DC Metro Moms

Remembering That Ch-Ch-Ch-Change is the Only Constant

My daughter came home from Kindergarten last Thursday acting out of sorts, blue, and really, really down.

I asked her what was going on and what happened that made her feel that way.

Our Word Wall is down.  The walls in our classroom are getting empty, and we took everything out of our cubbies today.  It's not my same class, and it just. . . makes me feel funny.

Ahhhh, the ole "a new change is-a-comin' syndrome"--the same one that I still suffer from with the change of seasons, change of schedule, change of just about anything.

I'm Falling Out of Love with My Mini-Van

I loved him.

No, I adored him. 

When he first joined our family, he felt strong, he felt safe, he felt like home.  I eagerly fell into step as his most vocal adorer; I unabashedly, proudly, bravely sang his praises whenever I had the opportunity:

He’s so smooth.  He’s so sleek. He’s so cool. 

He’s just so comfortable, so roomy.  He’s so sweeeeet.  He really is the best thing that’s happened to our family.  He makes my days so much easier.  We are all so happy with him.

But today I ordered his seventh new hubcap.  Seventh.  Siete.  Sept. Seee-venth. Seven.

So my love-affair with Vanny is abruptly coming to an end.

Reconciling Mother's Day--Whose Day is it, Anyway?

Before the day arrives, it's the talk of playgroup: How are you planning on spending Mother's Day? 

On the 'big day', emails are thrown back and forth sending Happy Mother's Day wishes to my favorite moms and Hoping you get a chance to enjoy your day!  Texts and tweets with Mother's Day greetings are passed around like hotcakes (yep, 'hotcakes'), and it's impossible to ignore the well-wishes on TV, on the computer, literally everywhere you turn. 

The talk of moms at drop-off and pick-up this week was, of course, how each person spent her Mother's Day.  And I realized that there's a split, an absolute division, between those moms who were 'pampered'--treated to a day of peace and quiet at the spa, enjoying their mani's, pedi's, full-body massages, and facials, or just time by themselves--and those who had to do the 'pampering'. 

Those winning-ticket moms who were treated like queens on 'their day' pay the price when those who 'pampered' others really lay on the guilt: Oh, yeah, my Mother's Day was awesome.  I wolfed down the stale bagel that my kids brought me to eat in bed because I had ten minutes to shower, pick up the house, and make brunch for my parents, in-law's, and sisters who came over to my house for the day.  Really relaxing.  My dream day.

So who does Mother's Day belong to, anyway?

I Over-Scheduled Our Spring, and It Stinks

Three years ago, when my oldest had just turned three, and I juggled a one-year-old in one arm and a newborn in the other, I listened to a friend who was only a few years older--but decades wiser than I-- denounce the over-scheduled family:

"Even in this busy area, where it's impossible to escape the pressure placed upon us by our kids, other parents, and friends to sign our children up for every activity under the sun, I will only ever--ever--have my kids participate in one activity at a time. It's better for our family, and it's better for them. I just won't do it."

Back then, my friend's two children were probably about four and seven, and mine were, of course, too young for much of anything except our MOMS Club meetings.  Life was nutty enough for us.  But what she said really stuck with me.  I decided right then and there that I, too, would ignore the inevitable pressure and would only ever schedule one activity per child per season.

It's Taken Fifteen Years and a Doodle Dog For This Girl to Take a Break

Today, for the first time in years—and I mean years—I sat outside on the grass and just. . . sat.

I was alone--solo--me and no other person.   I sat still and enjoyed the fuzzy fluff of new pup who had just fallen asleep on my lap.

No meditating or intentional time set aside for prayer or quiet contemplation.  I was not nursing a baby.  I had no newspaper, no book club read, and no Reading Teacher issue to sift through.  No catalogs or PTA magazine, no preschool monthly notes.  No MOMS Club newsletter, no mail-reading, letter-writing, or blog post composing.  No Facebook reading, Tweeting, or texting.   

I just sat.  With a puppy on my lap.  I just sat.

Discussing Same-Sex Marriage With Kids, At Breakfast Of Course

Why are those two guys in the paper, Mommy?  Why are they holding those babies?   How come the babies are so fancy?

Read about these guys.  Read the story.  Would you please read this one, Mommy?

The questions and requests were simple, and although the answers should be just as easy to share with my 6, 4, and 3 year-olds, they weren’t.   Usually, our newspaper reading is a little less exciting, but today, it really got us thinking.

