I guess I Write Now

A funny thing happened, and I suddenly had one thing published to a favorite online news media outlet. It's called My Parenting Style Isn't For Everyone, and I Am Not Embarrassed To Admit It . Funny thing, that title.... I actually was deeply embarrassed when it popped up - thrilled that someone thought I was worth reading, but so embarrassed also.

Like, welcome to my messy fucking life, world.

Anyway, I have since sent several things to them that have not been selected for the site. Sad, but whatever. I remembered I had this blog, and while they might not want to read and publish everything I write, it doesn't mean I can't publish it here. On that note, I present my thoughts on pooping at a friend's house.


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By far the hardest thing to do while managing a nomadic life as an Army Spouse is making friends at the new places you are moved. This is made even more difficult when you are moved somewhere there is no Army post. Occasionally, as an active duty member, you can get some pretty sweet jobs around the country - it’s cool, but it just means your built in network of people who “get it” are far and few between. The current place we live is delightful, but I have struggled making friends. I am not a ray of sunshine, and have a fairly good case of RBF. I counted it a lucky thing that I had made THREE friends, and then I was not surprised when two of the three moved away. Such is our life.

Before my best of the two friends moved away we all decided to do a pizza night at her house. I was like, “Yes, friend. Carbs and wine… that’s heaven.” She made the pizzas from scratch, and I made the sangria. Husband and I packed up the goods, made the children go potty before we left, packed swimsuits, and set off four house up the street to have pizza night.

The evening was going amazingly. All three of my kids, and both of her kids were getting along wonderfully - no fighting, no crying, and they all ate fairly well. They played in their swimsuits, and threw water balloons at each other, and their dog. I actually felt relaxed, and was able to put my worries aside for a moment.

Big mistake.

The three younger children wanted to come inside, and change back into clothes so they could play with the toys upstairs. They go upstairs to change, and all four of us adults think nothing of it - they are all over the age of three, surely they can put their clothes on. The older two stayed outside to play for a little bit longer before going upstairs to change.

Now, this is where things go horrifyingly hilarious and annoying. My friends kid goes upstairs, and he suddenly says, “Umm… you guys? Can you, like, come up here?” We are all like, “No?” “Wait. Why?” He says, “There is poop on the toilet.”

My heart sinks. Like, yes, of course there is poop on the toilet… but I was feeling optimistic that is would be an easy clean up job, maybe it is just A turd. Oh how I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I get upstairs to discover MY three year old with poop in his underwear, on his shirt, on his shorts, and it is SMEARED all over the toilet seat and down the side! Like, DOWN THE SIDE?! Why? How? What? I call my husband upstairs, and I am like “Help me.” He is like, “No way, I cleaned up J when he did this at X’s house.”

Oh. Did I forget to mention? The middle one did the exact same thing at someone else’s house the month prior. I was unaware of the situation, and my husband had to clean up all the poop off of middle child, and the toilet solo. That instance required the throwing away of underwear…

So, with shallow breaths, I strip down Tiny. To his credit, my husband goes down stairs and explains the situation to our friends. Suddenly all three of them are standing there looking at me, I have tears in my eyes, and am trying to get poopy clothes off a squirming three-year-old. Our friends are laughing, husband is kind of laughing, the other four children are looking on horrified, and I am trying to not throw up all over the place. At this point, I have to add that this is the first time we have ever had dinner at their house, and I want to crawl in a hole and die.

I get all the poop soaked clothes off Tiny, and wash him thoroughly in the shower. Husband cleans the toilet, God Bless that man, and our friends bring bags for the clothes. Some of those clothes there was no saving from the sheer amount of poop on them, and they were thrown away. Goodbye, Paw Patrol underwear! The tee-shirt we managed to save. My friend comes back with lime green girl panties, tiny booty shorts, and a bright green and blue tee-shirt for Tiny to wear. Somewhere amongst all the poop is when it was decided that our families were now friends forever... a pact sealed with laughter over a poop smear toddler.

………

True mommy friendships are hard to find, and worth the fight to keep. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss my friend, and I feel that way about all the true mommy friends I have made over the last eight years of being a mommy. There are lots of people I fell out of contact with for one reason or another, but some that I still have the absolute privilege to remain friends with. These women are the ones that have helped me laugh when I feel like crying; they have helped lift me up when I have felt I couldn’t go on.  

After all, the one thing mommyhood is always teaching us is that $#*! happens. Literally.