DC Metro Moms

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.

Santa Secrets

I learned the truth about Santa Claus early on in my life.  It was Christmas 1980, when I was in first grade.  All the tags on the gifts Santa left me were written in my mom's handwriting, and the nice note Santa left in exchange for the cookies I left him was written in my dad's handwriting.  This confirmed the suspicions I had the year earlier, when my grandpa mysteriously left Christmas Eve dinner, and "Santa," wearing my grandpa's shirt under his red suit, dropped by for a visit.  I knew they were trying to be sneaky, but I wished they had tried harder. 

Somehow, I thought that if I let on that I knew the truth, my parents would be mad at me.  So I let it slide for a couple more years and successfully kept up my end of the bargain.  Finally, in third grade, I sidled up to my mom one day as Christmas approached.  With my best wide-eyed look of little girl innocence, hoping the lights from the Christmas tree would cast a warm glow on my little face and further add to my facade, I asked, "Mommy, some of the kids in school have been saying there's no such thing as Santa Claus.  Is that true?"

A Holiday Gift for Locks of Love

 As PunditGirl hits her 10th birthday in this holiday-heavy, gift-giving crazy month, we've been talking more about the idea giving rather than getting.  As parents, we struggle to find the balance between letting our children enjoy receiving gifts at the holidays and at the same time making sure that we can teach them about giving to others -- and not just giving things that money can buy.

Our fourth-grader has been obsessed with her hair and growing it as long as possible since she was in kindergarten.  When she got old enough to wash and care for her hair by herself, we told her she could make the decision about how long (or short) she wanted it to be.

Little did we know just how long it would get!

Snowmageddon? Don't really think so after all

If you haven't seen or heard already, the DC area had a TON of snow dumped on us over the past few days. We had about 20" here at our house. A friend (whose husband is out of the country) aptly named it "Snowmaggedon." This was the the sixth largest storm recorded in the DC area since they started keeping track way back in the 1800's. And even though it is such a big storm, they seemed to have gotten a bunch of people dug out pretty quickly, except in our neighborhood, that is. We are literally snowed in. My four kids, my husband, myself, and my Dad are all trapped here while the city goes on about its business (or at least that's what it feels like).  They have yet to plow our street, so we are here until they do. We have no four wheel drive vehicle, so the idea of driving out in the unplowed snow (and now ice where those brave souls have driven down our street) is a scary one. We have no chains, and no idea how to get up the one steeper end of the street or over the hump caused by the plows on the other end. We have heard rumors of the big roads just past the ends of our streets being plowed out, but that's beyond the borders of where we can get in our two vehicles. It's like a mystical land beyond the castle walls that we've heard stories of, but haven't ever seen for ourselves. I have even seen posts from a friend on Facebook that her family made it to a local restaurant last night, had a beer, and posted pics of that beer. Sigh. Another friend made it to the airport and back today to grab a husband that was delayed for a day in Florida of all places. And here we sit, feeling a bit stuck. But it isn't all bad here inside the "walls." We met our neighbors. We've played outside. We've looked at pictures. We've hung out together, and we've done a whole lot of nothing.

Not a Creature Was Stirring, Not Even a Louse

Last year around this time, an outbreak of lice swept through my daughter Delia's preschool, particularly the pre-K classes. At the time, I lived in a state of constant vigilance and fear that she would get the dreaded little buggers. My mother had just died, and she was the only one who could've helped me deal with a lice infestation, so I just held my breath and prepared for the worst. We were, however, spared.

This year, we were not so lucky. A couple of weeks ago, newly five-year-old Delia began scratching like a swarm of mosquitoes had swarmed around her head. "I'm itchy," she complained while at dinner at a close friend's house. My friend Jen took a quick look and said Delia looked fine, so we went ahead with spontaneous plans to allow Delia and her big brother to spend the night at her place.

Footloose and Cancer Free

I'm ashamed to admit this but, it's true; my husband and I were once cheaters. Not in the Tiger Woods sense of the word, of course. But in the fact that long ago, when we were wild and childless, we'd go to the movies, see the feature we paid for and then sneak into one of the other films and watch it (shhhh) without buying another ticket. 

We were strolling down memory lane and laughing about this and a dozen other things we did pre-parenthood on our way home today from the Lombardi Cancer Center. It was a wonderful way to pass the ninety minute ride, way better than re-hashing every single detail of the doctor visit we just left. We see my husband's oncologist about every two weeks, and every time I show up with my pen and my notepad and a heart so filled with hope I'm surprised my head doesn't pop off.

Our Blizzard of '96 Baby

As I sit at my computer desk, the snow is now close to two feet deep outside my house. Here in the outlying areas of DC, snow fall is either nothing much to speak of or a blizzard. There is no middle ground. Since snow is a once or twice a winter event, the county snowplows can't keep the roads cleared. Driving on the unploughed roads is not advisable due to the lingering snow on the roads and drivers who would be better advised to stay home. So, when it snows in DC/Maryland/Virginia, a snow day is in order.

I can think of one very special snow day.

The Blizzard of 1996 will live in infamy as the time I was almost unable to get to the hospital to deliver my first child. My daughter was due January 3, 1996. Naturally, I was convinced she would come on Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, and surely by the first week of January? But, no luck.

With Visions of Community Service Dancing In My Head

It was the pitch that did not need a pitch. A lovely PR lady asked if my kids would be interested in helping elderly residents learn to play the Wii at a local senior center last weekend.

To my ears, this sounded like the perfect way for my daughters to get involved with the community during the holiday season. I pictured them each paired up with an AARP sweetheart. My girls would remind them of their granddaughters while eating up the attention and probably some hard candy from their Kleenex-filled pockets. The afternoon would fly by too quickly as they mastered video games, moved on to jigsaw puzzles and enjoyed the cookies & punch offering. The duos would hit it off so well that they'd exchange addresses so they could become pen pals. Later, in the car, my daughters would fill me in on their plans to go back and learn to knit and help with scrap-booking. Perfect, right?

