A Problem of Epic Poop-ortion

So, we seriously have a problem with Bennett pooping everywhere and anywhere... except the toilet. You may remember this story from a few months ago.


Well, we pretty much had a repeat performance of that scenario last Sunday... the only difference being that I was in my Sunday dress and heels whilst scrubbing poop off the floor, walls and carpet.


Then a few weeks ago, after running some errands, I arrived home and Bennett came walking by me. As he passed me in the hallway, he nonchalantly said, "Oh, Mama... I pooped in the playroom." So I raced the the playroom where, sure enough, I found a big pile o' poo sitting on the carpet. What in the world?!


Today was the kicker.

We were at the community pool splash park with some friends, and the kids were having such a fun time playing. After a while in the water, the kids started running around in the grass area behind the splash park. All of a sudden, one of my friends said, "Um, Casey... Um... Bennett is..."



Taking a DUMP in the grass, that's what he was doing!

While other horrified mothers looked on. And while his sweet, little friend stood there dumbfounded, staring at Bennett's booty with a look of bewilderment on her face.

I ran over to him, trying to remain calm, and we quickly made our way to the bathroom. But I am seriously at a loss for what to do about this. Any child psychologists reading this that might have an idea as to why my son doesn't want to poop in the toilet? And even if you're not a child psychologist, please give me some advice!


Both I and the community pool cleanup staff would be much obliged.

Murphy's Law: The One Time I Forget Shoes

I'll just say it -- forgetfulness is one of my downfalls as a Mama. I am constantly asking my friends to borrow diapers and wipes. I've had to stop at Target during many an outing to buy a sippy cup, binky, or new pair of pants for Bennett. I am lucky I have so many well-prepared, non-forgetful friends. Alas, none of them were with me today. Here's what happened:

This morning I gave Bennett a bath, and as I was drying him off, I realized his hair was almost as long as mine. So I decided on a whim to take him to get a haircut real quick. (And so says the Psalmist, "Mom's say 'real quick,' God laughs.")

So I got ready to go, and with the help of my super-sweet husband, (who had already cleaned the kitchen for me this morning, too!) piled the kids in the car. I even told Bennett we could go to the McDonald's play place on the way home from our haircut. I was feeling like I had things pretty together.

We arrived at the haircut place, and as I opened the back door to get Bennett out, I realized he had no shoes on. Suddenly I remembered Neil saying, as he was buckling Bennett into the car, "Honey make sure you grab Bennett's shoes!" I yelled back, "Okay! I'll get them!" only to head out the door empty-handed. Forgetfulness rears it's ugly head. Now, standing in front of the haircut place, I do a quick scan of the backseat, where an extra pair of Crocs is almost ALWAYS lurking. But not today...

I decide not to stress about it. I say to myself: No problem. Just because my kid has no shoes on in a public place, that doesn't make me white trash. Or a bad mother.

So I load Mallory's car seat into the stroller and proceed to carry Bennett across the street while pushing the stroller with the other hand, which is a feat in itself. I make it to the haircut place, and a kind gentleman inside opens the door for me. It's a small, crowded place, and I'm instantly self-conscious about Bennett's bare feet. I am just hoping no one will notice. The man behind the register is friendly at first.

"Hi! Just sign in, and we'll be with you in a... WAIT! Do you have shoes for him?"

The room is silent. Everyone in the small, crowded, space is now staring at White-Trash-Mom and her son's bare feet. In typical Casey fashion, I try to just charm my way out of my embarrassment.

Me: "No... can you believe it?! We ran out of the house and completely forgot shoes!" Smile, smile, smile...

Man: (not even remotely charmed) I'm sorry, but if he doesn't have shoes, you'll have to leave. It's part of our health code."

I feel the judgement of not only the man behind the counter (who will now be refereed to as "Health-Code Nazi") but of all the other moms in the room. I can just hear their thoughts: What kind of mother forgets her son's shoes?! I even see a few eye-rolls and head-shakes. The only one who is nice to me in the entire place is the gentlemanly dad who opens the door for me again as I leave.

