The Poopsie Collective

Recipe: Roasted Lemon Garlic Herb Shrimp

Written by GWEN 

Today I received an email from one of my FAVE fellow yummy mummies - a mother of twin girls. She is an AMAZING chef and I trust her on everything to do with food, babies and most things really! 

ENJOY… a la Natalia.

ROASTED LEMON GARLIC HERB SHRIMP

Source: Cinnamon Spice & Everything Nice

Prep Time: 20 minutes

Cook Time: 20 minutes

Total Time: 40 minutes

Yields: 3-4 servings

Ingredients:

1/3 cup olive oil

1 lemon, zested then half cut into thin slices and other half into wedges

3-4 fresh thyme sprigs, leaves removed

sea or kosher salt and fresh black pepper

spaghetti/pasta, couscous or rice for serving

2 tablespoons butter

1 pound fresh shrimp, medium-sized, deveined with tails off

5 cloves garlic, minced

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. In an 8x8 glass baking pan combine olive oil, lemon zest and thyme. Olive oil should liberally cover the bottom of the pan, if it doesn’t drizzle in a little more. Season with salt and pepper. Bake in oven for 10-12 minutes, checking every few minutes, if it looks like it is getting too brown remove and proceed to next step. Meanwhile cook pasta, drain and toss with a pat of butter or olive oil.

2. Remove pan from oven, add butter and move it around a little to melt, add shrimp, garlic and the thin sliced lemons (don’t squeeze them), toss to coat with oil mixture. Bake for 8-10 more minutes or until shrimp turn pink and just start to curl, check often. Serve over pasta, couscous or rice tossed with additional extra-virgin olive oil and fresh-squeezed lemon with additional lemon wedges for serving.

Note: Adapted from Fine Cooking

This Stubborn Mom Seeks Help

Written by ERICA 

There are some (ok, fine, MANY) aspects of pregnancy and motherhood that are absolutely terrifying. The obvious: childbirth, your/the baby’s health, the potential pain, the exhaustion, and the unknown. And the less obvious: picking a name, figuring out how to remove poop stains from clothes, keeping your kids entertained at all times and selecting baby gear. The bad news is that some things you simply can’t plan for. Sh*t happens, literally. The good news is, when it comes to prepping your home/life for your nugget, you absolutely CAN and should be informed. And it’s not nearly as painful as you’d think, as long as you seek some help. 

Let me start by admitting something that I rarely do, let alone put in print. I am stubborn. (I immediately regret that confession and I’m pretty sure I’ll never win another argument without an accusation of being inflexible.) Anyway, I’m really only stubborn when I truly think I know what’s best. So I guess the problem isn’t my being rigid when it comes to decision-making, it’s the fact that I’ve convinced myself I know more than I do on several topics.

One of those topics just happens to be motherhood. 

It stated when I was pregnant and I convinced myself that I knew everything I needed to know about baby gear. And it’s not that I knew anything about strollers or cribs or diaper genies. I didn’t. I was familiar with about 2 stroller brands that I had seen other West Village moms sporting and that’s it. But what I was certain of was that I didn’t need to attend any informational events or seminars. They would be nothing but a waste of my time—time I didn’t have since I was working a lot on top of my baby prep. I decided I’d figure it all out in my own way; after all, that’s what friends and online reviews are for. And I did figure it all out, eventually; but it was overwhelming, and exhausting, and on numerous occasions I nearly burst into tears while debating the logic behind purchasing 4 different strollers for one baby.

Turns out, there was absolutely no reason for me to brave the baby world on my own. And it wasn’t until recently when working at the Big City Moms The Biggest Baby Shower Ever in Miami that I realized just how stubborn and wrong I had been.

I was working at the event on behalf of Munchkin Fun, an amazing online kids calendar and parenting directory in Miami. I’m a little ashamed to admit that this was the first mommy/pre-natal event I had ever been to, ever. And I’m not even pregnant. For those of you who don’t know about Big City Moms, and if you’re a mom or mom-to-be, you should, it is a social event group and parenting resource in New York City (hopefully expanding to other markets). Big City Moms hosts everything from meet-and-greets for pregnant women to informative seminars on potty training. All the types of events that I decided to stay away from when I was pregnant but that I wish I had embraced instead.

And after working at The Biggest Baby Shower Ever, I can vouch that their events are AMAZING. Not sure what kind of stroller to buy? Yeah, neither was I. No problem, check out every new model from all the major brands on their stroller test track. Wish you knew more about cord blood banking? (I still have no freakin’ clue what it is or why I spent thousands of dollars on it.) Or car seats? Or stretch mark cream? It’s ALL THERE. Everything you might ever need to wrap your head around as a new mom is in one room. Yes, that room is also filled with an insane amount of estrogen and pregnancy cravings, which might be a turn-off to an outsider; but where else could you enjoy free candy and treats while also booking babysitters for a much-needed mom’s night out? 

Working at the BCM Biggest Baby Shower Ever…Surrounded by pregnant women and candy. 

Here’s what I learned: there is a difference between being so prepared that you don’t need help and being ignorant. I thought I was the first, but I’m starting to think I was the latter. 

And here’s something else I learned that a lot of new moms don’t realize (or choose to ignore): being overwhelmed and totally clueless doesn’t end when you pop that kid out. It’s not unique to stroller shopping or pre-natal skin care. It actually gets WORSE when you have a child. All of a sudden you’re not stressed about find the right stroller, you’re stressed about finding the right place to take that stroller after hours of nothing but tummy time and pooping. 

It was when we first moved to Miami that I realized I had NO IDEA what to do with my son. The days of him finding me, and just me, entertaining were gone. And I was in a new city, desperate to meet new people and even more desperate for activities to keep us both busy and not missing our NYC life. Luckily for me (and for you) I soon discovered the coolest resource for families in Miami. 

Munchkin Fun is the answer to the “I’ve had a kid, I’ve figured out how to change a diaper and I’ve mastered feeding time, now what?” dilemma. It is the answer to the “ugh it’s raining out and our playdate cancelled and I literally cannot be stuck inside with my kid for one more minute before I implode” problem. 

This online kids calendar/e-newsletter was created for one simple reason–-to help you discover things to do with your family. The founder, Valerie Schimel, knew there were fun things to do with her kids, she just didn’t have the time or patience, like so many moms (guilty!), to sort through 30 websites and make 15 calls to find out where and when to hang out with her kids. And since there wasn’t a go-to resource with everything a Miami mom might need to know, she created one. And thank god she did, because I literally cannot plan my week without it. 

Moral of the story? There are resources out there. Check them out and let them help you; don’t be stubborn like a certain Poopsie writer who learned this the hard way. Because trust me, with the right advice, ideas, inspirations and help your day as a mom can go from awesomely stressful to, well, just plain awesome.

CLICK HERE for more information on Big City Moms and their upcoming Biggest Baby Shower events (next up, NYC on May 9th).

And if you’re in the Miami, Broward or Palm Beach areas, CLICK HERE to learn more and sign up for the Munchkin Fun newsletter! You won’t be sorry!

