DC Metro Moms

Hey AAP: Ready to Reverse Course on Male Circumcision, Too?

I run in a pretty “crunchy” crowd. Or rather, I used to run in an ultra-crunchy crowd. You know - the kind that grows vegetables in the backyard, argues about the conservative media bias, and generally considers Birkenstocks to be perfectly acceptable for the office. I never seriously considered a hospital birth because I knew from the start I wanted my babies born at home if at all possible. But I knew when I was a new mom I needed to flap my social wings a bit. I found myself socializing with other mamas, if only for the reassurance that my son’s (remarkably poor) eating and (remarkably poor) sleeping was normal. (It was). Imagine my surprise, then, as I sat with a group of moms at a Friday jazz program at the National Gallery of Art when the conversation turned to circumcision.

Powering Down: Why Being a Part-Time Worker and Parent Can Be So Hard

The choice to become a parent brings necessary trade-offs. Time does not expand, after all. For me, it meant essentially giving up pottery as a hobby and working part-time, rather than full-time. I don’t regret the choices for a minute. And if you could see the way my son solves problems daily or the way my daughter laughs, you’d know why in an instant. Absent my children, I never would’ve gotten to see the world anew in a totally different light.

A few years ago, my husband and I made the choice that we’d send our son to a Waldorf pre-school, and that meant giving up a few more things. No more NPR in the car with the kids; no more television news before dinner; trying really, really hard to be present for my kids and do tasks that they would find meaningful, rather than sitting behind a keyboard. I do it willingly. While some folks might consider it to simply be replicating the ostrich approach to parenting—my head firmly planted in the sand while the world and all its technology swirls around me—the philosophy agrees with me. I’m one of those people who, when call waiting came out, would hang up if someone switched over to answer another call. The person I was talking to would either decide we were done talking, or call back and ask me why I’d hung up on them. I’d always answer “I didn’t hang up on you, you hung up on me. You chose to answer another call rather than finish our conversation”. And that’s a fine choice to make, but it seemed to me that I shouldn’t have to wait on hold while they took another call. They could call me back when they had the time to talk.

Declaring War on the Earth: Part 3, Should We Sweat the Small Stuff?

First came the baby in the baby carriage, and the warmer house. That’s the day we declared war on the Earth. Next came another baby in a baby carriage that could haul two kids around, and a bigger house—The Big Move. Now, I have to figure out how to at least control this war on the Earth so that some day, I might live in harmony once more. Please, please, let this conflict not escalate any further.

I could do something extreme and sell my home, downsize, and instantly reduce my carbon footprint. The trouble is, housing transaction costs are high. It’s not something you just do overnight. Plus, a move would threaten my sanity, and that’s something I don’t like to tinker with. It prompted the initial move.

So here’s what I do – which follows all those posts on DCMetroMoms that got me thinking about this topic in the first place. And that’s when I realize that I, too, am missing the forest for the trees.

Declaring War on the Earth: Part 2, The Big Move

As noted in the first post in this series, having children was akin to declaring war on the environment in my house. And adding a second child threw my somewhat simple life out of balance even more than the birth of the first. My hairdresser quipped while I was in her care one time that the second child can’t be as big a deal as the first. After all, you only lose your freedom once. But oh, how I beg to differ with her now. My second child has freed me to become an environmental disaster. And here’s why.

Up until my daughter was born, I lived in a 962 square foot house with my husband and then later, our son. It was a rambler with three bedrooms upstairs and another tucked away in the finished basement. The kitchen in that old house was what our realtor once termed a “one-butt kitchen”, for it was nearly impossible for more than one person to be in it at a time. Heck, we couldn’t even open the refrigerator and dishwasher at the same time, and it was impossible to get to our basement when the oven door was open. Problems abounded, but we made it work. It wasn’t that hard when there were only two adults in the house, and adding one child didn’t upset the balance that much.

Declaring War on the Earth: Part 1, The Baby Arrives

A friend of mine put it pretty succinctly a few weeks ago. The day my first child was born was the day I declared war on the Earth. And I doubled down when my second came along. True, that first child who is now four wouldn’t consider tossing a piece of paper in the garbage, nor would he ever throw away a plastic recycle-able. He knows that the water he can use for his outdoor projects comes from our rain barrel, not the regular hose. And he’s certainly not afraid to tell his two-year old sibling “Helen! You can’t leave the water running. We might run out someday!”. Ok, it was a simplistic explanation of why it makes me insane to see water running in the house when it’s not being used, but it works. At least for my son. I’ve even seen him tell my husband, our au pair, and visitors about what can and cannot be recycled, referring to the pictures on our refrigerator. He’s not afraid to go fishing in the trashcan if he finds a misplaced object.

