I have poop. On my hand.

So, I’m not really a “talk about my baby’s poop” kind of person.  Before my parenting days I would roll my eyes at such stories or, if a good friend, cut the storyteller off to inform them that poop stories are not good material for a non-kid audience (Alexis – I’m looking at you).  Even after becoming a parent I didn’t have much to say on the subject but was definitely more indulgent of other new moms than I had been before I had my own little poop machine.  I even laughed genuinely when a dear friend had a second child who would go days without pooping and then, when she did explode, it was literally up the back of her onesie and would come out the arm and neck holes (hahaha – I’m looking at you Michelle).  What I’ve now realized is that Lucy was a relatively uneventful pooper and the truth of the matter is, I just never had a good enough poop story to tell.  But I do now so I dedicate this blog to all those friends on the receiving end of eye rolls and rude commentary.  Poop stories are actually right up my humor alley and here is my current allstar…

Imagine the scene:  it’s a hot day.  We decide to go get some ice cream “real quick”.  It’s about 4pm and a quick run for ice cream is the perfect start to the bed time coast.  Now that we’ve moved to a residential neighborhood in my city, we can no longer walk to do this.  So we hop in the car toward an urban center and head to where we know there will be a big parking lot.  I didn’t even grab the diaper bag (ridiculous rookie mistake).  As soon as we took off, I said out loud to my husband “LMJ is definitely going to poop.  Hopefully it just won’t be an exploding one and, as bad parents, we can let her sit in it for just a bit.”  I’m most certain that my little rascal took this as a cue of sorts.

We arrive at the parking lot.  We try to pay the machine to give us a receipt to put in our car window.  We are having trouble.  We are not the only ones having trouble.  The parking attendant arrives to try to help guide us through the process but it’s not us, it’s the machine.  Despite the clarity of the situation to everyone except for the parking attendant, he continues to explain the process of sliding your card into the machine.  My husband patiently explains that the problem is not us, and it’s not the woman who came before us, and it’s not the other woman having our same issue – it’s the machine – and we would not like to receive a ticket.

I stand by with two children, one in my arm and one impatient for ice cream.  I smell it first – oh no.  Then I feel the diaper fill up – OH NO!  Then, I feel a warm loosely solid oozing substance on my hand.  As LM would say, “Dee-scusting!”  As I would say, “OH SHIT!”  And the conversation proceeds:

Dad-E:  Well, you can’t logically give me a ticket if the machine is broken.

Me:  (from the background and not super loud) I have poop on my hand.

Attendant:  All I’m saying is I could go off duty and someone else could give you a ticket.  I can’t

control the next person on duty.

Me:  (a touch louder) I have poop.  On my hand.

D:  That’s ridiculous, how can you possibly give us a ticket?

                M:  (holding up my hand as evidence, getting louder) Um.  Poop.  ON. MY. HAND.

A:  This is a matter that is out of my hands…


And so we do, go.  Dad-E takes off to a nearby CVS for supplies.  I sit on the ground outside the subway station with LMJ superbaby style over my arm, the one with the sullied hand, and wrangling my threenager with the other.  As we wait LM curiously brings me cigarette butts, bricks that line the border of dirt laid for sidewalk trees, and other bits and pieces of garbage she finds.  I am kind of frantic, kind of laughing, desperately hoping that no one I know walks by and willing Dad-E to move at lightning speed through the pharmacy which, honestly, he kind of did.

Wiped up and cleaned off we head to J.P. Licks for our “quick” ice cream before bedtime.  That peanut butter oreo ice cream in a waffle cone was AMAZING.


The horrible-terrible-stressful-and-just-plain-no-good-rotten-week

Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with my tales of woes. Instead, I will give you what I think I need — a few ironic images to smirk at.

As the stress of being a working mom sets in, I think this sums up my mindset this week.

Who I want to be


Working Rosie and her chubby baby

How I look in my head before the start of each day


the gleeful baby juggle

What I’m pretty sure I actually look like


How I actually look, minus the cute dress

My new fantasy….



And also this


Make that 2 drinks please…

But until then, this is my favorite, and applies to my husband as well…





Motherhood Bliss

Parenthood comes with its fair share of lows – temper tantrums, sleeplessness, stubbornness, backtalk, etc.  I could go on for a long time about how each of these challenges can be enough to make me want to curl up in a ball in the corner and rock back and forth until sweet sweet bedtime finally rolls around.  But this post is not about the lows.  It’s about the highs.  (Please refer to my post on Patience if you care to hear more about the lows)

Being a mom to my daughter gives me so much joy.  There are moments pretty much every day, sometimes multiple times a day, that I refer to as Motherhood Bliss.  It’s those moments when I look at Kiki and feel so much love and joy in my heart that it makes me forget about all the lows.  They are the moments that make me feel genuinely blessed and ecstatically happy with my life.

We discovered swim belts at the Y which allow Kiki to swim on her own without us holding her.  With her new found independence, Kiki shouts, “I’M THE BEST SWIMMER IN THE WORLD!!!”  I love her confidence.

The belly laugh is the best thing ever.  Hubby can easily evoke the belly laugh with tickle fights and general Daddy silliness.  You cannot help but laugh yourself any time you hear Kiki’s belly laugh.

My daughter has the most adorable little bum ever.  Every night when she gets out of the bath I just want to squeeze it.

Listening to Kiki have a conversation with one of her friends is so entertaining.

When I witness the picturesque scene of my daughter in a sundress running across an open field on a sunny day with her blond hair blowing in the wind, I am struck by her beauty.  She is seriously beautiful.

If we’ve been out playing all day and are heading home, Kiki will sometimes say, “Mom, I’m pretty tired.  When we get home can you cuddle with me on the couch while we watch a little tv?”  Um, yes, I can do that.