When Should They Stop Seeing ME Naked?

Written by BROOKE 

On the heels of Erica’s nudity clause for our kids, comes a discussion I recently had at, of all things, a baby shower. 

It started when I ran into a girlfriend one day at Wal-Mart. I love running into friends at Wal Mart because it takes away some of the shame, like ahh, I’m not the only one!  Anyway, my girlfriend tells me she’s glad she ran in to me because she has a question for me. She has two sons, both a little younger than mine. And she asks me, right there in the Wal Mart aisle (another reason I love that place), at what age I stopped letting them see me naked. When I stopped? I raised my eyebrows. I’m not supposed to let them see me naked? ‘Cuz I’m pretty sure we all three took a shower together yesterday. Is that weird? 

So we decided to raise the question with some more friends. A few nights later, at the baby shower, we brought it up again. This time with a whole group of moms who all have boys (we decided girls didn’t count) who ranged from babies to six years old. A few of the moms had stopped letting their kids see them naked. The rest of us had not. So the question stands, when do you stop letting them see you naked? 

One friend just started telling her kids to get out of the room because “mom needs some privacy now.” She didn’t make it weird, which I liked, she just made a request for privacy. But I could hear Zach now, “why mommy?” After all, my kids gather round to check out my poop.  One friend said hers naturally got shy about it and would turn around if he walked in while she was naked. But knowing my little exhibitionist that would never happen, nakedness is not weird to him. And I guess that’s my question, should it be? Will it be? I mean I don’t want to traumatize him. I certainly don’t want him to have vivid memories of me naked. But I also don’t want to make it a “thing” where nakedness is weird or naughty or something. I mean, it’s just my body and nothing could be more non-sexual than a mother’s body, right? 

Brady in the tub… what’s a little nudity when it means I get to share bath time with that face?

The answer, for me at least, is that it’s still ok. For us, for now. I’m sure it will change some day. There will be a time when he will absolutely cringe at the thought of seeing his mom naked. But for now, I will enjoy the absolute innocence of my four year old. And since, in a household full of boys, I know there will be a day when they yell “eww, MO-OM” if I even dare to leave my bathroom in my underwear, I’m going to enjoy the fact that for at least the next little while, I can walk around naked with no complaints. And I’ll remind myself that I’ll have many years of audience free poops and empty showers and that some day I might miss those little visitors (ok, not for poop, I don’t think I’ll ever miss an audience for poop). 

Readers, how about you? Do your kids still see you naked? How and when did you stop? 

Developmental Phases: When Is It Time To…

Written by ERICA

Recently I looked at my baby boy as he legit said “I WUV YOU” and hugged me, and I realized, holy crapola, this is no baby. Owen is a BIG BOY. He is growing up, and fast. 

I mean, I’ve known it’s happening all along; it’s not like I was expecting to birth a 5 lb nugget and have him stay that way forever. That would be creepy. The fact that Owen is growing and developing isn’t the scary part. The hard part to swallow isn’t that our kids are changing, it’s that we as moms have to change with them.

When your kids become toddlers you, as a mom, have to up your A-game. The same old tricks that used to soothe/entertain your munchkin no longer cut it, and the activities/behaviors/milestones that you never used to think about suddenly become important, if not imminent. And as a first-time mom who’s never done this whole toddler thing before, I’m often not really sure what to do, or more accurately, when to do it. These days I’m wondering, when is it time to…

Introduce Utensils

My general attitude towards parenting has been very laid back from day one. I let Owen show me when he’s ready for something; we give it a try, if it doesn’t work, no biggie, we’ll get there. This mentality applied to the bottle-to-sippy-cup transition when he turned one. And the same rule applies to utensils. I am hesitant to introduce them, mostly because they make things messy(er). Not that eating with your hands is neat. 10 times out of 10 Owen looks like he was in a food fight after his finger-licking-good meal. But add a spoon to the equation and I’m pretty sure my clothes, my walls and my dog will pay the price. So I‘m fighting it. But lately Owen has literally been grabbing my fork out of my hand and feeding himself some chicken. I guess no hands dessert contests are out of the question and it’s time to teach him how to hold a fork? 

Get a Haircut

Owen has a mullet. Or maybe it’s a rat-tail. Or a little of both.  It’s basically a comb-over on top, with some wings on the sides, and a party in the back. But I just cannot get myself to cut it. It’s not that I’m opposed to toddler haircuts for any reason. I know he needs one. And bad. But it’s his baby boy hair. Once it gets cut, it’s gone. You can’t get those curly strands of innocence back. Plus, 90% of kid haircuts I see look like Lloyd from Dumb and Dumber.  

Comb-over, check. Wings, check. And I promise you, there is a Jew-fro in the back.

Censor Your Language

I curse. Often. I can’t help it. I’m known to be a bit of a pottymouth, which I’m generally OK with. I can turn it off when necessary (at work, interviews, around super conservative old people). But now that Owen has started mimicking everything I say or do, I’m in a bit of a pickle. I have this vision of Owen’s first real phrase being “MOM WHERE’S MY F-ING MILK?” I think it might be time to watch what I say around him. And since I’m ALWAYS around him, I guess I better just eliminate the F-bomb from my vocabulary. F*cking fabulous.

Take Swimming Lessons

Owen LOVES to swim. Well, he doesn’t know how to swim. But he loves water. He freaks out (in a good way) in the tub. He practically drinks pool water he splashes so much into his mouth. I’m fairly certain he would do a major cannonball into the deep end (and never come back up) if I let him. But the kid is only 16 months old. He just learned where his penis is. Part of me feels like it’s too soon to ask him to kick or hold his breath or launch face first into the arms of a swim teacher. The other part of me knows he’s ready, and the sooner he learns to swim the sooner I can stop worrying he’s about to drown anytime we’re within 20 feet of a body of water.

Get Rid of Old Toys

I’m not a hoarder. I swear. I am actually a neat freak. I tidy up incessantly. Everything, including Owen’s toys, have a place. His balls are in one bin, his blocks in another, and his musical toys in a third. And as he grows two things are happening in the toy department: 1) he gets A LOT of new toys (guilty, but he needs them, for his development!) and 2) he gets bored with old toys. So the new toys get lots of play and the old toys gather dust. Logic would say that I should retire his old toys, either put them in storage or donate them. Which I would do, except that every once in a while he’ll rediscover an old tambourine and fall deeply in love with it all over again. How can I get rid of something he might want to play with down the road? No, I can’t. I think I’ll just save EVERYTHING, just in case. (Crap, am I becoming a hoarder?)

Discipline

Owen happens to be a really well behaved, happy kid (I’m sure it has nothing to do with my mothering, and everything to do with an innate, laid-back personality). So there haven’t been many situations to date where he needs disciplining. He is a good sleeper, a good sharer and a really good eater. But he’s also super curious and getting really good at exploring those curiosities. Like today when he figured out how to use the ottoman as a step and climb up to our media console. I turned around just as he grabbed our Baccarat vase (a wedding present). I’m fairly certain I should have yelled, but instead I snapped a picture. It seemed like either a good time to scold him or an amazing photo opp. I opted for the latter. I’m just not ready to be mean mommy. And yes, I know that’s going to bite me in the a$$ later. 