As I walk to the car, I am both embarrassed and fuming mad. I mean seriously... are my two-year-old's chubby, little bare feet really going to compromise the health code? Quick! Someone grab the HazMat suits... there's a kid in here with no shoes on! Alert the Pentagon! Sheesh!

I carry/wheel the kids back to the car and decide that we're going home and NOT coming back! We can just get a haircut another time. As I'm unloading the stroller and putting it back into the trunk, a sweet, older lady who is parked next to me says, "Wow, I don't know how you young mom's today do it." And then, looking at the kids,"Your kids are just so beautiful." Those kind, validating words from a stranger just made my day and turned my attitude around. "Thanks," I said "I was kind of having a rough morning."

She continued to validate: "Raising little ones is so hard! You're doing a great job!" And with that my Golden-Girl Guardian Angel got in her car and drove away.

Then, I got back in the car and drove home. I grabbed Bennett's shoes, and we went back to the haircut place. We provided proof-of-footwear to Health-Code Nazi, got Bennett's hair cut and went to the play place. We ate McNuggets. And everything turned out just fine.

As we drove home (again) I got to thinking about how I myself judge other moms and how wrong that is. Shouldn't we moms be the last people to judge each other? Shouldn't we stick together because we know how darn hard it is to take care of little ones. Today's shoe incident reminded me that instead of judging another mom, it's so much better to say, "What beautiful kids you have," or "Great job," or even "I have an extra pair of shoes in the car if you need them."

Because a little validation and encouragement can mean a lot to a frazzled mama.


Here's Bennett after his hair cut:

Humiliation at Trader Joe's: The Complete Saga

Today, after what seemed like 3 hours of preparation to leave the house, (nursing, changing Mallory's diaper, making Bennett sit on the potty, getting both kids dressed, getting myself dressed, packing a snack, packing a sippy cup, grabbing extra underwear and shorts just in case, getting my grocery list ready, finding Bennett's shoes, forgetting Mallory's binky and going back inside to find it, buckling everyone in, realizing I can't find my Baby Bjorn, searching all over the house for said Baby Bjorn only to realize it has been in the trunk of the car the whole time, vowing I will never take both kids to the grocery store again... you know the drill) the kids and I headed off to Trader Joe's (the most magical place in the unverse).

It was just your typical Trader Joe's trip: Mallory in the Baby Bjorn, smiling at passers-by... Bennett asking to have a snack from the food samples, asking for chocolate milk, asking to see the "Moo Cow" sign over the dairy case, asking to look for the stuffed lemur they hide around the store for kids. It was during this last query that our story really begins...

Bennett: "Mama, where is dat monkey?" (He doesn't know it's really a lemur... I don't have the heart to tell him.)

Mama: (scanning the cheese section) "Hmmm... where did they move the provolone?"

Bennett: "Mama! I want to find dat monkey pweeeaaassseeee!!!"

Mama: (still looking for that evasive provolone) "I don't know where it is, Bennett. Let's look in a minute, okay?"

Bennett: (pointing) "Ask dat blue man over dere." (translation: blue man = man in a blue shirt)

At this point I look to where Bennett is pointing and see a woman in a blue shirt, definitely in ear shot of our conversation. What makes it really bad is that she does have kind of a masculine quality to her. I am mortified. Like an idiot, I try to fix it.

Mama: "Oh, do you mean that you want to find a man that works here and ask him? Hmmmm... I don't see him right now. Let's go look!"

Bennett: (pointing again) "No, Mama! Dat man right dere!"

The lady is listening now, aware that Bennett is pointing at her. She gives us a not-so-happy look and turns to leave.

And I don't say anything. I just stand there with a red face watching blue (wo)man walk away. Because when your two-year old tells a woman that she, in fact, looks like a man, there really isn't much you can do or say to make it better.