DC Metro Moms

Snowmageddon: The Meltdown

Between the last two snow storms I had a few blissful hours of hurriedly running errands while roads were "clear" enough to hit the streets but before the next storm came rolling in.  I was focusing on the mess of traffic in front of me when I half-heard one of the announcers on WTOP talking about how important it was that we "keep things moving" before nightfall, even if that meant extending unusual courtesies.

Not an hour later I watched an amazing scene where a woman drove her car partway into traffic, blocking traffic and proceeded to get out of her car and yell at cars that were honking at her.  She actually started tapping on windows and gesturing wildly at the drivers.  Although I understand why -- we were in a parking lot and none of the cars on the main road were allowing those of us who needed to get OUT of the parking lot to get out -- they were just blocking our exit every time the light turned red.  It took 45 minutes after her lecture to the drivers until I got to make my lefthand turn, and then my forward movement was thwarted by a woman several cars ahead getting stuck.  Cars honked at her -- because that's a big help -- and as soon as they could swerve into the oncoming traffic lane (that's safe!), the cars drove around her.  I pulled up behind her and got out, as did the man in the car behind me (with the cars behind us honking) and together, with the help of my freshly purchased kitty litter, we provided enough traction to get her unstuck and on her way so the rest of us could move.

Tempers are flaring around the DC Metro area.  In my neighborhood it is about the condition of our roads, which are a shoddy combination of several-inches-thick ice, and potholes of melted slush, with some areas of slick ice.  At any point in the day you can ride down the street and suddenly encounter an abandoned car that blocks part or all of the road -- someone who got stuck and couldn't figure out a way to get unstuck.  It took my husband THREE HOURS to go five miles Saturday night, and over an hour of that was .9 miles straight down our street.

Not The Snow Mother I Wanted To Be

I usually love it when it snows.  As soon as I know we are going to have a big storm, I get the supplies for snow cream and snow candy almost before I worry about buying up ground beef, milk and bananas like the rest of the DC Metro Area.  Every year I make sure my kids have full snow gear: boots, ski bibs, parkas, hats, mittens, extra mittens to wear while the other ones are drying; just in case we get A BIG Snow!  This year I increased our sled stock from one multi-rider foam sled to include two round snow saucers.

And though I was prepared in every way -- we had all the fun gear, we had all the necessities, we even had all the emergency gear -- I just was not able to be the snow mom I wanted to be.  While I read friends' Facebook statuses of the fun they were having bonding as family during the time off from school and work during the snow storms (sledding, snowman building, playing board games), I was working under the gun on some deadlines.  Some were work-related, but most were volunteer-related and I was really mad at myself that it was unpaid work that was taking me away from family.  And yet, it was something I had made a serious commitment to, something that had a hard deadline, and something that had to be done.  And required a lot of phone calls.  A lot of emails. 

Dieting While Married to a Skinny Husband

When my husband and I go out in public these days, I sometimes imagine people are reciting that nursery rhyme behind our backs, "Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean..."  Although I am the overweight one and he's the scrawny one, he's the one who has a steady diet of vending machine snacks from the office and other artery-hardening things I don't even want to think about and I'm the one gnawing on carrots like a bunny rabbit.  Yet he never gains and ounce and I seem to gain weight merely by breathing.  (Seriously, does AIR have calories?)

Although I always try to keep healthy food in our house for the entire family, I have renewed my efforts to lose weight and have tried to engage my husband in the process by explaining some of the things to look out for when we grocery shop.  Because we have two small children, grocery shopping often falls to whomever is less tired at night or doesn't have children with them at the moment we realize we have run out of milk or races out the front door faster so they can have a few moments of peace and quiet.  This means that what is in our pantry may vary greatly depending on who did the shopping.

We had a conversation about how I wanted to try to follow Dr. Oz's Rule of 5s and how we're going to focus on non-processed foods because those tend to be the ones that are worse for you.  JavaDad, being a terrific husband, went to the grocery store a few days later and planned several nights of dinner because he knew I had several tough nights of meetings ahead of me.  Yep, he told me, as he pulled out the groceries, he had it all planned out... Hamburger Helper, a taco pie kit, a Tuna Helper kit. 

Uh, Houston, we have a problem.

To Love, Honor, Cherish, and Sort Socks

When my husband asked my father for my hand in marriage, my father asked him a few serious questions and then said, "You do understand that this means you are now responsible for moving all her heavy furniture and dealing with her sock drawer, right?"

JavaDad had already been well-vetted by the family, seeing as we had all known him since he and I were in elementary school, so I imagine my father was doing a happy dance on the other end of the phone conversation, knowing he would no longer have to rent U-Haul trucks to move me cross-country whenever the whim struck me (funny, we ended up moving cross-country again not long after our engagement...) 

As to the sock drawer... well, that stems from a few visits when Dad would sit with me as I did laundry and he'd help me sort socks. 