He’s officially a climber… nothing is safe. Well, that’s just fan-freakin-tastic.

Have your own advice/thoughts/insights to share? Or have your own doubts and questions for the Poopsie community? Email us at poopsiecollective@gmail.com or post a comment here!

Raising a Nice Boy, Not an A$$hole

Written by ERICA

When I first found out I was pregnant, it didn’t dawn on me that I might have a boy. I am one of two girls, I have two adorable nieces, and for a short period of time most of my friends were welcoming baby girls. And while I had a hard time picturing myself surrounded by pink, ballerinas and baby dolls, I had an equally hard time imagining myself with a baby boy. I guess the truth is that I had a hard time accepting that I was old enough to have a child…girl or boy. I mean, I just had my bat mitzvah. I’m barely old enough to have sex. I am most certainly not old enough to have a baby. 

Note: if MTV’s Teen Mom has taught us anything, a bat mitzvah girl could absolutely have sex and a baby. Also, my bat mitzvah was over 16 years ago. So, yeah, there’s that.

Anyway, as my pregnancy progressed I started to only picture myself with a little dude in my arms. And at week 12 when we had our CVS test (without a doubt one of the scariest, most emotional and, thankfully, happiest days of my life), we got confirmation that within my womb there was, indeed, a tiny, healthy penis developing, among other organs. I cried because the baby was healthy, AJ cried because the healthy baby just happened to be male. He explained later that night that it was like hitting the first shot of a one-and-one free-throw attempt in basketball. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes heavily in response to his comparison.

Anyway, it was official. We were having a boy. We were both THRILLED. I laughed hysterically every time an ultrasound technician made jokes about the size of our son’s male parts (sick senses of humor, those ultrasound techs). But at the same time that we were ecstatic, I also wondered what it would be like to have a son. Everyone told me that sons are typically mama’s boys. They’re easier. I was lucky, because girls can be b*tchy and boys LOVE their mommies. But I wasn’t sold. I had never spent time around a baby boy before. I really had no idea what to expect. 

And here’s what I’ve found…everyone was right. Owen is obsessed with me. I’m not saying that in a conceited way. It is a fact. He cannot get enough of my hugs. He’s not clingy, but when he sees my face he comes running at me with a snuggle that just makes my heart explode. As much as my little guy loves to play, explore, rough house, run around and cause trouble, he without a doubt LOVES HIS MOMMY.

Best buds who do everything together…even sip in unison.

And I love him more than anything. Even more than I thought I would. I mean, I knew I would adore him, but I didn’t know I’d also really LIKE him. He’s funny, and fun, and so dang sweet. And even on days when I don’t speak to another adult human being all day long, I’m OK with it. He’s great company.

But here is where things are starting to get complicated. Every time Owen gives me a big wet smooch I squeeze him as hard as I can and I’m tempted to say “no woman will ever love you like I do.” I want to scream that he is the most delicious boy I’ve ever snuggled. I accidentally/on purpose call Owen “handsome” regularly and I coo that he is too amazing for words when he does pretty much anything, including poop which requires absolutely zero skill. 

I can’t help it! And I think am in trouble. I think I might be becoming one of those moms who raises a specific breed of male; the kind of male that I HATE. You know the type: the cocky bastard who thinks that his sh*t don’t stink. The kind of guy who in high school walked around like he owned the place, and the kind of young man who at 22 got a job in investment banking and said crap like “I COULD BUY YOU” to other people. (Yes, that happened. Some douche said it to AJ at a bar shortly after college. I wonder if he had a god complex or anything.) 

Those guys are a$$holes. True, girls can definitely be b*tchy, but guys can be a$$wipes. Owen CANNOT become an a-hole!

Is this the face of an a-hole or a nice guy? I mean how could that angel face ever be anything other than sweet?

I mean, I don’t want him to be too nice. Let’s be honest, nice guys get walked all over. But I also don’t want him to be a jerk. I want him to know every day how much I love him and how special he is, but I’d also love him to exhibit some humility. 

I’d love a son who has manners, who respects all people, who loves animals, who can be funny and inappropriate and irreverent without being disrespectful. A son who can laugh and make others laugh. Who graciously accepts compliments and gives credit where credit is due. A guy who can play hard and work hard, but can also fail, learn from his mistakes and move on. A guy who appreciates beautiful things but doesn’t care too much about appearances. A guy who is sweet and sassy. And most importantly, a guy who knows that his sh*t does, in fact, stink. (I’ve cleaned it about 8 million times. I KNOW.)

Realizing what I would like Owen to become as a person is the easy part. Figuring out how to get him there is hard.

I’m starting small. Teaching him to say “I love you,” to give hugs, to say “hi” when he walks into a room and “bye” when he leaves. I’m teaching him to say “thank you” and not just to the nice women at Dunkin Donuts who let me cut the line and give him free munchkins. I’m trying desperately to watch what I say around him (so far I have completely failed) so that maybe his first full phrase won’t be “WHAT THE F*CK!” Like I said, small stuff. 

I’m sure eventually (and probably sooner than I expect) I’ll have to practice some actual discipline to ensure Owen stays the same sweet, delicious, nice boy he is now. And maybe (definitely) at some point in his childhood/pubescent years/adult life he will act like a jerk to someone. Probably me. And as hard as it is for me to imagine my little nugget not running into my arms for some QST (quality snuggle time), I know that day will come too. One day he’ll be embarrassed by me, and will definitely be mortified by this blog. He’ll look at me and say “moooommmmm-uhhh” instead of “I wuvvvv youuuu” and will squirm out of my arms instead of into my hug. And that’s all OK. As long as that phase passes with time and he comes out on the other end a nice boy. I’d even be OK with some devious behavior from time to time… I mean hello, I did get thrown out of tennis camp. Just please, let him not be an a$$hole.

OK, fine. He looks a little pissed here. Maybe he could be a jerkoff one day. I love you Owen! Never change! Always stay sweet and loving! Don’t be an a-hole!

The Nudity Clause

Written by ERICA

The other day one of my fave flicks, Notting Hill, was on TV. I mean what’s not to love about Hugh Grant’s floppy hair and charmingly dorky demeanor? Anyway, there’s a scene when Julia Roberts’ character is explaining how nudity clauses work in acting contracts. “You may show the dent at the top of the artist’s buttocks, but neither cheek…” Apparently, actors are extremely stringent when it comes to their bodies being exposed. 

And this got me thinking… there are such strict rules of conduct when it comes to adult nudity, on film and in real life. True, these rules are not the same in all cities and they are certainly not respected in all areas, like say, South Beach. Basic fundamentals of appropriate attire just don’t count down here; fat people walk around in booty shorts, old ladies wear crocheted tops and some people don’t bother to wear anything at all. And they think it’s OK because they’re near the beach, or because it’s hot out, or because they have zero sympathy for the people around them. 

