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.

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.

School of Hard Knocks

I'm not quite sure how it got to be June already, but it seems like it was just August and I was sending my autistic middle son, Jack, off to his first day of kindergarten. That first day was a humdinger, with a call from the principal and an early pick up because Jack had such a tough day.

There's nothing like crying in the principal's office on the very first day of school after he calls you in to pick up your child because he had such a hard day and tried to escape from his class several times.

I called my husband in tears that afternoon. I cried because I didn't expect the bad day to happen. I cried because I'd been in the basement of someone's house and my cell phone didn't pick up the first call from the principal. I cried because I was worried that I would never be able to be farther than ten minutes away from Jack's school again. I cried because I'd hoped for better.

The Boy Scouts Are Dividing My Family

After fifteen years of dating, ten years of marriage, and nearly eight years of parenting, my husband and I have finally come upon something that we absolutely cannot agree on: The Boy Scouts of America.

He and I are generally pretty in sync in our parenting and lifestyles (if you set aside our political differences), which may explain how we have been married for ten years. Even with the things we disagree on, we can generally come to a compromise that satisfies both of us. Plus, we have an unspoken rule of veto power—if one of us really objects to a course of action, that person generally comes out on top.

But we're stuck on the Boy Scouts. I don't want to take part in, nor do I want my children to take part in, a group that refuses to accept gay people and athiests as part of their organization. Alex accepts both gay people and athiests, but he doesn't feel that this is a good enough reason to keep our three sons out of their group.

Prepared for Anything

I'm pretty sure that I don't want swine flu. Make that very sure. It seems like every few years we go through something like this. Five years ago it was SARS. Three years ago it was bird flu. The difference with swine flu is that it is actually in the United States.

I don't anticipate having to go into hiding in my basement and cutting off all contact with the public, but I'll have you know that if need be, my family could survive for quite a while on what is already in our home.

A few years ago I went on an emergency preparedness kick, and now I have two bins in my basement with all the supplies we need for a short stay in my house. In case of some bizarre disaster that would require quick evacuation from DC (ASTEROIDS! FLOODS! LOCUSTS!), we have plans to throw the kids and as many pets as we can find in the car, then toss the bins in the back and hit the road.

The Witching Hour

As parents, we all know about the "witching hours," that period of the day during which your children consistently conspire to drive you insane with whining, crying, and squabbling. I think the witching hours fall between 4 and 6 p.m. for most families, although 7 p.m. to midnight were always quite the witching hours when my children were infants.

Now that my kids are in school, I've managed to do pretty well with that 4 to 6 p.m. time slot, what with the judicious use of a right-after-school homework schedule, quiet playtime, television, and snacks.

My new witching time now falls right when my kids get off the bus after school. It usually only lasts a few minutes, but it is brutal.

R.I.P. Fourth Estate

I'm sure you've all heard by now that the Seattle Post-Intelligencer has ceased to exist as an ink and paper newspaper. I'm sure you've also heard about the Washington Post cutting its business section six days out of the week. Everyone seems to agree that this is just the beginning of the cuts and closings that will affect the newspaper industry in the coming months and years.

Frankly, this trend scares me to death.

Yes, there will be national newspapers, TV news, and online news, but what we really need as a society are those local newsrooms. I have a master's degree in journalism. I went to journalism school largely because I believe in the power and the importance of the press as the fourth estate. If we lose local newsrooms, we lose the watchdog power of the media.

Why I Curse in Front of My Kids

I 'd like to tell you right off the bat that one of my favorite words is motherfucker. Well, that and platypus. Or, even better, platypi, which I will insist to my dying day is the plural of platypus. If I ever have an opportunity to scream, "Stop that, you motherfucking platypi!" my life will be complete. Although I don't know what circumstance exactly would lead to such a situation.

Which brings me near my point, which is that I have sworn like a sailor since I was young. I don't have any problems with curse words. I just think that you have to know when it is appropriate to use them. This being my philosophy, I've had to put some thought into how to behave around my children.

Some of you might claim that, as a rule, curse words are not appropriate to use around children. Period. I'm not so sure. I don't necessarily try to use these words in front of them, but I don't think it bothers me or them to hear them every once in a while.

My Spa Vacation, Courtesy of the Dentist

Note: It is possible that I might still be high on Vicodin. Adjust your expectations accordingly.

Up to three weeks ago, I hadn't been to the dentist for multiple years. So when my lower left jaw started to hurt on and off, I was a little concerned for what might be happening in there. My dentist told me that what was happening in there was that my bottom left wisdom tooth was decaying at a rapid speed.

After a couple of weeks of procrastination and some escalating tooth pain, I made the appointment to get my tooth yanked. As the day of my surgery approached, I got more and more excited. Not only would the nagging pain in my face be going away, but I would have free license to sleep all weekend.

Where are the Civility Police When You Need Them?

Do you know what I hate? People. You know why? Because according to them, they're almost always more important than you.

Let me give you a for instance. For instance, say you've taken your entire family to DC's Chinatown for a Chinese New Year parade. Say you've wrestled a 3-year-old, a 5-year-old, and a 7-year-old into a two-square-foot bit of sidewalk and you've maintained them in that spot for a half hour.

So what do you do when a teenager elbows you out of the way and stands directly in front of your five-year-old? 

I used to seethe quietly, but I've either gotten less timid, more sick of jackasses, or both.

"If you stand there, my kids won't be able to see," I bluntly said to the rude girl standing there. She glanced at me and then sidled off to stand in front of someone else.