The Poopsie Collective

Mommy Brain or Just Not the Brightest Bulb?

Written by GWEN

Every once and a while I say or do something stupid. Everyone does… right? We can’t all be brilliant all the time. I like to blame it on mommy brain—too much multi-tasking going on. Although, truth be told, I have made the occasional un-helpful comment pre-Izzy. I only bring this up now, because I did a doozy the other day and while my Mister was less than amused, I was thrown into a fit of giggles. Which reminded me of giggles past…

EXAMPLE BLUNDER 1: Pre-Baby

It’s 2005. My Mister and I have been living in London for just a few months in our newly purchased Notting Hill flat. Adam wakes up on a Monday morning to get ready for work only to find that the hot water isn’t working. Swearing ensues followed by a lot of stomping around the flat. I don’t really have a clue on how I can help, but am willing to try, so shout from the bedroom,

“Well, do you want me to call BT?”

Adam walks back into the bedroom, glares at me and says, “You could, but I don’t think the phone company will be much help on this matter.”

I mean JEEZ! I had seen a bunch of BT bills come in. It sounds like it could be the water company. I’m an AMERICAN for god’s sake!

EXAMPLE BLUNDER 2: Post-Baby

A bit of background info on this last incident. For the last several weeks our dishwasher hasn’t seemed to work very well. Every time we unload it, half the dishes are still dirty. We haven’t investigated much, just figured we were overloading. That is until, last Friday evening when Adam pulled out a still wrapped dishwasher detergent pellet and held it in front of me.

“What happened here? You didn’t unwrap this?”

“Hmmm. I guess I forgot. I was in the middle of giving Izzy dinner. Some of them you don’t have to unwrap you know.”

“Yeah, but these you do.”

“Oops.”

“This is also not actual detergent. It’s just to get rid of limescale.”

“Oh. I guess that explains why the dishes haven’t gotten very clean.”

“Yup. That and the fact that these are for the washing machine. Not the dishwasher.”

Mystery solved. You’re welcome. 

This is an example of when I (with ERICA) had the giggles big time. We were at dinner. Someone walked in on me in the bathroom. I was drunk. Erica was drunker. The next week I found out I was prego. Last hurray? Yes. Last stupid mistake? Not so much!

The Lock Out!

Written by GWEN

Well, the worst has happened! Last Sunday my mister and I took Izzy out for a late afternoon walk. We arrived back at our flat only to realize we both forgot our keys! My initial reaction was panic as to how we were going to give Izzy his dinner. The mister obviously immediately blamed me. 

“NEVER leave the flat without your keys EVER again!”

I mean didn’t he forget his too? Granted, I do tend to leave mine behind when we go out together, always relying on him, but we all make mistakes.

Come to think of it, a lot of these NEVER commands seem to have come up lately. 

“NEVER buy those crappy wipes again!”

“NEVER leave a glass of water on your night table for Izzy to spill all over the Damien Hirst EVER AGAIN!” 

Jeez. We live and learn, right?

ANYWAY, we called a locksmith and buzzed a neighbor to at least get us into the building. After waiting for about an hour in the entrance way, Adam decided we should all go up to our door and he would try and pick the lock. MMM hmmm - okay MacGyver. We made our way up and surprise surprise, the little piece of metal Adam had found by the door didn’t work. So, he asked if I had a hair pin in the diaper bag. Obviously, it’s always a hair pin. Credit cards won’t work on British doors.

So, as I went in search of a hair pin, I told Adam to watch Izzy, since they were both sitting at the top of the four stairs by our door.  As I rifled through the bag, I glanced up just in time to watch Izzy crash down all four stairs! Doesn’t sound like a lot, but I instantly pictured broken limbs and blood. I scooped him up and checked all limbs and vital signs. He cried. I cried. All I can say is thank god for carpeted stairs and Izzy’s huge puffy winter jacket. He was totally fine. Me not so much. An hour later, back safe and sound in our flat, I burst into tears about three more times. 