Anyway, point being that while many people choose to (unfortunately) ignore the rules of appropriate attire in public places, the rules exist nonetheless. But the thing is, the rules really only apply to adults. It seems to me they don’t really kick in until puberty. There don’t seem to be any guidelines when it comes to how (or where) we dress (or undress) our kids. 

And I’m not necessarily saying there should be, at least up to a certain age. I mean, these are babies we’re talking about. But lately I’ve been having this funny feeling that Owen is actually a lot older than I choose to believe. Like, I still have this urge to tell people he’s 4 months old and then I see him next to a 4-month-old and I nearly piss myself because he looks and acts like such a mature mini-human, far from a baby. And there are times when I let that mature mini-human walk around naked after a diaper change or pre-bath, grabbing his balls and screaming “MOM!” at the top of his tiny lungs. Is that OK? Are baby balls kosher when you have company over or you’re in a public park? I used to think nudity was OK, because nothing is cuter than a wrinkly, naked, baby butt. But maybe Owen is approaching the age when I need to teach him to cover up.

Can you say blackmail? But honestly, what’s cuter than a teeny tiny tushy?

And the more I think about it the more I think we need a nudity clause for kids. Some sort of mutually agreed upon passage that dictates when it is OK, and when it is unsuitable for a child to be in the buck. Because honestly there are a lot of situations lately when I’m just not certain if I’m dancing right along the line of cuteness or if I’m jumping way over the edge into inappropriate. 

For example, Owen’s new favorite trick is showing his belly button… “Owen, where’s your belly button?” and then he lifts his shirt up almost over his head and starts poking at his ambiguous innie/outie nubbin. It’s precious. When does that stop being cute? I mean if you asked me to show you my belly button I’d kick you in the crotch and say grab your own belly button, sicko. And if someone asked a 5 year old to do the same thing it would also be creepy. So when is it no longer OK to ask your child to undress in public?

Or at a park or playground when Owen decides to drop a deuce at the top of the slide and needs a quickie diaper change. Do I need to take him to the car? Or back home? Is it OK to do the deed on a park bench? I still do, but something about it feels weird. Suddenly I am a little embarrassed for Owen when I realize I’m wiping his a$$ in front of complete strangers. 

Nudey nap-time in France. OK in my book because we were on private property and he was only 6 months old. But now I’m not so sure that would fly…

And another example when this dilemma popped into my mind: at a public pool. We were swimming, and when we were done Owen was in desperate need of a dry diaper and clothes. Should I take him inside into a private changing area? I looked around and saw kids a few years older than Owen dropped trou right there, out in the open. I was trying to give Owen a little privacy but everywhere I looked baby balls were blowing in the wind. And so I did it too, I mean I’m not going to be the only idiot who schleps her soaking wet kid inside to change. But at a certain point that has to be a no-no, right? When? Because I really don’t want to be that mom who’s son is still walking around naked at the age of 15. 

Currently the only real consequence of Owen’s nudity (at home in particular) is that once in a while he decides to just let it all go and take a major piss while walking around the apartment. Thankfully he’s always avoided the rug and only hit the hardwood floor. And at first I laugh (unless the pee is on me), then I diaper up, then I clean up. But eventually there will be bigger consequences. Like say, judgment from anyone who witnesses the flashing. Or when Owen one day asks that dreaded question of why mommy doesn’t have that same dangly thing between her legs… 

But when does that all happen? How many more months of naked baby butt freedom do we have left? And can someone please help me write a nudity clause for kiddos? 

The Only Thing to Fear is Fear Itself: Keeping Your Phobias a Secret

Written by ERICA

I’m not the type of person to scare easily. At least, not when faced with things that logic deems scary. Events, experiences, threats and challenges that some people might be terrified of just don’t seem to frighten me. I’m comfortable with heights (we live on the 26th floor). I’m not freaked out by germs. I was never, not even for second, nervous about childbirth.  I’m not scared of blood, needles, flying or trying new foods. I may have no appetite for cow tongue or foie gras, but thanks to AJ’s encouragement over the years I’d say I’m pretty open to trying most cuisines. I don’t sit up at night fearing natural disasters or worrying about terrorism, and if AJ didn’t remind me that I’m a mother with a primary responsibility to be there (as in, physically there, alive and well) for my son, I’d happily go skydiving 5 minutes ago. Those things just don’t scare me.

Know what scares me? BIRDS. And SHARKS. And, generally speaking, anything living under water other than mermaids and the Bubble Guppies.

I’ll start with birds… they are DISGUSTING. They are dirty, ugly, disease-carrying, creepy flying objects that can lurk above you unknowingly and swoop down at any given moment to peck your eyes out. They have claws. They travel in packs. They are TERRIFYING. My fear started when I watched Hitchcock’s The Birds at way too young an age. I will literally walk an entire block out of my way to avoid a mass of pigeons and if there is a black crow anywhere in my horizon I freak. 

Here we are, all smiles at a place called PARROT JUNGLE. As in, a place where you pay to be surrounded by parrots. Amazing for kids, for moms with bird phobias, not so much. But, as it goes, I sucked it up for my kid.

Next up, sharks. I mean, this one is obvious…they eat people. They can open their death-trap mouths and chomp your leg off as if it were a boneless BBQ chicken wing. And instead of attacking from above, they swim below you, watching you flap around in the water and when they get a whiff of something tasty (blood, pee, laughter) they leap out of the water and BAM. You’re dead. This phobia shares a similar path to my bird history: I saw Jaws too young and now I basically have a panic attack if I’m in a body of water where I can’t see below me (including a fresh water lake, which I am aware makes absolutely no sense). And as for the rest of the underwater wildlife, I was stung by a jellyfish as a kid, and fish are slimy. The end.

I guess it’s not entirely surprising that I have strange fears in my adult life; apparently as a kid I had weird irrational fears too, such as ceiling fans, sand and lizards. I’d walk into restaurants as a child ducking for dear life if a fan was on, and when I was maybe 1 year old my mom plopped me on a towel in the middle of nothing but sand because she knew I couldn’t/wouldn’t go anywhere. Note to self: not a good idea unless your child is in the shade or basted in zinc.

Anyway, point being, I’ve always had strange things that scared me. Not normal things like public speaking, the dark, heights, illness or death. I’m scared of weird, illogical things that aren’t actually a direct threat in any way, but nonetheless, they FREAK ME OUT.

To date I’ve learned to deal with my fears and basically just avoid them at all costs. Except for the random times when I cave to AJ’s pressure and face my fears. Like when we were snorkeling at the Great Barrier Reef and even though there were sharks and invisible poisonous jellyfish that could actually give you a heart attack with one sting, I jumped (or was dragged kicking and screaming) into the water. Though that’s not the norm; I typically just go about my business in a bird and shark-free world, and it’s all well and good, but now I’m faced with a dilemma. How the hell do I raise a child and not pass on my own fears to him?

I don’t want Owen to be scared of birds. And so far he doesn’t seem to be, as he demonstrated when he happily threw his leftover eggs into a pigeon’s mouth at brunch. My instinct was to scream and run away when said pigeon flapped his herpes-carrying wings against my leg. But clearly I couldn’t sprint away from my child while he was giggling in his high chair. So I cringed internally, wiped my leg off immediately, took a deep breath, died a little inside, and moved on.