Well, what went down wasn't exactly that scenario. It was more like this:

A Neighborhood Transformed

The snowstorm is fully upon us now, and I've even heard the "storm of the century" phrase being thrown around.  (Which seems somewhat anti-climactic when you think that we're less than a decade into this century, right?)  Our city, in the heart of Prince George's County, is awash in that fluffy white stuff that I had begun to think would not play a part in any of my children's memories.  Having grown up in New England, I can vividly recall the feeling of the snow in my face as my sled barreled down a neighborhood hill.  I had resigned myself to the fact that since I had chosen to raise my children technically south of the Mason-Dixon line, they probably wouldn't be reminscing someday about snowball fights, sled crashes and gigantic snowmen.  But this weekend just may be one that holds a special place in their childhood memories, as well as the history books, perhaps.

As I hauled out the triple, or maybe even quadruple-layered kids outside this morning, I was transfixed for a moment on how foreign the landscape outside my door appeared.  Living on the corner of a major intersection ensures that very few quiet moments can take place in our yard.  Let's just say that even my two-year-old is beginning to be blase about the wail of sirens streaking past, since it's so commonplace.  I never cease to be amazed at the number of cars that can be spied speeding down the road at 3:00 am.  But not on this snow-globe morning.  For as far as we could see from our front walk, our neighborhood was akin to the slumbering house on the night before Christmas- absolutely no one was stirring.

Snow day!

I consider myself a Washingtonian through and through.  The Husband knows that I do not have the ability desire to live farther north than where we are now because I am not a fan of cold weather.  The first time he dragged me to his hometown in the Midwest, it was NEGATIVE ELEVEN DEGREES FAHRENHEIT.  Yes, you read that right.  It was stupidly cold and I, the wuss of cold weather, did not handle it well.  The Husband assured me that that was much colder than normal, but I refused to believe him.  I told him it had to be true love if I was still willing to marry him despite knowing we'd travel annually to the place I dubbed Where Cold is Manufactured and Exported to the DC Area.

Still, I do love an occasional snow storm like the one we are currently experiencing.  I think it's the former school teacher in me; I get giddy with the anticipation of having a day off work due to snow!  I enjoy waking up to the silent white world, wrapping my hands around a hot mug of tea as I sit and stare out the window at gently falling snowflakes.  Later on, if I manage to shuck off my jammies, I might go outside to brush off my car and shovel a little snow, just to make it safe.  Then back inside for hot chocolate, a warm fuzzy blanket, a good book, and a nice cozy nap.

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!

I am a jealous friend

Hey there, Misery. I’ve got some company you haven’t met yet. They’re called my friends. May I introduce you to each other so that you feel so lonely? And so I don’t?

Lately I’ve been really making use of my green eyes and wringing my hands every time one of my buddies exudes joy just for the sake of joy or faces a challenge with an admirably brave and peaceful face. Will someone else please tell me they are having a hard time with something?

This is not the “no one understands me, I’m so dark” angst of my adolescence. I really am mostly grown up, and I’m no longer clinically depressed. I just like to know that I’m not the only one who is human. Or disappointed. Or jealous.

It’s not that I want bad things to happen to people I love. Of course not. I just have a very short tolerance for perfection, or, more accurately, for a disease I call "Failure to Complain."

What's Happening to MCPS?

My kids go to a very large elementary school. There are something like six kindergarten classrooms and nearly all of the third graders have class in "portables," which is misleading because they seem to be pretty permanent little additions to the outside of the school. I don't think this situation is uncommon in the Montgomery County Public School System. 

What is uncommon is what is happening a couple of schools over from mine at Oakland Terrace Elementary School. There, the overcrowding is so bad that the county is looking for an interim place to stash incoming kindergartners for the next couple of years until they can build a new school, which evidently has been green lit and should be ready by 2012. No decisions have been made, but the county seems to be strongly considering putting those kindergartners into a nearby middle school. 

When I first heard about this, the first thing I thought was, "Oh, thank God it's not my school." And then I felt bad for all the little kindergartners going into Oakland Terrace. 

I Met Guy Fieri! Almost...

When I receive an invitation to attend the neighborhood cookie exchange, my standard response is "Uh, I'm not much of a baker." If you ever see me walking in to my monthly Book Club meetings, I will be carrying chips and dip or a store-bought pie rather than a gourmet dish. If my middle schooler asks me for our favorite family recipe for FACS [Family and Consumer Science class..."Cooking/Needlework class" back in the day], my reply of "What about spaghetti?", will make her look like "Mommy, is that the best you can do." You see I am not a cook.

When the cooking genes were handed out I obviously was dealt my dad's genes. On visits to my Dad in Italy while I was a teen (my parents weren't divorced, but lived apart for 4 years while he worked overseas), he cooked eggs, boiled water for tea, and heated up soup...every night for dinner. But, the funny thing is my mother is a very good cook. She can whip up a meal in no time.

My noncook status is strange even to me as I am the sole cook for my family. My husband cooks a meal here and there, but the daily cooking is all on my shoulders. I prepare breakfast, make lunches, and cook dinner 7 days a week for my family. After all these years, I still struggle to come up with dinner even though I think about what to cook from the moment I wake up in the morning.

With a shelf of cook books, the Food Network, and grocery stores of all types in any directions I would care to drive, I remain an unimaginative, untrained cook. I'm an avid watcher of cooking shows though. Love Guy, Bobby, and the whole gang! I lack the confidence to try out any of the dishes on the show, but Can.Not.Stop.Watching.