DC Metro Moms

Sticker in my Craw (Marketing to Children at the Doctor's Office)

So...it's safe to say that I am not a big fan of the adverts. I'm not a total Waldork-Luddite (joking!), but I admire the premise that kids don't need hunks 'o plastic or giant soda dispensers in order to achieve tiny person nirvana. To each their own, though, I say. Which is why the situations in which there are captive audiences of little people really bug me the most. Like, say, at the doctor's office where each older sibling spends approximately 1/3 of their childhood dawdling, waiting for their kid siblings to be vaccinated?

Father's Day: A Personal Affair?

So, my husband is desperately hoping that I will never mention him in my blog as long as my gnarled fingers are still able to tap my ancient keyboard seriously one of the kindest and funniest fathers I have ever met in my entire life. Not to mention smart and good-looking. But this post isn't about him. It's about the fathers out there who, well, aren't there, for whatever reason that's never going to be any of my business.

Is My Boy Hard Wired for Baseball?

So...when I was in college, I generally subscribed to the theory that men and women were different only in that they had extraneous and not easily interchangeable body parts. I loved Carol Gilligan, but only because she acknowledged up front that there's a spectrum of differences and they cannot all be pre-determined by gender. I'm as tomboyish as girls come and it came as no surprise to me, as I took copious notes in my roundtable feminism seminars, that The Patriarchy and its minions had gone to great lengths to indoctrinate men and women in their respective gender roles from their earliest days. Ah, the smug certainty of the college me.

A Victory for All Moms

Lately, I have been emerging from an infant-induced haze of little sleep and even less time for personal gratification. Just as I am nearing the point where I have consistent stretches of good sleep and somewhat reliable showering patterns, I am struck by how sentimental I still am about motherhood. Do you ever get something stuck in your head that won't stop playing? And I don't mean Billie Jean, although I just inflicted that soundtrack and video on myself just thinking about it. I mean a basic, gut-level reaction to life. Me? I see all the women I come in contact with as a litmus test for the well being of the Mommy Populace.

Why So Much Testing and So Little Love of Learning?

All of my friends want to know if the DC Public Schools are right for their kids. I used to be a DCPS teacher, and they know I have seen the belly of the beast.

I live in the city myself, and I’m looking around with my eyes wide open, wondering if the urban public schools my child adores today will meet her needs tomorrow. Increasingly, the question for me (a die-hard public school supporter, Berkeley Masters Degree of Education in hand) is not whether suburban schools can do better than urban schools, but whether or not any public schools at all can match up to the academic freedom I see flying around the (mostly-test-free) halls of the area’s elite private institutions.

Sacrifice Play

When my fifteen month old picks up a purple marker with a gleam in his eye and begins playing a manic game of cap-on, cap-off? And I let him do it, knowing that the pen’s going to end up in his mouth? The very same mouth I went to great lengths to feed pureed-spinach-tinted frosting a few weeks ago rather than stuff with synthetic green (food-safe) coloring? That mouth? Yes, that is a classic example of one of my parenting Sacrifice Plays. I know that I am conceding a small defeat (in this case, Crayola marker ingestion) for a larger goal (toddler empowerment, tantrum avoidance). So it makes me a hypocrite? Small price to pay.

We all play the parenting hands we’ve got. We maximize our kids’ well-being while sacrificing what we have to in order to meet life’s challenges. In our house, we like to say that everyone’s got to take one for the team. Our dog has been getting an extra breakfast or two lately, since the aforementioned toddler is

Baby Speaks Canine?

Our four year old child is an invaluable baby translator. Na-na-na-na bah-bah-bah-bah da-da-da-da. What did he say, girl? He said he wants some more blueberries, Mom. Most of the time, her suggestions keep the smaller child happy, and since said baby can't be bothered with sign language any more than with the pesky, gutteral talking business, she's our best bet. Lately, though? I've been wondering if both children speak canine. Where is Temple Grandin when I need her?

On a rotating basis for the last, oh, fifteen months, my children and pet have succeeded in cracking open the depths of my slumber and testing my mettle in the wee hours. Let me note up front, this is no CIO debate. I have no desire to wake the sleep demons in the universe. I'm just noting the uncanny frequency with which the children and animule seem to be able to tag-team the adults in our household.

Atonement: Using Guilt for Good

I've been thinking long and hard about mommy guilt. I have no shortage of this commodity. Whether it's berating myself because our house isn't presentable or because I used a withering tone of voice with my four year old, I am constantly seeking to shrink-fit my hairshirt improve myself. (Understatement radar: I feel guilty that I didn't enter the DeClutter It! messy office contest because I was so totally robbed of that $10K prize. I am unequaled in the art of the horizontal pile. And icy voice of steel? I used to teach 7th graders. Darth Vader has nothing on me. But as Dennis Miller says, "Stop me before I sub-reference again!")

My guilt backstory leads me to my word of the day. Atonement means satisfaction or reparation for a wrong or injury; amends. I am all about making some amends today.

Kids Are Greener than Green

Don’t you just love your little leprechauns? All Zero-Population-Growth qualms aside, I have to say that the little people I know are awfully green. Why, may you ask?

Well, most kids I know are water conservationists: they passionately hate showers and baths. Because of their heightened awareness of the shortage of potable water worldwide, of course. Most kids I know go even further and help their parents to conserve water. By shrieking in horror when you disappear behind the non-vinyl hemp shower curtain, toddlers keep your shower time to a mere 17 seconds -- one or two times a week.