And then there’s the ocean. We live on the beach, literally, steps from the Atlantic. I know, poor me. It’s gorgeous and amazing and also stressful. I want Owen to love the ocean. I just don’t want to have to take him IN the ocean. But whenever I find myself staring at the waves, I take a breath, squeeze his chubby thighs tight and walk in to my knees. MAYBE my thighs, but only when the water is crystal clear. 

Post-swimming session. All alive and with all of our limbs intact. Sharks - 0, Nahmads - 3.

I’m trying REALLY hard to make sure my outward behavior doesn’t show how terrified I am in front of Owen. Because I know he’s at an age where he mimics everything AJ and I do, and where his mommy (he’s a real momma’s boy right now) is his rock. When he gets a tummy ache, mommy makes it better. When he’s scared, mommy is there to snuggle him. When he falls on his face and gets a bloody nose/mouth/lip/head, mommy is there to wipe it off and make him smile. So how could that same super-mommy also start to cry when a seagull approaches a 10-foot radius of her beach towel?

And so, every day I try to act a little bit more mature about my own phobias, in hopes that my maturity now will pay off big-time as Owen grows up and develops his own set of fears. It’s not always easy to sit among a flock of pigeons all fighting for Owen’s discarded lunch, but since when is motherhood ever easy? 

In Sickness and in Health… Survival Guide for a Sick Family

Written by ERICA

A while ago I admitted that I am a terrible patient. Ever since I was a kid and being sick meant skipping school (hey Jell-O, ginger ale and re-runs, how do you do?), I’ve hated being under the weather. In fairness, I don’t think anyone likes feeling like crap. Unless you have Münchausen syndrome, in which case you’ve got a whole lot of problems that span well beyond diarrhea. Anyway, it was a big personality flaw…the only thing I hated more than being sick was having to take care of other sick people. It wasn’t something my husband supported, it wasn’t something I was proud of, and it was certainly something I was worried about as I prepared for motherhood. 

But here I am, with 15 months of motherhood and 3.5 years of marriage under my belt, and I finally get the meaning of the whole “in sickness and in health…” part of our vows.

It began last Saturday night. AJ and I went out for an amazing celebratory/goodbye dinner with our friends who were heading back to their primary home in Italy. And as we tend to do when we have any (or no) excuse, we indulged. A lot. And about 10 shared dishes and one glass of wine in to our meal I started to feel a rumble down below. 

Thank god we managed to get home and I somehow poured myself into my pajamas before the real drama kicked in. After about 12 hours, zero sleep, nonstop puking and rhea-wouldn’t-wanna-be-ya, it was clear something was not OK. I assumed food poisoning but turns out our family would not be so lucky. Because 5 hours later AJ felt the thunder down under. And about 12 hours after that, Owen hopped on board. 

Owen, in his 3rd round of pajamas on day 2 of our family’s bout with the stomach bug. 

If you think having the stomach bug is bad, then try having the stomach bug, an alert gag reflex, and two boys under one roof puking in your lap. OK fine, AJ didn’t puke on me, he puked in the toilet. But Owen, on the other hand, literally puked ON, MY, LAP. 3 times. You’d think I’d learn after rounds 1 and 2 to move aside and let him hurl on the (easily cleanable) tile floor. But no. He was screaming, I was clutching him tight, and there we stood, half naked, covered in vomit, on his white rug, with the third member of team “Oops I (Almost) Crapped My Pants” in fetal position in the other room.

The next 36 hours that followed were not pretty. In fact, they were the most depressing, disgusting, disturbing hours our family has faced in a while, maybe ever. But somehow, they also bonded us all together in a way that only gastroenteritis can. We were in it together. You jump I jump. And now that we’ve come out the other side in one piece, albeit a few pounds lighter, I have a few tips to share that helped me stay sane during our dark days…

1) Remember, it will pass. 

As bad as being sick can feel at any given moment, it cannot and often does not last. So take deep breaths, get fresh air when you can, and take it one minute at a time.

2) It is just stuff. 

Owen puked all over his nice ivory rug. And unluckily for me, his last pre-puke meal was peach yogurt and berries. So his once-white rug is now orange. But when I had to choose between de-staining and comforting my son, I left the rug alone and instead relaxed on towels in the living room. Rugs are replaceable; being there for your family is priceless.

Looking slightly out of it (but still so damn sweet) and on a protective mat, preparing for the next round of puke. 

3) It’s OK to slow down.

Moms do not know how to take it easy. It’s not in our DNA. The second we pop out a kid we are programmed to work on overdrive all the time. But when you and your family get sick, it’s OK, if not necessary, to take it easy. Allow yourself to wear PJs all day (hell you’re probably going to get puked on anyway), embrace the all-day Friends marathon on TBS, leave the bed un-made. You can get back on schedule tomorrow.

4) And finally, ask for help. 

I’ve never been good at this, but when things get really bad, a mom cannot do it all. You need help. We had our doorman buy us Gatorade, our cleaning lady came to de-germ our apartment, AJ called his uncle (who’s a doctor) for advice, and our parents offered up extra hands and company. 

Keeping Track of the Memories

Written by BROOKE

One day it just happens. Your little toddler goes from babbling the cutest and sweetest things you’ve ever heard to a three or four-year-old spewing out this sass-filled, crazy talk. At first, you just stand there, totally blindsided. And then you usually alternate between laughing hysterically (and trying to hide it) and wanting to scream. 

I am in the middle of the crazy sass-filled talk right now. The things that come out of this kid’s mouth make us laugh and cringe daily. I have a friend who regularly records her almost-four-year-old’s funnies on her blog. I realized that while I can usually remember Zach’s long enough to repeat them to my husband or mother later on the phone, I am rapidly forgetting these hilarious things he’s saying. And that someday, when he’s saying really hateful teenager things, I’m going to long for the memories of these funny four-year-old days. 

I asked my girlfriend how she kept track of the funny things her daughter said because I was forgetting Zach’s way too fast. She told me she keeps a “T” tab on the notepad part of her phone and jots them down on there. Then when she had a few built up she recorded them on her blog. I loved the idea. I think you could do it with your phone, a little notepad in your purse, or any other number of ways. But I think that if we don’t keep track of some of the hysterical moments, we’ll regret it later. 

So my new challenge is to keep better track of the memories. I want to be able to look back on them someday. And I am already glad that I’m doing it. 

And since you asked, yes, I’ll share a few. And my friend gave me permission to share a few of her little funny girl’s too. 

Recent Zach Funnies: 

“If you don’t let me play the Wii, I’m going to eat CANDY for lunch!” (What a threat!)

“I’m going to send you out to the forest and the animals are going to eat you!” 

After I called another driver a less than stellar name, “Mom, I’m so glad you didn’t call him an idiot.” (What I called him was quite a bit worse than idiot.)

“Mom, I like that dress, it’s not ugly at all.” 

“That’s it! I’m sending you to bed! Without your phone.”  (This kid knows what punishment would work for me!) 

