Poop-tastrophe

Well, I am beyond thrilled to share our first contributor piece. The response to and for this little project has been overwhelming, and has brought me such delight over the past couple of days. Please make sure you share the page, share the Facebook Page, and also make sure you follow us! So, without further ado I present Genevieve.  - Caitlin

Genevieve  is mommy to two kids and one of the bloggers from That's What She Crafted.  She spends much of her week keeping her busy household running as smooth as she can while dashing back and forth from various volunteering tasks at her kids' schools.  After the kids are asleep,  she fullfills the itch to be crafty through sewing or knitting while binge watching a variety of movies and shows.  Each day is a task in trying to find her inner super mom and taking it one "hurry up we need to leave NOW!" at a time.

Poop-tastrophe

For those of you who have read Caitlin's "I Guess I Write Now", you'll know that there was an incident with her youngest and poop. That was her version, and her take on the delights of having a three-year-old with a mind of his own... Now for the very first time you'll get the other side because, that's right folks she was at MY house when this poop-tastrophe occurred.

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Just a quick back story on our friendship - as you know Caitlin is an Army wife, living the nomad life. Me? Not a military wife at all... an Air Force Brat once upon a time, so I understand the dependent side of being a military nomad. I did not marry a service member, yet we move just like they do. My husband is an engineer, and in our 10 years of marriage we have moved 5 times! This does not include the times I moved "back home" to teach on my own during our first year of marriage. Some of you will remember that teaching jobs and the recession didn't mix well. 

In January 2016, we moved to the brown, drab, and desolate desert of the Southwest from the green, perfect lushiousness of the Pacific Northwest. Can you tell that we missed all the green and water?  We knew basically no body. My oldest was in kindergarten, and I ended that school year about the same amount of people as when we first moved to the area. 

Then fall happened - a new school year, and a new routine! We walked to school like we planned, and what do you know? There's this nice other mom who didn't mind making awkward small talk with me! She wore Doctor Who leggings to pick up, I thought oooohh!! someone who could share in my geekiness! She then sealed the deal she wore Harry Potter leggings - she is a Slytherin, but my Hufflepuff heart accepts all, or maybe my Ravenclaw brain knew she wasn't one to let run away. We continued the small talk branching into chats about fandoms and then one day she gave me a post-it note with her name, number, and permission to text "whenever."  Pretty sure we didn't even make it back to the house before texts were flying back and forth.

In any case that was the beginning of the beautiful, but awkward, first friend I made at my kids' school.  It didn't stop at texts, we shared kid birthday's together, went on that elusive forth base mommy date, cried when our husbands were yet out of town again, and had dinner at each other's houses. It was perfect.

.......

We were in the honeymoon phase of our mommy love affair - she even ended up moving down the street from us. We could yell (or text) from our driveways at each other that the garage door was open, or that the dogs were out!

Then we, really I should say I, ruined it... We decided to up and move. Just 8 hours away, but none the less move away. Before we moved away for good we decided on a last hurrah; this was to be an end of the year pizza party with water balloon fun, but life got in the way and we had to cancel. See my mom died, fuck cancer, and through it all Caitlin was a text away. She armed with lemon bars and a solid shoulder to cry on. The end of May was absolutely traumatic. Yet, I needed some fun too and so did my kids.  So, pizza party was back on for June once we returned from funeral services and taking care of various things. 

Pizza day arrived, and it was the first thing I had been truly excited about. Caitlin was bringing Sangria. I had 200 water balloons filled for the five kids. Homemade pizza dough was made the night before, and toppings were in little bowls ready to top dough and get shoved in the oven. We ate. The kids changed into suits and played their hearts out. The grown ups relaxed, chatted, laughed. It really was the perfect family affair. Then the youngest three, ages 3, 4, and 4, decided they weren't going to wait for me to fill the last few water balloons. They wanted to play upstairs in our loft. Cool. Here are your clothes, change, have fun. Big kids, ages 7 and 8, continue to play with the water balloons and squirt guns. Grown ups still blissfully enjoying each other's company. We can hear the kids up stairs playing with the Hulk hands and Duplos. 

Then the big kids are done outside, and come into to change. Suddenly, all hell breaks loose, and my oldest is calling down from the upstairs bathroom, "Umm guys? Can someone come help me?" All grown ups stop, look at each other, and wonder why the seven-year-old needs help?  I call up, "No you can change on your own."  He responds, "Ummm but there is poop on the toilet."

Now, if I could have had a camera and snapped Cailtin's face it would have been the perfect face for utter panic. She knew it was her kid's poop. She. Just. Knew. She BOLTED up the stairs as the other three grown ups in our group sat staring at each other.  Then we heard, "Honey get up here!"  At this point I assumed there was probably poop all over my bathroom.  Toilet, sink, cabinets, floor.  I mean that was the tone of the "get up here".

So her husband goes up, comes back down, and confirms there is poop. So, what can you do? I dash upstairs with some Clorox wipes to see her looking back at me with pleading "OMG how is this happening" eyes with her three-year-old in front of her as she tries to strip him down. The poop, the toilet and the floor? No big deal. Not for this former cloth diapering mama! Poop is poop. I ask about clothes and if she wants a bag for his clothes or to toss them. She asks for baby wipes to clean him down. I laugh and tell her to use the tub and the handheld shower head. Now she's hosing down Tiny.  Her husband and my husband are wiping things down. I'm grabbing clothing of my 4 year old daughter's that might fit and end with a bright yellow "bike for dad" shirt from Thailand, striped undies, and I think pink shorts.

In all of this there is laughter as we discuss how now our lives are forever sealed by poop. For my husband next security clearance, they will be asked, "How well do you know this family?" And they can respond, Poop Level. We are Poop Level friends - we've been in the poop trenches together and made it out. The kids continued to play, and we brought her blood pressure back down with another glass of Sangria. 