I realized in the brief moment between putting Cheerios on the table and pouring my coffee, that I had never really talked to my kids about same-sex relationships.  It’s not something that I’ve tried to hide from them, but before now, the opportunity to discuss same-sex marriage has never arisen.

I remember in my early 20’s, pining for a Carson Kressley to enter my life.  I envisioned marathon shopping trips topped with unlimited and unsolicited fashion advice.  I wanted a pal and confidant to guide me in all the ways we straight women--for some strange reason --believe that gay men would if we had one as our best friend.   It’s silly, ridiculous, and I’m embarrassed to even write it.

Still now, I--we--don’t have gay friends.  We really don't.  We don’t know many people—okay, anyone—in a same-sex relationship.  It’s 2010.  What on earth is wrong with us?  We’re a liberal, forward-thinking, open-minded, educated couple in the very diverse mid-east.  Where are our gay friends?

Cell Phones and Driving: A Hard, Hard Habit to Break

I am a pledge-taking failure. 

Well, okay, not a complete and utter failure, but I’ve let myself down.

Almost exactly one month ago, I took the pledge.  I tried to make a small life change, and I’ll be honest—it’s been really difficult for me.

I’m not alone; at this point in time, over 135,000 others have taken the very same pledge.  I wonder, though, how many have fallen.  How many have broken their promise?  How many more, like me, were good for a few days—weeks, even—but then went back to their old ways?

I’m hoping that writing this will help me to better realize the commitment I made only four weeks ago: I will not text while driving and will only use my handset if I need to speak on the phone while I am driving.

How Much Snow Will It Take For Two Adults To Finally Grow Up?

 Today we were nailed with nearly three feet of snow in the DC Metro area. 

All week long, reports of the impending storm were impossible to escape.  Everywhere we turned, the media focused on the empty grocery store shelves, the Friday school closings or early releases, and the fact that this storm would likely cripple our area. 

I am sick about how very little my husband and I did to prepare our family for this storm, and I'm hoping this was our wake-up call.  We're in our mid-thirties.  We have three kids.  And they're little. 

We should know better--he should know better, and I should know better. This time we totally blew it, and we're both sick about it. 

The Tooth Fairy: What's Her Deal, Anyway?

“We better hope that the tooth fairy comes to Matthew and Seth’s house tonight and puts some new teeth back into Seth’s mouth, right Mommy?” Owen mumbled, glancing up at me, his mouth full of Cheerios. Milk was dripping towards his chin.

The buzz of my morning halted.

I froze mid-way through buttering waffles, pouring orange juice, and packing lunch. I focused on the spot of milk that was caught in the dimple in Owen’s chin, as I said in slow motion, “Yes. I guess so, Honey.”

Yes, I guess so? No. That was wrong. The tooth fairy doesn’t replace lost teeth. They grow back. Over a long period of time.  The tooth fairy—she. . . c’mon, brain. What does she do?

“Owen, the tooth fairy doesn’t put teeth back into people’s mouth. She takes the baby teeth away after they fall out and brings a little gift for the child who lost the tooth.”

Does she? Was this even right? What would our tooth fairy bring? My husband and I hadn’t even thought about the tooth fairy yet, let alone figure out what she was going to bring for our kids.

How old were kids when they lost teeth? Ours got them late. Didn’t that mean that they lost them late? How old was Maddy again? Five. That’s right. She’s only five. Where would these lost teeth even go? Where did people get those tooth fairy pillows that I had when I was little?

In a matter of seconds, my brain was flooded with everything Tooth Fairy.

I Don't Like Me During the Holidays

I realized it when I reached for a Rescue Remedy and the tiny tin was empty.  What in the world? I just bought these. . .

My patience was short.  It has been short—all month long.  And rather than lose my temper, yell, scream--or cry--at 8:29 am when trying to get the troops bundled up, out of the house, and to my daughter's school in ten minutes, I needed help.  Enter: Rescue Remedy.  But apparently not today.  Deep breaths, deep breaths. .  .

I should be skipping around the house, humming holiday tunes and trying to trick one of my kiddos—or my husband—to stand under the mistletoe with me.  But instead, I’m rushing around, trying to do it all, when. .  . I just cannot.  I really, really wish I liked myself more during the holiday season.  But every year, I am embarrassed, angry, and upset at the mom-monster I become during the last month of the year.