DC Metro Moms

I Have a Favorite Child

I'll admit it. I have three kids and one of them is my favorite. Often time my favoritism manifests itself in "least favorite" instead of "favorite," but I think it still counts.

The mitigating factor is that my favorite, least favorite, and in-the-middle kid rotate spots regularly.

I got to thinking about this the other day when I was carrying three cookies to my children. One of them dropped to the floor and I stopped, suddenly faced with the Sophie's Choice decision of which child to give the dirty cookie to.

It Isn't, It Wasn't, Oh No You Didn't

Call me a bitch.  Go ahead.  Call me a fucking bitch.  Call me a mommyblogger, a housewife, workforce dropout, soccer mom, Betty Crocker, Donna Reed, carpool Cathy, narcissist, petty, neurotic, a pearl-clutcher, a baby maker, a whiner, a wino.  Call me fat.  Call me (gasp!) the c word.  I don't care.  I probably won't flinch.  Heck, plead a good case and I'll probably agree with you. 

Just do not, under any circumstances, hand me a large bill and then tell me

"It is what it is."

If you do, I'll cut you.

Yes. I am a Baseball Mom

For this one season, all three of my boys played little league.  One in his last year, one in his first year and one at a level in between.  This means we started the spring with three little league patches to sew on, three sets of uniforms to keep clean and three athletic cups floating around our house. 

I'm not complaining.

Spending hours on at the field with three different teams opens up your opportunities to see old friends and make brand new ones (one is silver and the other gold...c'mon sing along!).  I mean once you've sat on the bleachers and cheered until you were hoarse and then hugged every one around you after a big win, you feel pretty close.

While I never mind heading to the field one more time during the week, I've never thought of myself as a "baseball mom" until a recent discussion in the stands.

Teen Writers, Blogging and Me

Last week, I was given the amazing opportunity to speak to a group of young female writers about blogging. Blogging happens to be one of the few topics that I can chatter on endlessly about with an excited smile naturally plastered on my face and yet, I found myself a little shaky at the start. Why? Because these girls are smart as well as gifted. I arrived early enough to hear some of their work and let me just tell you, blogosphere, watch out because some fresh talent is headed our way. And soon.

I began by telling them a little about myself. I write for 3 blogs – 2 of my own – my own personal site and a review blog. I also write for the DC Metro Moms. I started writing online back in 2005 when most people didn’t even know what blogging was. It was a community with a space and a voice for everyone. “Weblogs” had a hippie kind of feel in a very new millennium kind of way. Back then, no one I knew was making money blogging and most people posted under pseudonyms in fear that people would read their most intimate tales and then somehow end up on their doorstep or worse, spying through their window. (because that is worse.) Back then, there was no real time interface beyond instant messaging so comments were HUGE. Getting a comment from someone you’ve never met about something you wrote was extremely exciting. FEEDBACK!!! All of a sudden I was addicted. About 6 months in (waaaaay back in 2005) I wrote this. And then I got a grip. 

Tell Me You're Kidding with the Cankles

I have a confession to make. I may inflict bodily harm on whoever came up with “Cankle Awareness Month.”

We know it originated at Gold’s Gym, and my guess is that it was the brainchild of some promotion seeking sycophant in the marketing department. Can you just imagine how the meeting went?

"Ok. We’ve maxed out the muffin top and moob-scare stuff, and Dimpled Thigh Days don’t start until September. Third quarter membership sales are slumping. We need to do something now! I hate to say it people, but the situation calls … for the CANKLE.”

 

Dangerous Pets and Children Don't Mix

The July 1 death of Shaiunna Hare, 2, in Oxford, Florida was tragic and completely preventable.  Her mother's boyfriend, Charles Darnell, found little Shaiunna in the tight clutches of his albino Burmese python (reports vary as to length - whether it was 8 feet or 12 feet), with the snake biting her head.  Darnell tried to save Shaiunna by stabbing the python, but it was too late.

Having grown up in Miami, this kind of a story is all-too-familiar.  From alligators to pythons to komodo dragons, it seems that some Floridians think it's cool to own an exotic animal.  The Everglades are sadly overrun by Burmese pythons, dumped by irresponsible pet owners who brought these non-native snakes in as pets and then realized that the snakes -- which can grow to 20 feet long and kill an adult human -- are dangerous.  As a result, the pythons have upset the eco-system of the Everglades, consuming a great deal of the native wildlife, competing with the alligators for food.  On an airboat ride through the Everglades last December, I happened to see a Burmese Python slithering through the sawgrass myself.  I'm against dumping the animals into a national park, but I am also against keeping them in homes with small children -- how about not getting them in the first place?

Your Identity in Two Paragraphs or Less: From Working in the City to Staying Home in the Suburbs

Writing my bio for DC Metro Moms was an interesting exercise since I have been struggling with certain aspects of my identity for a while now. And this particular forum hits all of them.

When I first heard about this site, I thought, "that's me!" I grew up in DC, I've lived in the Metro area AND I'm a mom. I thought that I was more than qualified... But when it came time to write that bio, I was a bit stumped.

This wasn't that much of a surprise, as I've never been good at summing things up in a few lines. For me, every fact must be qualified with relevant history, metaphorical comparison and a tangent or two for good measure. Bottom line, I tend to ramble. And the subject of "what makes me a DC Metro Mom" has been an invitation to agonize over those same identity issues that come up again and again.

No pool for me!

As much as my kids love the pool, I cannot stand it.  The water is always freezing and I just don't like to be in a giant pool of water with a bunch of strangers.