Overall, maybe not the perfect evening for us all, but looking back... maybe it was. I mean this was  poop-tastrophe June 2017, I know there will be other poop-tastrophes in my life time. I mean I'm a mom - sh!* happens. This is the one that sealed a friendship between two families, one that is sure to survive the distance from this move, and the moves that are bound to happen in the future.  We will never be more than a phone call or a text away. 

Currently, I'm waiting for her and her brood to come visit. I mean we bought the house with a huge basement for people to visit right? Or if she decides on a mommy vacation and have the basement all to herself, totally game for that too. Maybe our kids can get into some different sort of -tastrophe but at least be in it together!

- Genevieve

Fleeting Moments

As a mother, there are some things you feel so deeply, it takes your breath away. Women, in general, have this weird quirk laying under the surface... I just think mothers let it lay at the surface. We cry with joy over first steps, first foods, and first birthdays. We weep with sadness over first concussions, first failed cartwheels, and first vomiting episodes. We laugh ourselves to tears over silly butt shaking dances, accidental projectile snotty sneezes, and the inevitable turn around right into the wall moments.

The moments that take your breath away are not things people without children would even understand. Not really. You can feel moments deep in your heart over your nieces, nephews, and God children, but the way one feels about their own children is so special. You feel them grow inside your body. You labor over them. You watch them breath, and if you are the mother of a preemie, beg for them to breath. You smell the tops of their heads, and kiss them so many times you couldn't possible count that high. It's different, to be a mother. So very different. You can tell your friends that it doesn't, or won't change you, but it is a lie... a bold faced lie.

I tried to pretend having the children didn't change me, and perhaps after we had Sassy, I was basically the same. Bubba was the game changer for me, I think. Something in my heart shifted when he came bursting into life too early. Ah, and then there is Little Baby. Who wouldn't be changed by the kid that almost killed you... I can say that last thing with a bit of humor now, but I assure you.. it is no joke. I love these children. They are mine... for now. One day, all too soon, they will be grown up people, far too busy to call me as much as I want. Far too busy for me to kiss them as much as I want.

That is why we do things like this....

Those are laundry baskets with a pillow inside, a bowl full of popcorn, a cozy blanket, and a movie on. We had a movie date. The boys were so, so, SO excited. My friend, Lovely, is the one who suggested this, and I feel she is the best gal for sharing. This is my fleeting moment today. This moment will never happen again. Not ever. We can try to recreate this moment, but it will never be the same. The joy of this brand new experience will never happen again.

The cruelest thing about having a baby, is that they grow up. My advice, dear readers, is to take joy in your fleeting moments. Cry if you have to, but hang on to these moments.. they are so precious.

Staying at Home

I will be the first to admit that when I first tossed out the idea of becoming a stay at home mother, I didn't think it would be all that hard. Like, come on... it's just a baby. I'll play dress up, and take naps, and cook delicious food... Such a lovely thought.

Now, don't get me wrong. I definitely played dress up with the girl child when she was a baby - such fun to dress up a baby girl. And yeah, we took naps... together. Oh, but I didn't know how to cook. It was A LOT of trial and error, mostly error, before I could cook decently. There were lots of other things I discovered I had to do, because I stayed at home and "had the time". Here is a list of things I "had" to do when I just had one child:

wash the laundry
fold the laundry
put away the laundry
pick up dog poop
throw away dog poop and put it inside a plastic bag, double bag so the bears don't get into the trash can        (we lived in Alaska when girl child was a baby)
shovel the driveway, and the side walk
walk the dog
run with the dog
teach girl child to eat
teach girl child to crawl
teach girl child to walk
teach girl child to talk
teach girl child to eat with spoon and fork
teach girl child ABC's, 123's, colors, shapes, and animals
teach girl child manners
teach girl child how to wipe her butt
go to the gym
loose weight
eat healthier
sweep the house
mop the house
scrub the toilets
change all the bed linens
dust the house
sanitize the kitchen, because kitchens are gross
go to FRG meetings, pretend to be warm and sweet
make real friends
make fake friends
read for fun
read to girl child
drive to the store and shop for food, for fun and because I am bored


I don't think that actually does it all justice... there are pressures, placed upon me by myself and by society, that are hard to articulate. Many people, mostly other women, that work and manage a household, will and have scoffed at me when I was having a hard time. The difference between a person that works full time, outside of the house, and a person that stays home full time is the expectation. For someone that works outside the home, and has children, it seems to be more acceptable for those people to have a bit of a messier life. If you stay home, and everything isn't exactly perfect, people wonder why you are having such a hard time... "it's not like you work".

I want to say, fuck you.

Last night, middlest was up at 1:00, 3:00, and then 5:00 just because... he refused to take a nap today, even though he was obviously tired. He did fall asleep for twenty minutes during a car ride, and woke up screaming because he thought there was a "yuck bug". He demanded dinner a full thirty minutes earlier than normal and screamed until it was finished being cooked. If I went to work outside the house, you want to know what would have happened? Someone else would have dealt with his insanity all day long. Instead, I have the truly amazing, spectacular, grand opportunity, to raise him myself and deal with his insanity. I love this kid, these kids, and I would not trade this time with them for anything. What I do need is for people to stop thinking I don't do anything.

On a slow day, I am a nurse, a chauffeur, an artist, a chef, a laundromat, a typist, a dog walker, a fitness buff, a blogger, a baby wearing, cloth diapering, waiting for daddy to come home, All Star. You don't get to judge me, because I stay at home with these delightful children I created. You don't get to judge me because of how many delightful children we chose to create. You don't get to judge me ever, ever, EVER because you don't know me.