Now, I should back track just for a mo to reveal the ridiculous conclusion of the lock-out. Before the locksmith even arrived, but after the fall, Adam went in search of some more metal objects in the building’s entry way. He returned with some sort of pin and a random key. Pushed the key into the lock, turned it, and poof. We were in. Why there was a random key to our door on the ground floor is a mystery, on which I’d rather not speculate, but worked out pretty well for us! In conclusion, always have a key with you, or a spare hidden somewhere. AND don’t blame everything on your wife moments before you let your kid fall down the stairs. 

The miracle puffy jacket!

The Teenage Dream

Written by ERICA

Lately I’ve been feeling pretty nostalgic. And not even about my recent experiences as a new mom. Nope, I’ve been thinking about my teenage years. You know, the days of bangs and braces and acne and first kisses. Some people hated those awkward years when almost no one looked attractive (except for that one girl who always seemed to be pretty, even when everyone else was busted), but not me. I loved my teens. That Katy Perry knows what she’s talking about.

Anyway, I think my pangs of nostalgia started when I was back in NY recently for Thanksgiving. And it didn’t have anything to do with the family gathering or the mass amounts of yams I saw Owen devour for the first time (yum). Nope. It must have had something to do with being back in my hometown on the biggest party night of the year (at least in Scarsdale terms). 

I drove by the local restaurant turned bar that gets insanely crowded on the Wednesday before thanksgiving, and I passed the empty field where we used to bring cases of beer when there was no where else to go, and I passed my grandparents house (which has an amazing backyard) where I threw some of the most epic parties of all time. And all along the way I kept thinking… I had FUN here. A lot of fun. Sometimes too much fun. I caused some trouble. I was always responsible of course, which I credit 100% to my parents who always encouraged me to be honest with them and to have my fun but first and foremost be safe. But despite my responsibility, I do have distinct memories of my friends and I doing some things that if Owen ever did I’d be mortified.

And then it hit me.

OWEN IS GOING TO BE A TEENAGER. All of those things I did that give me church giggles to think about now (you know, it’s that thing, where you get so giggly thinking about something but you’re in a place where it’s inappropriate to laugh like work or the gyno or a funeral so you try so hard to keep it in and instead you just start convulsing with laughter), Owen is going to do them. And probably worse. He’s going to use fake IDs to buy beer (please let it not be Zima or wine coolers); he’s going to have parties (please let it be house parties and not clubs on South Beach); he’s going to make out in the bushes and then have to go on his summer trip the next day with a neck full of hickeys (What? No. I never did that, don’t be ridiculous).

Anyway, all of the stuff that, let’s be honest, we ALL did as teens our kids are going to do too. And times have changed; back then it was a big deal to sneak off campus to buy lunch during a free period or take a sip of beer before a homecoming dance. Now you hear about middle schoolers having sex in the bathroom at school. AT SCHOOL! And have you heard about vodka tampons??? Girls are literally soaking tampons in vodka and shoving them in their cha-cha-moons. Why? TO GET DRUNK. It’s the new rage for teens. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.

Bottom line: Owen is going to grow up and become a teenager (and eventually an adult). And potentially make some bad decisions along the way. And probably be a bit of a troublemaker from time to time. And all I can do as his mom is teach him right from wrong, be there for him even when he makes those mistakes, and explain just how disgusting vodka tampons are. 

P.S. The other day AJ and I were discussing what we think will be the first thing we do to embarrass Owen once he hits his teen years. The conversation went something like this:

Me: “I can’t really imagine us embarrassing him at all. I mean, we’re actually cool. We were cool as kids, we’re fun now. As far as parents go, we’re not at all lame.”

AJ: “Totally. I listen to Backspin on Sirius XM Radio. I wear skinny ties. I used to be an honorary member of the Wutang Clan.

Me: Yeah, and I’m a vampire slayer, a teen pop star and a REALLY good dancer.

AJ: We know what’s hip and cool.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure we just figured out how to embarrass him.”