Kiki is very into playing with her little figurine toys.  I love listening and watching as she does this.  Her imagination is fascinating.

At times when I am struck by her intelligence, her creativity, her athletic ability, or her problem-solving skills I can’t help but wonder what kinds of things she’ll be able to do with her life.

Sometimes while we are reading a story or watching tv, my daughter will rub my arm with her amazingly soft little fingers.  I swoon.

These are just a few examples of the wonderful moments that motherhood can provide.

Wishing you all some Motherhood Bliss in your day today.

no school

This will be a short post. Lemon Cake’s last day of school was last Wednesday. I have had to readjust to taking care of both kids full time on my own for a while before summer camp starts again in a few weeks. There have been pros and cons to this. It has been really really wonderful to spend so much time relaxing with both children without worrying about rushing to places. This experience has shown me that three mornings of school is ideal for Lemon Cake and not five. We will see how it goes with his summer camp which is five mornings a week at a nearby school (within 10 minutes of walking distance woo hoo!). On the other hand, I am absolutely completely drained. In addition, Daddykush was sick from Friday to Monday and has just started to really feel like himself again. Baby Banana started developing eczema on her cheeks a week ago, and still has very bad diaper yeast infection. It doesn’t help that she poops inconsistently and irregularly. Sitting in the poop for even five minutes does horrible things to her bum. Of course, most of her poops today happened at inconvenient times- at Target, at Friend’s home, right as we got home from play date and then ta da- inside the tub while she was bathing. Anyways, I was literally running around the house from 4-6:30 trying to take care of everything, play with the kids, get dinner ready and put Baby Banana to bed. At this moment, Daddykush is putting Lemon Cake to bed. I will be joining momentarily to read him a book (most likely a super hero book), then I will collapse on the couch with a big bowl of peanut butter banana yogurt.

They Throw Ungodly Breaking Stuff in the Show

When it comes to parenting I’m a minor leaguer.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve earned my stripes.  I’ve done the overnights, the diapers, the mess… name your fluid.  No, that’s not what I mean.  Little Miss Junior is passing 8 months and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had to be the primary caregiver… where the situation called for me to be the ‘on’ parent for both children by myself.  I’d like to consider myself a pretty supportive and interactive dad, but Red doesn’t get much time off.  She’s in the majors, an all-star with veteran service time.  She’s Cal Ripken, the team captain who never misses a game.  She can veto trades.

You see mommies don’t get much time off.  There are girls’ nights out, and weekend ‘me’ time, but not many true night’s off.  Primary caregivers don’t come home from the office.  Most days I’m working right up till almost bedtime for the girls, and sometimes I’m travelling, leaving Red by herself.  In the world of care-giving I’m a minor leaguer who rides the bus as supporting cast.   On Saturday I got the call.  I was going to the show.  Red was taking the night off.  She had plans to hightail it out around noon and spend an evening lounging with friends and not changing diapers or battling with our three year old wonder-barterer.  Little Miss just finished reading Trump’s Art of the Deal and has begun to look for opportunities to maximize profit around every corner. Anyways I was getting my call up to the big show.  The majors.  I was flying without a net.  2 daughters, 1 day, 1 night, next morning, no backup.  No problem, I got this.

We had a full day planned.  There was splashing in the vinyl tub on our little back deck… There was a very short nap for LMJ… There was lunch and a walking trip to the grocery store for some things we needed… There was an excursion to the local playground for some time on the swings and late afternoon piles of sand… There was most of Finding Nemo before dinner time, bath time, story-song time, and bed.  LMJ is not much for stories and songs yet, she mostly hollers like a cranky infant right before bedtime.  When I’m flying solo I do like to cram the day with activities to keep us going.  It helps me manage and I don’t have the improvisational skills of Red.  As an OT who works with early childhood, she’s like the MacGyver of kid activities… “What do we got?  Some twine, a broken straw, and 3 red buttons?  Excellent, we can make a working wind tunnel with that… “

Circa 9pm both girls were sleeping and I was poured into a chair in the living room with the lights on dim.  You see I can perform in the Majors.  But they throw ungodly breaking stuff in the show… exploding sliders… There’s no let up.  It’s relentless.  Tending multiple kids all day long is hard damn work.  I can do it, but by 9pm I’m bone tired.  Yeah, I’ve got some skills but I’m not an every day major leaguer.  Those guys have some serious chops.  A tip of my cap to all the primary care givers out there… not everybody makes it to the show.

As an Occupational Therapist…

This blog was recommended to me by a friend of mine from high school.  It struck a chord for me as an occupational therapist who works with youdng children in their homes.  I hope it strikes a chord with you and entices you to read more of this blog, called Uncommon Sense.


Enjoy and see you next week for what I hope is the rehashing of a VERY FUNNY poop story.  I promise.  Stay tuned…


Late thirties schmirties

Phew, just under the deadline for my Saturday blog post. I apologize for missing the past couple weeks, between a new house, new jobs, arranging daycare and just living the day to day life of a mother of a 20 month old, my “mommy brain” has kicked into high gear. Last week, I literally forgot, just absolutely, positively forgot to post. But alas, I’m back on track (for this week anyway!)

The good news is that this article has given me one less thing for my “mommy brain” to worry about! As a soon to be mid-30s mommy (I’ll be 33 next month and I feel like that launches me officially into the “mids”) with a soon to be 2 year old, my husband and I have started the conversation about when to expand our brood. I know that I’m not at the cut-off point for what would be considered a more high risk pregnancy, but this article gives great insight onto the research and the reality behind women, aging and having babies.

Disclosure: I know that parts of the article can get a bit technical in terms of collecting statistics and fertility, so if you’re a skim/skip to the end kind of person, you won’t be disappointed.