DC Metro Moms

Teaching Children About Big-Toothed-Rats (aka Beavers)

My 82-year-old grandmother got a letter a few years back from her alma mater, Beaver College in Philadelphia. Apparently, the university wanted to change its name for many reasons, one of which was that high schools seniors searching the internet with the term “beaver” were often taken to websites that contained material both unrelated to both schools and furry woodland creatures.

My grandmother, who attended the school in the 1940’s and majored in typing, couldn’t fathom that this problem with the so-called “internet” was as bad as this letter was making it out to be. Not a consumer of Google and its awesome search power, she was confused and appalled that the college was so quick to change its name in an effort to protect children from a seemingly harmless word. “If the kids haven’t figured out the difference between beaver and ‘beaver’ by now,” she asserted, “they probably aren’t ready for college.”

I recently had the opportunity to meet with a handful of smart women as part of an SV Moms Group event, where we joined together and shared our opinions about family security on the Internet. Some of us (me included!) were a bit more naïve about the dangers for kids on the Internet, while others took a more proactive attitude. But in the end the question in some minds remained. When it comes to protecting your family on the Internet, how far is too far?

An Open Letter to the National Aquarium

Dear National Aquarium,

I am writing to show my thanks for allowing my family to come visit you in Baltimore this past holiday weekend. My son, who--despite all the wildlife in his jungle-themed nursery--has never shown an interest in anything animal, was enthralled and delighted by the many large fish he could watch swimming around the stories-tall fish tanks. And even though you were packed to the gills (pardon the pun) with Memorial Day tourists, your staff was polite and courteous, especially the dolphin show emcee that allowed us to stay a little longer in the theater to accommodate our son’s feeding schedule.

But, National Aquarium, I thought we were friends. I thought you realized that my husband and I don’t enjoy being bowled over by rambunctious pre-schoolers or being felt-up by them. And that is why we need to have a serious talk about your policy on not allowing strollers. 

Songs in the Key of Me (or Poop)

Our son, Potato, was recently evaluated by an educational specialist from Fairfax Infant and Toddler Connection, the Early Intervention provider of his physical and speech therapies. When the specialist came to the house, I immediately began to study her methods in an effort to make sure I was doing everything I could as a mom to help his development.

She started singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" while swaying back and forth, hand in hand with Potato. I never do that. She also rolled a car back and forth while singing, "The Wheels on the Bus." Um, yeah, I don't even know the real words to that one.

So there it was, my biggest shortcoming. I never sing to my child. Partly, because every time I have to sing a song, I cry for no seemingly apparent reason. But mostly, because I think little kid songs are incredibly annoying.

To My Husband on Mother's Day

Dear Man-Who-Knocked-Me-Up,

Since we decided a year ago that it might be time to birth one of those things they call a kid, I feel it is my job to remind you that Mother's Day is coming, the goose is getting fat.  Time to think about what to get me.  I really enjoyed the new lens for my camera you got me last year.  This year, I'm thinking something sparkly and expensive.  Maybe a diamond necklace.

I know, I know, I should just be grateful that I am a mother to a beautiful baby boy who is alive and well and making my life have meaning. I should thank my lucky stars that we have started our family off right and that on this, the most sacred of all parenting holidays, we are together, as a family should be.

But come on, really? The amount of work I put into that kid this year, I am due an iPad, at least!

Parents Need Advocacy Too

It’s been difficult to decide if I should address the topic of Torry Hansen, the woman who sent her 7 year-old adopted son, Justin, on a plane back to Russia. On one hand, if I say that she was wrong, I might be labeled as judgmental. On the other hand, if I said I could understand how she is feeling, people might say I’m a bad mother. Being the mother of a child with special needs-–special with any need--is tough. Most days, I am more of a nurse than a parent. Most days, I spend more hours on the phone with doctor’s offices than I do playing with my son. Most days, the level of chemicals from medications, inhalers, and plastic devices going into his body trumps the levels of chemicals the local waste treatment plant dumps into our water supply.

And it is extremely difficult. I can lie to you and say that look forward to coming home from work everyday. But, there are many days that I dread returning to the land of oxygen tanks bigger than me, vomit-filled clothes lining the floors, and syringes full of sticky medicine lining the counters.

The fact is that I am one of the lucky ones. It is 99.9% probable that by the age of 10, my son will have outgrown his disabilities. Imagine, if you will, a child who will suffer lifelong issues--children on the autistic spectrum, children with severe genetic disorders, children with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) like Justin Hansen, who may continue to vomit and poop all over the floor even at age 12. Imagine what it must feel like to love a child, like Justin Hansen, who causes physical harm to those around him, who threatens and fights, and makes you feel worthless. Be honest, wouldn’t you sometimes feel like leaving too?

Adventures in Mommy Dating

When I found out we were moving back to DC, my primary concern was not how we would afford a house or what school district would be best for our growing son. Rather, it was how many dates I would have to go on before I found the mommy of my dreams.

In the past, my efforts to find a close "mommy" friend have been futile. There was the one time when I was introduced to a potential mommy friend and made an inappropriate religious reference during tea time. She never returned my apologetic calls. And there was the time I attempted to pick-up a mom at a local playground, only to have my dear son Potato vomit all over her sweater. The sweater was cashmere, Potato has rampant gastric reflux. I knew then that the relationship wasn't meant to be.

After several years overseas, where making friends was as easy as “are you American,” I’m back in the land of my high school and college friends, people with amazingly fun lives but NO kids. So, in an effort to make friends that understand the day-to-day struggles of raising a one-year-old, I am going to embark on an adventure in mommy dating.  Because, really, isn't attracting a new mommy friend very similar to going on a date?