The Poopsie Collective

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.

The Best Laid Plans of Moms and Tots Often Go Astray

written by STEPHANIE

When I woke up with death-breath, feeling like I’d been punched in the stomach by a pack of hooligans, I should have known it wasn’t going to be my day. My husband was off with friends for cicLAvia, an event in LA where 10 miles of streets are closed to cars and open only for bikes and pedestrians, and I was solo with the munchkin on this sunny, lovely past Sunday. I had high hopes for the day: 9:30am Gentle Yoga (with Marlowe in the Kids Club Gym, god bless), brunch together at home, then she’d nap, then we’d meet my friend for lunch followed by furniture shopping, and back home to meet “Dada” for our evening routines. But that isn’t how things went… 

9:30am: Gentle Yoga? Try chasing Marlowe around the house trying to get her dressed, fed, and then doing the same for myself. Decide to scrap yoga since I feel like there is a toxic tornado whirling around in my guts (p.s. I have just completed a 3-day juice cleanse, which is why my stomach and the rest of my body feel beaten up). Instead, we change course for the Beverly Hills Farmer’s Market. I put together my list, load up the canvas totes, dream about sunshine and fresh flowers, and promise Marlowe she can dance with the guitar guy who plays for the kids there. 

10:40am: Schelp out of the house, Marlowe is doing her best limp noodle move to get free in one of my arms while the other is overloaded with the diaper bag and canvas totes. 

11am: About halfway there, I peak in the rearview mirror to find Marlowe fast asleep. Sh*t! What to do…? What to do…? Go to the market, wake Marlowe, risk the rest of our day without a proper nap for her? Ugh, no. Turn around and head for home, hope she transfers to her crib and finishes out her nap? Yes. 

11:20am: Out of car, through the door, into her room, down. Success! 

11:30am: Text my friend to see if we can move our plans up and meet earlier, since Marlowe will be waking earlier than planned. She replies that she has brunch at noon so can’t meet until 2pm as planned. No problem, 2 is fine. But then I realize, if she’s brunching at noon how could she lunch at 2? Upon further texting we realize there was a misunderstanding. She can’t have lunch. We’ll just meet for shopping. Sh*t! 

Noon: Desperately searching for something to eat, as the dang cleanse left me starving but unable to eat “normally”. Marlowe starts coughing and wakes herself up. She cries on and off for 15 minutes before we both finally decide the nap is over. Sh*t! I get her up, throw her in the car and start driving back toward the farmer’s market.

12:25pm: Glance back in the rearview mirror, she appears to be asleep again at the exact same spot. Sh*t! Realizing we’ll hit the market just in time for closing (pointless), I’m forced to change course again. I turn left and head down Robertson Blvd toward a strip of shops and restaurants that might offer me a chance to eat something. Le Pain Quotidien = perfect! Healthy and easy with kids.

12:30pm: I drive around a few times, find a spot but the parking signs are ridiculous and my brain doesn’t have enough fuel to process the information. I’m pretty sure my car is going to be towed. Sh*t! Marlowe is already out of her carseat and there’s no way I can get her back in to find another spot. While I really want to sit with her and have a civilized lunch, I opt instead for take-out and we can eat in the backyard. I will salvage this day yet!

Yes, I took a photo. 

12:35pm: Inside Le Pain, everyone is smitten with Marlowe and her pigtails. She delights in the attention by waving and making eye contact. I splurge and order a coffee, which I’ve been without for 5 days while cleansing and prepping for the cleanse. It took me a week to get off the caffeine, which was BRUTAL, but I could really use the comfort and optimism of a delicious cup right now. Marlowe plays with some free magazines near the door while I doctor up my half-caff, feeling righteous over my choice of soy milk and agave instead of cream and raw sugar. Take my first sip, fight back literal tears of disappointment. It’s disgusting. Not sure if it’s the soy & agave combo or just my post-cleanse taste buds messing with me. Either way, Sh*t!

12:45pm: Food & Marlowe with one arm, hot gross coffee in other. Arrive at parking spot, car is still there, breathe sigh of relief and try to regain my composure. I get the food in the front seat, Marlowe in the back, apologize to her for being a grump, and she responds by puckering her lips and giving me a dramatic air kiss. She’s giggling, all seems ok. Then I try to put her back in the carseat and she loses it completely. Full fledged meltdown ensues. Sh*t! I fight both her and more tears for a minute, then give up. She immediately smiles. I put her in the front seat, get in the driver seat, and eat lunch just like that. She’s thrilled and a few bites into my lunch, when my blood sugar returns to a normal level, I am too. 