Roof Dog, the Red-Nosed Reindeer and the Headless Turkey

There is something about the holidays that really awakens the conversational skills of young children -- maybe it is the break from the ordinary routine into extraordinary activities -- but as a parent this time of year brings about many fun conversation with my kids and lets me get inside their heads. 

Now that my daughter, JavaGirl, is 3.5 she can tell you everything about Christmas and the Christmas season.  These are a few of the little gems she has been spouting lately:   

• Today is somebody's birthday, not mine, not yours, I don't know whose, but somebody's somewhere in the world.
• Jesus has two daddies. God and Joefesus.
• There are two Jesuses -- Baby Jesus and the Jesus who is not a baby. Roof Dog is the Red-Nosed Reindeer, he has a very shiny nose. His name is Roof Dog.
• Mrs. Claus is Santa Claus's Mommy!

Thanks Mom, For Passing the Spatula

'Tis the season... for women my age to speak in hushed tones in dark corners to their very closest friends about how the holiday season is going.  Yes, the holidays are rife with high expectations, emotions, and often familial conflict for everyone, but often mothers of young children feel everything particularly keenly because down deep, many of us feel compelled to have a Norman Rockwell holiday season, though few of us have actually seen one with our very own eyes.

There are two common themes of stress I notice, the To Travel or Not to Travel debate and the Who's The Hostess debate.  It is amazing how for holidays that are supposed to be about togetherness, these two topics can bring about such divisiveness.

Cooking Up Chaos: The Conundrum of Creativity

It is a rare moment in my house when the kitchen counters are completely clear, nary a dirty dish in site, the floors gleaming.  And usually if they are, it is due to a heroic attempt on my husband's part over the weekend or an evening when I am out at a volunteer meeting.  Oh, I try to get it close, but I never quite seal the deal -- there is always a stack of school papers on the corner of the counter, or some unfinished art project nearby, or a small child insisting on yet another meal or snack, dirtying up yet another set of dishes faster than I can manage to keep them all clean.  It takes JavaDad and having two kids asleep to get the kitchen in perfect order.

And yet, JavaDad knows his work is short-lived, because as soon as the kitchen reaches perfection, it inspires me.  It inspires me to... cook!  Most of the time I am merely in "survival cooking mode" -- eking out a passably nutritious dinner each night on the fly and assembling lunches that are healthy but not terribly creative.  Breakfast is very basic -- cereal, milk, maybe some fruit.  But give me a gleaming kitchen and... my husband swears he hears the theme song to Jaws as I approach... I come into the kitchen with grand cooking plans.  Nothing simple, it seems I always need to pull out virtually every pot and pan and appliance to whip out something homemade.  I wish I were one of those disciplined cooks who cleaned up after herself as she went, I keep thinking I am -- I am almost certain I am putting things away as I go, but when I look back, I realize I have left a trail of disaster much like the tornadoes I used to cover in my reporter days.  How come Rachel Ray's tv kitchen never looks like that?

What's In A Name? Everything.

I married into one of those names that people misspell frequently.  In fact, I still pause at times to make sure I am spelling it correctly, even after seven years of marriage.  The last two letters (le) are easy to reverse (el).  But that is still no excuse for people and organizations who come in regular contact with me not to take the time to get it right.

Names are important.  They are a vital part of our identity and therefore, they are worth taking the time to get right.  I happen to have a lot of names, a first, two middle names, a maiden name and my married name -- the Social Security office just loved me when I insisted that they fit them all on my card.  My mother gave me all those names (well, not my married one), I wasn't going to drop any of them! 

The Wedding Dress

Weddings come in all forms from the very casual to the very formal, and yet almost universally, brides still pay special attention to their dress (even if the "dress" may take an unusual form of a bathing suit or other attire).  Rare is the bride who doesn't hang onto her dress at least for a little while after the ceremony -- although after watching many Clean Sweep episodes, I've learned all too many just shove them into the bottom of the closet instead of properly preserving them -- which causes organizer Peter Walsh to shake his head in dismay.

Over time, however, I've come to realize that "The Dress" is far more than the satin and lace I wore to walk down the aisle to go from Miss to Mrs.  That poofy white dress and its 14-foot train has come to mean different things to me at different points of life and I think its not quite done telling its story.

Not On The School Supply List...

A wave of horror and disbelief washed over me as I read about the fatal stabbing in the courtyard at my high school alma mater earlier this month.  Coral Gables Senior High School, though in the same county as its more famous South Florida sister city of Miami, is not a school where you would expect to hear about students in lockdown, and news helicopters flying overhead, bringing back grim images of a young man's body lifeless body draped with a white sheet.  No, Gables has always been the kind of high school that prided itself on being the best of the best, and several news stories quote my history teacher aptly describing the day as the worst day ever in the history of the school.

I was on vacation -- away from the news and even from email while this tragedy played out -- so I didn't chime in with my classmates as they reacted on Facebook when the news broke.  But once I checked in I found that though we were scattered across the country, my classmates went through similar emotions quickly -- surprise, grief, shock, shame, sympathy for the family -- even if mine were a week later.