Another funny: after setting up blankets, pillows, cars, books and the ramp in the middle of the hallway so no one could pass, “Mom! We’re having a sleepover!” 

And from the girls’ side. Some “T” Funnies:

Friday night there was a problem at work and her dad had to go in after dinner; he was explaining to T that he had to go back to work and that he’d see her in the morning…

D: Daddy has to go back to work tonight T, I will see you in the morning ok? 

T: Why dad? 

D: Because there are some people at work that aren’t being very nice, so I have to go remind them how to be nice. 

T: Oh, are they hitting, dad? 

D: No, I think that they’re not using nice words. 

T: Oh, like are they saying poop and pee to each other? Dad, you just put them in time out ok?

To her one-year-old brother “B, you are a commoner.” 

When she was mad at her mom: “Mom! If you do that I will go in my bedroom and cut my fairies’ hair!!”

So, how do you keep track of the funnies in your life? Share your ideas with us, or share your kids’ best funnies at poopsiecollective@gmail.com or on our Facebook page.

TV Moms Who Have it All Figured Out

Written by ERICA

Confession time…or for anyone who knows me, this is less of a confession of some deep, dark secret and more of an obvious exclamation of a fact. I live for TV. Or more accurately, I can’t live without TV. I’ll never forget back in High School when I had to do some stupid (not so stupid after all) exercise and calculate how many hours a week I spent watching TV. Turns out, it was a lot. And it’s still a lot. If you consider 15+ hours a week to be a lot. Personally, I don’t. But I’m deluded. Ok, so we’ve established that I’m not normal, I have an addiction to the remote, and I’m questionably beyond help. Hi, my name is Erica, and I’m a TV addict. (Hi, Erica.)

My love of TV isn’t always a bad thing. It’s not like I locked myself in my bedroom and refused food when Buffy the Vampire Slayer switched networks and Buffy “died” (albeit temporarily). Oh wait, I did. Crap. 

It’s not always like that! I swear! Sometimes TV is really helpful! I mean, I learn a lot from the vast collection of shows I study. Maybe not The Bachelor… all I learned from that show’s 16 dreadful seasons is that tube tops are never ever (EVER) flattering unless you give up eating entirely, and most girls look like they have Bell’s Palsy when they cry.  But TV can teach you a lot. For example, when it comes to motherhood, some of my biggest role models are TV moms. Yes, I know they are fake moms. (And yes mom, you are also on my role models list, just not this list.) So they’re fictional characters, does that make their experiences and lessons any less helpful? 

So here’s my list of the top 5 TV moms and what I’ve learned from them that I will carry into motherhood and beyond:

5) Joyce Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, mother to Buffy Summers)

Oh Buffy, my hero, my obsession, my ultimate example of strength, style, awesomeness and power mixed into one pretty little lady. But despite the fact that I am madly in love with her (Buffy the character, and Sarah Michelle Gellar, the actress who embodies that character), I can recognize that to be her mother must SUCK. Ha, get it? Suck? As in, vampires suck your blood. Whatever, it was funny. Being Buffy’s mother cannot have been easy. Your kid is off saving the world night after night, and on top of all that, she’s also banging a dead guy with fangs. Actually, 2 dead guys, both with fangs: one with a soul, and one with a proclivity for human blood. Not an ideal situation for a mom who’s trying to keep her daughter safe, healthy and happy. But Joyce Summers accepted her daughter, she supported her, she made friends with her friends and somehow she was able to be the strong role model Buffy needed at all times. 

Lessons Learned: acceptance is key, and no matter how strong your kids may seem or pretend to be (or in Buffy’s case, actually be), at the end of they day they need your strength behind them.

4) Cindy Walsh (Beverly Hills 90210 (Original), mother to Brenda & Brandon)

Moving to a new city is tough; I speak from experience. Moving from the Midwestern burbs to Beverly Hills is debatably the toughest. Your once-upon-a-time perfect twins are about to be faced with bad boys (Dylan McKay, swoon), drugs, slutty girls, BMWs, eating disorders, legacy keys, troubled teens, pregnancy scares…the list goes on. Now Cindy Walsh isn’t exactly my type of mom, I mean, she wore mom jeans and had the bowl haircut (which I could blame on the style of the times, but then again, Kelly’s mom was always super cool). But despite her style, Cindy always made a home-cooked meal. She always opened her home to troubled friends in need of a stable adult figure. She and Jim actually loved each other. She was the glue that held the Walsh family together. Something I hope to be for my clan.

Lessons Learned: a home-cooked meal goes a long way, and though it often seems like a thankless job, sometimes just being present and welcoming in your home is everything.

3) Ashley Marin (Pretty Little Liars, mother to Hanna)

First of all, if you don’t watch Pretty Little Liars, get involved. This show is AMAZEballs. Anyway, Ashley Marin (PKA Sydney Andrews on Melrose Place) is a lot of things, but the top of the list when it comes to her best mom qualities: intelligent, witty, and real. She knows her daughter isn’t always making the best decisions. She knows people make mistakes. She gets that high school girls can be bitchy. She also knows that sometimes to be a good mom, you have to give your kid space. And most importantly, she knows when her kid is lying just by surveying her twitchy face. I presume that face-reading is a must-have skill for moms of teenagers.

Lessons Learned: study your kid’s facial expressions starting, like, yesterday. And let them learn from their own mistakes; but be there, be open and be honest with them.

2) Cameron (Cam) Tucker (Modern Family, father/mother figure to Lily)

Fine, not a “mom” per-se. But a mother figure for sure. He’s a party planner extraordinaire, expert clown, stay-at-home-dad, loving husband and hysterical father. Also, he rocks the drums, sings to little Lily and loves to accessorize. And while I’d rather look like Claire Dunphy (so pretty!), she’s a little too high-strung for my taste. Cam is the perfect mix of protective, intense, involved, fun-loving, and funny.

Lessons Learned: a good birthday party goes a long way, it’s important to be silly with your kids, and a well-crafted outfit is always appreciated, even on a toddler.

1) Tami Taylor (Friday Night Lights, mother to Julie and Gracie Belle)

And now, for my # 1 TV mom hero. AJ is shaking his head right now because just the other night I turned down watching an episode of Friday Night Lights so that I could catch up on The Vampire Diaries. Vampires over football any day, AJ. Write that down. That said, Tami Taylor is just the absolute coolest, hottest, most amazing mom I’ve ever seen (on TV). She ALWAYS knows what to do. Always. How does she freakin’ do that? She handles everything (motherhood, being the school principle, being the football coach’s wife, town politics…) with such grace and ease. She seriously makes it look so simple. Daughter caught boning the team quarterback? No problem. School bad boy (oh Timmy Riggins I adore you so) needs a place to crash? Sure. Husband gets a gig at TMU while you are 8 months pregnant and stuck in Dillon as the school counselor? Peace of southern pie. She is supportive, she is understanding, but she also speaks her mind. And her family always (ALWAYS) comes first.

Lessons Learned: loving and supporting your family is your number 1 job, stand up for what you believe is the best thing for your loved ones. And roll with the punches, because no one is perfect and try as you might, nothing works out exactly as you plan.