Most of all though, I hate the process of buying and squeezing myself into a bathing suit. I am horrified by the state of my body and convinced that a bathing suit accentuates every extra wrinkle and ripple.  It doesn't help matters that most of the moms at my community pool look as if they have not eaten solid food in about 6 months.  They claim not to notice my weight gain, but many of them are quick to point out so-and so's flaws as soon as she arrives.  ("wow, she really put on some winter weight, didn't she?")

I tell my husband that I can't deal with the judgmental moms in our neighborhood.  He prefers to tell me I am just paranoid.  (and yes, I am pregnant, but most of these ripples were here prior to said pregnancy!)

So what's a Mommy to do when it's sweltering outside and the kids are crying for the pool?

Cracking from the Blogosphere Pressure

When the lazy days of summer begin more than the grass turns dry at my house.  It is as if all my creativity goes out the window.  As a freelancer, work always seems to slow down this time of year.  I begin to fret about my projects more than normal as I finish them.  What will I do next?  How much income will come in next month?  Have I really played outside that long today with my kids instead of job hunting or brewing up new ideas?  Do I keep the regular sitter or cut back her hours? 

I become riddled with doubt.  Fear sits like a block of ice in the pit of my stomach and my brain whirs away almost 24/7 spinning out ideas and thoughts about what I should do next.   This fear and doubt sprial keeps me up at night and I hate it.  When you work within the blogosphere it seems that every click shows another great project that you just missed out on.  Everyone around you is buzzing with book deals, sponsorships and more.  It's amazing this thing that we bloggers have created and I love it.  However, it is highly competitive and to continuously feel like you are looking for work and are up against some of the smartest, funniest women you could ever meet is a bit draining at times.  It can be incredibly disheartening too for someone who feels that the sun has bleached her brain into inactivity. 

Summer Boot Camp Kicks My Butt, But Not as Fast As I Want

Now that I’ve done boot camp for seven weeks, I can honestly say it hasn’t been as hard as I thought it would be to get up on Saturday morning and work my butt off. Yes, the workout is tough and at the end I feel like I can barely drag my bag of weights back to the car, but all the effort is paying off. I feel very motivated to get out of bed and get to it because I’m seeing results and can tell that I’m reshaping my body. I’m getting stronger and have more endurance than when I started, and for the first time in my life I can actually do full pushups (aka toe pushups). At the beginning I could only one full pushup, and at my last assessment I did 17 before falling onto my face with pain streaking through my arms. Of course I did that assessment before doing the workout, because after one of these workouts I’m pretty pleased if I can do five full pushups.

The hardest part has been ensuring I get in the weekly homework, which amounts to two more workouts plus some light cardio and stretching on other days. My husband and I worked out a schedule where he makes an effort to get home at a reasonable time, then he watches the boys while I get in my workout, which is the only way I can do this. Summer vacation has just started and already the boys are climbing all over me. During the day I can’t even go to the bathroom without an entourage, never mind spend 45 minutes with weights and aerobics.

Sometimes it is the Little Things

Summer has been a little rough around my house so far. My 5 year old twins cannot seem to get along. They maintained their cool on the 13 hour drive to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Florida and most of the way back, but ever since we have been home there has been constant fighting.

She took my chair!

He twisted my arm!

She was mean to me!

He smells!

All. Day. Long.

Trying to work from home has been a real challenge. I find myself doing a lot of writing between the hours of 9:00pm and 1:00am. It isn't that great for my sleep schedule but at least I can get something done without having to play referee.

My Kid, the Tag Along

My son leads a charmed life. As the youngest child in our family, he embraces his "baby of the family" role. He's the youngest grandchild on both sides -- and the only boy. His chores and family-related tasks are not what you would call hardcore. He is charmed, indeed.

The only downside to my son's charming life is that he is an unwilling passenger in the minivan as I drive kids to and from activities. As a 6-year-old he cannot be left home alone, so he must tag along as I drive the 10- and 13-year-olds to and from volleyball practices, clarinet lessons, swim meets, and after school activities. He spends many afternoons and evenings in the minivan.

At 10 and 13, his sisters have figured out what sports and activities they both want to do through high school. Both girls have chosen sports where the games are not one-hour soccer games, but all-day volleyball tournaments and swim meets, and the practices are two or more times per week. Often the meets and tournaments are a significant distance from our home. By comparison my son plays soccer, basketball, and t-ball -- all one game and practice per week close to our home.

I Didn't Know My French Fries Were a Metaphor

My husband, Alex, and I were sitting in a booth at Gordon Biersch the other night when he asked if I wanted to share some garlic fries. I said no, because my sandwich was going to come with fries. Then Alex asked if he could share my fries.

Obviously I said no.

Well, what I said was that he could have a couple of them. So he got all huffy, and when the waiter came by he ordered a salad with a side of garlic fries. Then the waiter piped up with, "She won't share her fries with you, huh?" When my husband agreed, the waiter looked at me, shook his head, cast his eyes down, said, "Selfish," and wandered off.

I'm Not Really Super Mom

The mothers in my playgroup (some of whom I've only known for a month), think that I'm Super Mom.  Why?

So I brought a yummy (10 minute) sesame noodles and fried (frozen) dumplings last week. So I brought homemade chocolate chip cookies this week--I had a prego craving for them Sunday night.

So I showed up to the playgroup wearing a dress I upcycled from 2 hold t-shirts. (Forgot to take pics, but there's a tutorial from this month's Ready Made magazine).

So I brought some bottle caps that I collaged 3 years ago so I could punch holes and at bails to them. I figured it was about time I did something with them. Plus I'm not really a helicopter parent so I'd rather bring something for me to do while Sophia runs around someone else's backyard.

So I work from home, too. All while staying home with my 3 year old, and I’m five months pregnant. Why do I do all of this?

I'm trying to win a Super Mom award.