Kudos to all the Earth friendly moms out there. As witnessed by all the Earth Day posts, it's clear many parents are doing a lot to live earth-friendly lives - and teaching their kids to do the same, daily. But I can't help but wonder, are we missing the forest for the trees? Prior to having children, my husband and I kept the furnace low, and when it got cold, we reminded ourselves that Jimmy Carter had advised folks to put on another sweater. If he could do it in the White House, we could surely do it too. Likewise, in the summer we rarely used our AC, preferring instead to hang out in our basement and sleep in a bedroom tucked away down there, affectionately termed our “summer bedroom”. My husband and I biked to work almost daily, had one car that didn’t do much more than take us on weekend trips and to the grocery store. When gas prices started rising, we didn’t have cause to take notice. For the life of us, we couldn’t understand why Arlington County issued such large trash bins. If ours was filled more than one-third, it surprised us.

But oh, how life has changed with kids.

Shouldn’t Summer Be for Taking a Break?

Recent high temperatures in the area make me all too aware that soon, summer will be here for good. Most area parents awoke from their winter’s slumber when the announcements for camp started arriving daily in their mailboxes around January.

At my own home, I received notice of a camp at Monkey Business – a Falls Church business where my daughter has attended classes; the zoo – we’re long-time members but have yet to take a class there since sibling interlopers were discouraged from attending the class that made the most sense for my older child; Arlington County – oh the choices!; Adventure Theatre – where my son, daughter, and I have a partial season ticket; Classika Theatre – where my son and I see shows occasionally; and a few others that I’m not recalling right now. Each ad promised an enriching experience for my children. That, and a day packed full of fun – and learning! I read each ad, thought about it, generally thought about how cool it sounded, and then thought about my own childhood memories of summer.

I don’t know if we didn’t have summer camp when I was young, or if my parents just didn’t think it was important. As far as I can recall, I spent one week each summer at Kansas State University Family Camp with my family and one week each summer at Camp Daisy Hindman with other area girl scouts. I remember the archery range, the snack bar, making ice cream sundaes, and complaining about the outdoor toilets. I also remember hiking, wading through creeks (my sister’s troop is still legendary for going so far upstream that State Troopers had to bring them back), and feeling so free. But beyond these two places, I have no memory of camp. Instead, my million memories of summer all center around one location: the neighborhood swim club.

Thinking about it now though, I can name only one of my son’s friends who won’t attend several weeks of camp this summer. And I wonder if that’s what’s best for our children? Sure, we live in a place with fabulous summer offerings. But shouldn’t there be one time a year when kids can just be kids? Are we shortchanging our children by giving them so few choices over how to spend their time that their creativity ends up being stifled? Sometimes, as working parents, we don’t have the luxury of giving our children nothing to do. We go to our jobs, our children need to be in the hands of an adult. It’s a convenient relationship, for sure. 

Rules of the Road

I commuted by bike from Arlington to DC almost daily for work through my 8th month of pregnancy with my older son. And I only stopped biking then because it was mid-July and the temps were busting 100, requiring me to stop and drink what felt like gallons of water and take breaks to the point that it no longer seemed an efficient way to travel. As a daily commuter, I learned the rules of the bike trail well--especially those in effect during rush hour, and even now, when I only recently began commuting via bike again (almost 5 years later!), I remember them. In case you're new to our extensive network of local trails, or wondering why some biker is cursing you with your stroller, I thought I'd fill you in.

Stay to the right, unless you are passing.

Signal that you are passing to whomever you are passing (and I assure you, adding 25 pounds of pregnant belly weight can make for a very fast downhill ride, as your husband trails you wondering why the heck you are all of a sudden a much faster morning rider than he is).

If you are being passed, a courtesy wave to the person trying to pass is a nice gesture of recognition, as is a further scootch to the right of the path.

Never, under any circumstances, be confused that your ride/walk includes a leisurely chat with your riding/walking partner. You have exactly one goal - to get to work in one piece. And if that's not your goal, know that it is the goal of others.