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…

What’s For Dinner?

Written by BROOKE 

Stephanie’s “Simplify Series” this week inspired me to write a post about how I do dinners. I haven’t figured out everything in the world of homemaking but I would dare say that dinner time is something I have greatly improved on in the past few years. Gone are the three nights a week of takeout or frantically unthawing meat under hot water ten minutes before my husband gets home. 

Here are my secrets…

Plan a Menu

Usually on Saturdays, but always by Sunday we (meaning I involve the hubby for the most part) plan a menu. We look over the weekly grocery ads to check the sales, take inventory of our freezer and pantry and plan five meals. I’m a realist. We’ll eat out, go over to friends or eat leftovers at least twice. Sunday-Thursday usually does it for us. Having a menu plan makes everything easier; shopping, making sure whatever meat I need is out of the freezer, and it helps that I post it on the fridge so I don’t have a husband who comes home and says “Tacos? I had those for lunch.” It’s on the menu! My menu is flexible. Although some meals are slated for certain nights because of work schedules, I have no problem switching things around too. Nothing is set in stone at our house. 

My cute menu planner that I keep on the fridge. You can get one at Anthropologie.

Make Your List

I’ve learned this the hard way. Now, I painstakingly go through my meals and figure out what I need, even if it means getting out the recipe. Too many times I’ve gone to make something and been missing a key ingredient (ask my neighbors, they’re always the ones I call in a panic) and, well you’ve seen what happens when I try to drag my kids to the store for “just one thing.” I also make sure my list includes items for breakfasts and lunches (those are pretty simple around here, lots of sandwiches, fruits, veggies, yogurt). 

Shop

I usually have to hit up some combo of Trader Joe’s, grocery and Costco but if I can, I try to cut one of those out each week (Costco can usually be every other week or every three weeks and if I’m getting something at Trader Joe’s, I sometimes plan my whole week around items I can get there). 

I try to shop sans kids. Saturday night is my preferred time, but sometimes the hubs and I split it up on Saturday during naps. 

My goal is to only shop once a week. I find it saves tons of money when you are not running to the store three times a week and it saves sanity! 

Know Your Schedule

Be realistic. What is your week like? Is your husband working late every night? Don’t make a huge meal for just you and a toddler. What about work, lessons, etc.? I work out of the home on Mondays and Wednesdays in the afternoon. I don’t get home those days until 6:30, which is way after my kids normal time for dinner. On those days I try to plan something that I can totally make ahead that my husband can heat up for the kids when he gets home, or something in the crock pot that will require minimal effort. It’s not that my husband can’t cook (he’s a great cook) but by the time he gets home and I’m still gone the kids are starving and they need something quick. Plus I like to have something as soon as I walk in the door.  

Prep and Freeze if Possible

I actually don’t mind making somewhat elaborate meals. I try to keep it pretty simple but once or twice a week I make something more involved or try something new. The secret for me, in this stage, is that I have a napper. I can usually get my four year old to have quiet time while the little one naps and during that time, I prep dinner. Anything that can be done ahead of time, I do. I cut up veggies, cook chicken to shred, anything I can get done before that dinner rush. The ideal meal for me is something I can almost completely prep ahead of time. Also, when I can, I’ll cook double of a meal or part of a meal and freeze it. I haven’t really perfected this yet but taco filling, stuffed pepper filling and some soups freeze really well and it’s great to have a few meals stashed away in the freezer for a crazy week. 

Go Easy on Yourself

We have PLENTY of nights when it just doesn’t come together. A few weeks ago we had family in town, life was crazy and I realized on Friday I had fed my kids quesadillas three times that week. It happens. But it’s nice on those weeks when you have it all under control. And having a plan assures that happens more often than not. 

The response I hope to get from dinners…

Celebrity Styling Advice for Mamas: Interview with Taylor Jacobson

written by STEPHANIE

“Your baby’s arm feels like a dildo,” Taylor Jacobson confessed, shocked and a little embarrassed. Taylor isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met before. Her physical presence is notable, sure. She is petite, thin as can be, and all lashes framed by white blonde hair. But that’s just a small part of her equation. The sh*t that comes out of her mouth is f*cking fantastic. When she met my daughter, before finding similarities between her appendages and sex toys, she literally said, “ew.” The thought of a tiny person throwing up on her without notice, then pissing and sh*tting themselves, was too much. But she showered us with a wardrobe of BabyGap anyway and dressed me for a black tie event. She patiently offered gown after gown to accommodate my giant, nursing breasts. To say the girl has a heart of gold is putting it lightly.

She sat down with us and shared her genius styling advice for the Moms of America. But honestly, the Women of America should take notes as well… the girl is good. 

Poopsie Collective: What pieces should every woman/mom have in her wardrobe this spring?

Taylor Jacobson: Every woman should own a great blazer, a LBD (little black dress), and a black pump. Blazers go with everything. You can dress it up or down. The LBD is seasonless. You can always repeat it with different accessories. Also, a great statement nacklace, a fun pump, bright colored clutch. And black pumps never go out of style. They are classic and chic. Invest in a good pair!

TJ: A mistake that lots of women and men make is over styling. You never want to look like a collage. Keep it to one trend, and remember that less is more!

TJ: SPANX IT!!!!! I live for them. No one is perfect and they smooth out every line. Trust me, no one walks the redcarpet without them. 

TJ: Accessories!! Clutches, shoes, and jewels are easy ways to update your look. Aldo and Steve Madden make super chic and affordable shoes and clutches that work for all occasions. BCBG Generation makes fabulous, trendy, faux jewels. Look for statement cocktail rings, layering necklaces and cuffs. 

TJ: I’m working on a new reality show called ‘LA Style (wt)’. It follows the new generation of fashion stylists in LA. It will be airing on Oxygen later this year. 

TJ: I love the excitement of the ever changing world of fashion. I love when my clients rock it on the red carpet. And everything inspires me, from art to people, and places, and movies… life!

Taylor was raised on the mean streets of Beverly Hills, and has worked tirelessly styling for films, shoots and celebrity red carpet events. She is probably best known for her work as Rachel Zoe’s right hand on Bravo’s ‘The Rachel Zoe Project’. She has an impeccable work ethic and is known for being a perfectionist on the job. She headlines the new show, ‘LA Style (wt)’ on Oxygen, which airs later this year. 

Many thanks to Taylor, from the PC team, for taking time to chat with us. You’re a rock star!

Playground Politics

Written by ERICA

I believe in something called social etiquette. I believe in manners. I truly feel that one of the more important lessons you can teach your kids (or be taught yourself) is to treat others the way you want to be treated. Be polite. Be courteous. Be kind. Blah blah blah. Now, this is not to say that I’ve never treated others badly. Please, we’ve all been through middle school. And truth be told I did get kicked out of tennis camp for pranking a 10-year-old girl and framing another kid for the crime. (It was a REALLY clever prank, which I won’t divulge here because if I do then I’m pretty sure no one will ever listen to my parenting advice or read my posts again.) 

