, and I felt ready to take on projects that inched me back toward a career.

While I blindly obsessed on and off over insecurities about my new position as a stay-at-home mom, I realized, with her turning a year and half, that this has been the most valuable time of my life. Sure, over the course of my studies, career and travels, I have done a lot. I achieved. I had success. But I never contributed more to the world than I did these past 18 months, because I made a person, and that person that I’ve been diligently and lovingly caring for will go on to make her own impact on this world. How much more productive can one be? Motherhood has brought with it a wholeness that I hadn’t had in my life before. Where there was once personal ambition, now there is satisfaction. 

There is a memory that I play over and over again in my mind. It was shortly before we’d made the decision to leave New York, and I was alone in our home. I walked through the large, Williamsburg flat, running my hands along the rough exposed brick, allowing my gaze to absorb the view outside the front windows. Our narrow street was lined with beautiful trees whose branches bowed under the pregnant weight of their spring blossoms. Inside, I took in the dark wood, white walls, high ceilings and skylights. I sewed the curtains myself, along with the paisley throw pillows. Upon an orange Moroccan rug were piles of DVDs. A partially unpacked suitcase sat in the corner still from my last trip to California. My husband’s black and white photographs, our flea market furniture, street art on the walls, a shopping bag of designer clothing and farmer’s market flowers, littered the living room. I took in the well-stocked bar, rows of high heels, and heaps of dirty laundry. I wandered toward the back of the house, felt the cold bathroom tile underfoot, the pale green bedroom walls we painted with friends, and the smell of lilacs from the back garden. I thought, “This is my life before you.”    

Super Mom or Super Over-Booked?

Written by ERICA

Confession #1 of the day: I am writing this post—a post that will be published on Monday at 1am EST—at 9pm on Mother’s Day (Sunday). It is totally unlike me to leave something to the last minute like this. And as I just informed my hubby of my current situation, he looked at me with the same shock and disappointment that my parents used to display when I was in high school. And here comes the slacker guilt…

Confession #2: The reason I am scrambling to make sense of my story at 9pm on a Sunday night is because this past week, a week when I had seemingly endless amounts of free time, I totally and completely over-booked myself. I saw empty days on my calendar, I filled up those days with tons of fun activities and less-fun errands that I had been meaning to do for months. And now, here I am, exhausted, slightly brain-dead, and running way behind schedule on a Sunday night.

And the worst part is that no matter how hard I try, this isn’t the first nor will it be the last time I’ll over-book myself. But it shouldn’t be that way…

I am a planner. Always have been. I make lists. I take detailed notes. I use check boxes to track my progress. I am neurotic about updating my calendar. I set calendar reminders for literally everything. I even set calendar reminders to update my calendar. I told you. I AM A CRAY CRAY.

So it would seem that someone who is so organized about her schedule would manage to actually stay on schedule, right? I mean, it’s only logical that after dedicating so much time to managing my time, I’d be able to actually make proper use of the little free time I have. (Did you follow that? Me either.) But somehow, I go to bed at night feeling like I still have a million things to do and a bunch more that got done but could have been handled way better. And I HATE that feeling. 

I like going to bed at night feeling accomplished. I thrive on checking things off my to-do list, never to see them again. Sometimes I even write things down that I’ve already done, just so I can cross them off and reward myself for a job well done. (Oh crap, I can’t believe I said that out loud.) My deep desire for that feeling of completion is part of what made me so good at my job before I was a mom. I could’t leave things unfinished or finished in an average capacity, so everything was done on time and to the high standards that I set for myself. 

But ever since I became a mom things are different. I can’t seem to get things done nearly as efficiently as I used to. Everything seems to take longer. My to-do lists don’t work anymore. And even if I set reminders on my calendar (call the pediatrician, schedule the baby proofer, fold laundry, buy milk) thanks to Owen’s obsession with my iPhone, I rarely receive the alerts I used to rely on. Even the daily events that I thought I had on lock seem to take longer…bath time used to be so quick and easy, but tonight Owen insisted on splashing for 20 minutes and then decided to take a nice large dump in the tub right before I drained the water. His 5-minute bath became a 35-minute Operation Poop Cleanup.

And the real issue is that I still hold myself to those same standards that I used to live by when I had a handle on my own time. I want to be a super-mom. It’s not OK for me to leave the bed unmade before I leave the house for the day. I have a really hard time leaving dirty dishes in the sink, even for an hour. Owen’s toy area, though meant to be played in, is organized (and re-organized) virtually every single time he steps foot in his crib. I need to have a stocked fridge at all times and I hate seeing our hampers pile-up with dirty clothes. 

So my regular tasks have changed, my ability to manage those tasks has gone downhill, and yet, my need to get everything done (and done well) is still in full force. Anyone else smell a recipe for disaster? 

And even though most days I feel like I am setting myself up to fail, I do it anyway. I make my lists of the 20 errands I intend to run in between play dates, diaper changes, nap-time, dog-walking and blog writing. I make appointments I know I’ll be 10 minutes late for. I make half-a$$ed plans to catch up on the TV shows I am already 3 weeks behind on. And I map out delicious dinners that end up being semi-homemade when I realize I don’t have the time or energy to roast a freakin’ chicken. 

Point being, over the past 17 months I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned that I am both mellow in my mothering and neurotic in scheduling my time. I am as laid back as a mom can be, but I’m also a total over-achiever. I’ve learned that I still crave a sense of task completion at the end of the day. And I’ve learned that even if you try your best to be a super-mom who can do it all, that sense of satisfaction—knowing that I’ve done all I set out to do that day—is rare, if not impossible to achieve. It’s unfortunately just not a common occurrence when your top job is being a mom.

But if I can look back on my crazy day and know that even though I didn’t get around to everything, I did the important stuff, the stuff that made Owen smile, then I’m happy. And if I also managed to find time to take a dump and watch The Vampire Diaries, then I’m REALLY happy.

The Ultimate Mother’s Day Gift

Written by BROOKE 

Where I’ll be celebrating mother’s day…

When your kids are too young to really get it, the task of the perfect Mother’s Day gift falls to Dad. But what IS the perfect gift? Something practical? You are, after all, a MOM. Something sentimental? Or something totally indulgent? Maybe something that reminds you that you are, actually, MORE than a mother. A break, if you will, from all things “mother.” 

Indulging is how spent my first Mother’s Day. I met my two best college girlfriends in Vegas and we lived it up! Massages, dinners out, a show, laying out by the pool—oh and two of the three of us attached to the breast pump every 3-4 hours (even in the parking lot of a Las Vegas casino). Aside from the pumping, it was everything I needed as a new mom: a few days away and a little relaxation. I arrived home in time for an Italian dinner made by my fabulous husband, and felt that not only was I VERY appreciated as a mother (nothing will help your husband appreciate you more than doing your job for a few days), but I was ready to go back to being the best mom I could be. I had missed my little man and was grateful to be back home with him. 

When some of my cousins and I decided to plan a girls’ weekend this spring and someone suggested we do it over Mother’s Day weekend, I knew I had to make it happen again. So, today, I jet out to Scottsdale on my first solo flight in over 3 years. I plan on a little sleeping, a little reading while laying out, a few virgin mojitos and, oh don’t forget that 80-minute prenatal massage I booked. 

Is it selfish to ditch my family for Mother’s Day? Is it sad that I won’t get to see my son sing the adorable little song he’s been practicing at church for the past month? No, I actually think it’s the ultimate Mother’s Day gift. 

How will you celebrate?