She ate all the radishes and only the radishes. Weirdo, right? 

12:55pm: Text from my friend comes up. She has to move things back because someone showed up an hour late for brunch. Sh*t! I was planning to head straight to meet her from here, but now I have to kill too much time. Decide we’ll just go home for a bit. I have to pee pretty badly anyway. 

1:20pm: Get home, pee, diaper change, zone out for an episode of Sesame Street.

2:30pm: Back in car.

3pm: Meet up with my friend, we’re both pretty drained, plus Marlowe is a nightmare. She won’t stay in her stroller, she won’t let us carry her or hold her hand. Sh*t! She wants to sit on every chair in the giant furniture showroom. She intentionally runs up to glass objects, puts her hand on them, then looks back to make sure I’m watching. Little devil.

4pm: We’re both hungry and Marlowe is making furniture shopping a tad unpleasant. We decide to get a snack. I realize Marlowe’s lovey isn’t in the diaper bag, not in the stroller either, and I know I took it with us from the car. Sh*t! It’s lost. This is bad. 

4:10pm: All in my car, I make a quick stop at the showroom’s front desk, maybe someone found the lovey and turned it in. Yes, they’ve seen it, it was there, but where has it gone now? Sh*t! The guys asks a few other people all equally disinterested in the task, and as I’m feeling a cold, sweaty, panic of helpless loss waft over me someone FINALLY remembers and pulls it out of a back room. I nearly cry again, but this time tears of joy. 

4:20pm: Park, get into the restaurant, order, sit, eat, feeling human again. My friend makes me laugh so hard I nearly pee in my pants when she suggests that maybe the cleanse was a bad idea and when I get home my husband and I should eat chocolate cake and have sex, like a couple of Fat Feeder Fettishists. Yes, it’s a real thing and it’s shocking. Don’t look it up. Actually, do look it up. 

4:45pm: Heading for home, Marlowe nods off, wish I could do the same. Feeling better and thankful for a friend that makes me laugh so hard I can forget this sh*tty day. All in all, just goes to show that the best laid plans often go astray.

Brotherly Love

Written by BROOKE

My husband and I are both close to our siblings. Not like crazy, talk on the phone ten times a day close, but close as in we can stay in a house for a week with our siblings, not kill each other and have a really good time. I think we’re really lucky that we both like each other’s families. I love it and I feel happy that my kids will know their cousins well because we all get along and enjoy spending time together. 

But it wasn’t always that way in my family. My siblings and I didn’t always get along. We fought. A lot. And violently. (Kid violently, not like sociopath violently). At least my brother closest in age and I did, and I’m pretty sure the others did too. I was 7 and 11 years older than the other two, so we didn’t fight quite as much. But I can’t say we liked each other. Sure, I have memories of us having fun together and doing fun things. But I have a lot of memories of us screaming and hitting. And then I left for college. And when we weren’t all under the same roof things started to change. We got along a lot better. And now that three of the four of us are married with kids I’d say we’re even closer. We now have more in common. 

But I don’t want my kids to be adults before they like each other.  How do I make them like each other now? I’d say at 2 and 4 they are about 60/40 as in 60% of the time they are fighting and 40% of the time they are getting along fabulously. I blame the 4 year old mostly because he’s crazy possessive of things right now and can’t learn how to share. But the 2 year old isn’t blameless. I mean, he has learned how to push his brother’s buttons. You should see the devilish look on his face when he grabs one of Zach’s cars and runs out of the room with it. 

I keep telling Zach, “this is your BROTHER; he should be your best friend!” But his response is always, “he is NOT my best friend, WILL is my best friend.” I don’t know how to teach them to love each other. I know that fighting is inevitable; I mean I don’t think there are siblings on the planet that never fought. But I look at kids who were best friends with their siblings even in high school and I envy that. I want that for my kids. I’m just not sure how to get us there (and I have a feeling yelling “LOVE YOUR BROTHER” might not be working). 

But there are those moments… like last night when they took forever to go to sleep because they were giggling and being silly in their room. Or when I come get them at the gym and they are laying on the ground together coloring as if they really are best friends. Those are the moments when I think I might have a chance. 