But despite some of my less-than-sophisticated decisions in the past (I suppose throwing red, white and blue dyed tampons into a crowd of kids on July 4th is considered poor form?) and any bad behavior I exhibit from time to time, I try to always treat people (adults and their kids) with respect, and I expect the same in return.

That said, here’s a pickle. How the hell are you supposed to act respectful and mature when a bratty 7-year old sporting a ‘tude and zero parental supervision crosses you in the playground? 

A few weeks ago we were hanging around a park with my sister-in-law Val and my niece Parker, who’s slightly older than Owen. Owen had recently mastered the whole running around thing, so a fenced-in playground where he could roam free without fear of stumbling into oncoming traffic was a dream (for both of us). He was flopping around like a drunken frat boy during Greek Week and I could sit comfortably on the bench catching up with Val in peace. That is, until Bratty-pants McGee walked in. 

Owen happily chilling on some swings…not prepared for the playground drama to come. 

I’m sure you’ve all met a kid like this… struts her stuff like her sh*t don’t stink and thinks she owns the joint. You know what I mean. And yes, she was approximately 7 years old, as if that gives her a right to behave that way. Anyway, fine, she was clearly a snotty little biyatch, but that’s OK. Really her attitude is none of my business. Until it is.  

Owen and Parker were playing nicely, climbing on the jungle gym, or in Owen’s case attempting to climb and instead falling on his face into mulch. It was cute and they were bothering no one. Then, up walks Little Miss Bitchy to tell me that Owen was in her space and I quote “He’s annoying me, he’s in my way and you need to move him.” He was doing nothing but looking clueless and giggling next to the jungle gym, which apparently was “her house and he needed to move because he wasn’t invited into her house.” Ok, fine. She’s playing house. I get it. But guess what? I don’t give a crap about your game of house. F*ck off little lady. 

Which is clearly not what I said. Remember, I’m respectful. Social etiquette and all that. So I smiled and looked for her mother, who was nowhere to be found. All I saw was her nanny and a man who seemed questionably homeless, but turns out was just her grandpa. And PS, both were doing absolutely nothing to manage this kid. So then I tried to negotiate. “Ok sweetheart, you don’t have to play with him, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in your way if you just let him play here with me.” Seemed like a fair deal, but nope, not good enough for her. She was a tough cookie. “NO! I DON’T LIKE HIM. GET HIM AWAY.” 

This went on for a few minutes and it took every bit of strength I had not to throw her off the swings. Literally, I wanted to punch her face in. I don’t care that she’s 7. And actually, what I really wanted was to beat down her “caretakers” (I use the term loosely) for being so freakin’ neglectful. Like WAKE UP NANNY. WHAT’S UP GRANDPA? Why don’t you help or something?!

Thank goodness for my sis-in-law, who’s more experienced at this crap than I. She gave the whole “listen kid, this is a big playground. Everyone is invited to play here, this isn’t your house. This playground was here before you got here, and it will be here when you leave. So why don’t you stick to your game over there and we’ll play over here” talk. All I wanted to do was yell a WHOOP WHOOP and a TAKE THAT SLUT in the kid’s face, but I didn’t. I held it in, we moved locations slightly, and 10 minutes later it was time to leave. Fights were avoided and I managed to leave almost as mature and polite as I walked in.

And on my way home I realized, I think that was officially my first lesson in playground politics. It was a lesson I was not really prepared to learn so soon, and one I think failed. Because even though I held myself together, I’m pretty sure a deep desire to smack someone else’s child is not really a good thing.

So as innocent as a playground may look, apparently this is where a kid’s bratty side comes out and his mother’s patience is put to the test.

Absurd Tantrums

Written by BROOKE

The sad sad tantrum face, that makes me want to both cry and laugh. 

My boys have tantrums. A lot. With one almost two and one who has just phased out napping every day, it is bound to happen. I have a few different responses to these. Sometimes I get mad. I try to tell them what they are crying about is ridiculous (especially the 4 year old). I tell them I don’t want to listen to their whining. I leave the room. Sometimes, I just ignore. No response at all. Sometimes, I cave (I’m not afraid to admit it, sometimes it’s easier than the tantrum, especially in public). Sometimes I put my head in my hands and cry. And sometimes, ok, a lot lately, I laugh. 

Laughing sometimes makes the tantrum worse. Sometimes I feel like a bad mom because I should be doing some sort of parenting trick to get the tantrum to stop. But oh man, my kids have had some doozies lately. 

Absurd Tantrum of the Week two weeks ago went to Brady (almost 2). His current favorite book is Goodnight Moon, a classic, which he wants to read approximately 752 times a day. Even Zach has it memorized by now (which is kind of nice because then I can sometimes have Zach “read” it to Brady). So, the other day in the car when Brady said “Mommy, moon go?” I knew he was looking for the moon just like in his book. The only problem? It was 9 am and we had just dropped Zach off for preschool. There was no moon. I said “Brady, it’s day time, the moon isn’t out right now.” 

“MOON GO!?” he insisted. “It’s not here” Now he started getting worked up. “SEE MOON!”  Now, I kind of started laughing a little but the best was yet to come. Ten more minutes of screaming, crying “SEE MOON NOW MOMMY!” Umm, trust me, I wish you could buddy! But instead of getting mad I was just cracking up. I mean was I seriously sitting in a car with a kid who was screaming because he couldn’t see the MOON? 

Absurd Tantrum of this Week goes to Zach (age 4). Now, the start of this tantrum was something somewhat legit but quickly morphed into the absurd. It started by me driving through Chick Fil A to get a Diet Coke. I hadn’t had one all day and had the worst headache and needed one like you wouldn’t believe. I knew if I got a drink and didn’t get something for Zach he would freak, but I had just bought him a treat at a bakery (that didn’t have FOUNTAIN DRINKS, what?) and there was NO way on earth I was also buying him a soda. I know that was kind of mean and I expected a tantrum, just not the one I got. He was, of course, mad that I wasn’t buying him a soda. I told him he could have a water, which of course only made him more mad. I reminded him he had a treat already for when we got home. Not good enough. Then he insisted that I pull over and get out of the car (he’s really big on “kicking me out” of places when he’s mad). I asked what he would do if he kicked me out of the car, how would he get home? (now you have to imagine this in the most angry 4 year old voice you can conjure up). “I will get in the car and drive it MYSELF!” Zach, you can’t even reach the pedals. Plus you are 4. You can’t drive the car. Now cue 20 min tantrum about not being able to drive the car. Real tears. Lots of yelling (by him, I was in the front seat cracking up). Tons of insisting that I pull over RIGHT NOW so he could drive the car. And ending with us getting to our house and him running in as fast as he could to tell Dad how mean I was for not letting him drive the car. Dad’s response? Also laughter. I mean, how can you not laugh at that, I’m cracking up just picturing him SO angry yelling “Dad! Mom is so mean! She won’t let me drive the car!” 

Tantrums aren’t all funny. They get me worked up more than they should. But the really absurd ones just crack me up.  Maybe next week I can pass the torch. Anyone else have an absurd tantrum to share?