Brothers AND best friends? We’re working on it…

The Most Beautiful Mother I Have Ever Known

Guest Written by JESSICA ERICKSON

Sharlie and Harrison. Some people come into your life and you know, somehow or another, because of them you will never be the same.

Meet Sharlie. She is my earth angel. She is the most beautiful mother I know.

When I met Sharlie over 25 years ago, I had no idea how she would change my life and my heart. I had no idea how much she would teach me about love, courage, joy and compassion. And in those 25 years, we’ve laughed till we cried, we’ve fought like 13 year old girls, we’ve experienced first loves, real loves, and now motherhood together.

Sharlie’s influence has been a vital part in my “kind-of-mother-I-want-to-be” file that I keep tucked away in my heart. 

She radiates love.

She loves to laugh.

She is joyful and selfless.

She is courageous.

Being a mother is a miracle for Sharlie. And on those days, when I need to remember that my children are a miracle (and not a curse), I think of her.

Born with Cystic Fibrosis, a chronic, degenerative, terminal disease, at the age of 26 doctors advised Sharlie not to continue with her pregnancy. However, she was born with a mother’s heart, not just CF—and she fought every day of that pregnancy to bring her sweet Harrison into the world. Now, almost 5 years later—she lives to be a wife and mother. 

Sharlie survives on 17% function of one lung. She struggles for every breath. She now wears oxygen day and night. And right now, she is waiting for a new chance at life—a double lung and heart transplant.

When your best friend has a life threatening/degenerative/terminal illness such as Cystic Fibrosis, you spend days, weeks, months, YEARS feeling helpless, like there is nothing you can do to make it all better. And really, all this time, all I could do was pray and be there when she needed me. But this is different. She is a wife. She is a mother. She is a fighter. But she is sick. And finally, there is something I can do. We have been told the transplant, rehabilitation and related expenses could exceed insurance coverage by several hundred thousand dollars. This, I can do.

How can I not?

Want to help? Here’s how:

1. Visit Sharlie’s Give Forward page and make a donation. There you will find more information about Sharlie and her family. Even the smallest donation helps!

2. Visit the shop that my sister and I set up: Shop for Sharlie. You can buy patterns, tutorials, printables all for $5 that will be sent to your email address within 24 hours. Every last penny goes to Shar.

3. If you will be in the San Diego area on November 5th, join us for Air Supply: Filling Lungs with Love—a benefit for Sharlie. There will be food, live and silent auctions, music, and fun for the whole family. Come to participate in all the fun, but if you would also like to volunteer, just let me know!

4. Leave Sharlie a message of support on her blog (and prepare to be inspired by her courageous words!)

5. Of course, keep Sharlie and her family in your prayers. She has told me several times how much lighter her burden feels and that she knows all the prayers offered on her behalf play a huge part in that.

Watching the community, friends, family members, and total strangers rally around Sharlie at this delicate time in her life has helped me to realize how lucky I am to call her my friend, and what a blessing it is to watch her mother in patience, joy, and love.

Why I Run

written by BROOKE

It’s 11:30pm, my head finally hits the pillow.

It’s 2:30am, Zach has to pee.

It’s 4:30am, Brady needs a bottle.

It’s 5am, the dog wants to go outside.

Then it’s 5:30am, where is that annoying song coming from?!

Right, my alarm. Why? I ask myself this every morning. Go back to bed. I could get at least another hour of sleep. But I can’t do that. Something very precious hangs in the balance between getting out of bed or pulling the covers back over my face. My sanity. My actual sanity hangs in the balance.

It’s the difference between “I can face the day and my world” and “I can’t deal with life”. Partly, it’s the exercise. But the bigger part is what I love and crave more than anything: A full hour of getting to talk (Except for that one hill, which seems some mornings to be eternal, we push. My legs turn and burn, my lungs call out for more air. It teases, with a lull in the middle, and we sometimes pick the conversation back up. But mostly we silently sweat and  curse and sometimes I wonder why exactly I got out of bed that morning. But then, after what seems like an hour in itself, we hit the top and I remember…).

For 50 minutes (longer on our Saturdays), I get to talk without anyone hanging on my leg, without a cell phone ringing, without an “excuse me, Mom?” (he tries so hard to be polite). I love it. We gossip. We whine. We sympathize. We solve the world’s problems. We analyze our kids, our husbands, our mothers. We challenge each other and push each other to new levels. And, best of all, when I come home and my little one says, “Hi mom! You have a good run?” I know we’re going to have a good day.

What do you do to stay sane?