DC Metro Moms

Just Don't Call Me 'Grandma'

We have what you might call a blended family.  We adopted our nine-year-old daughter from China and my husband has two adult children from his first marriage.We have different cultures, religions and generations represented in our immediate family which I have always loved.

Until now.

My older stepdaughter had a baby girl a month ago, making my husband a grandfather for the first time.  However, as a 50-something mom, I am not ready to be a grandmother.  And technically, I'm not -- but I am going to have to get my head around this situation where I have a soon-to-be fourth-grader and a little baby who's going to need to call me something other than 'Joanne' in a year or two. 

But it ain't gonna be grandma! 

I acknowledge the fact that I am chronologically old enough to be a grandmother (mine was a week shy of her 40th birthday when I was born), but there are still plenty of days when I'm getting my head around the fact that I'm a mom to a nine-going-on-35 year old daughter.

I'm certainly not going with Bubbe.  Yes, my husband's side of the family is Jewish, but I just don't see myself as Bubbe.  Grammy?  Nope.  Nana?  Don't think so.   But recently the media came up with a term for the First Grandmother, Marion Robinson, that I think I could embrace -- Glam-ma!

There are plenty of days when glamorous is definitely NOT the word I would use to describe either my life or my appearance, but perhaps I could grow into Glam-ma!   Because, really, doesn't grandma conjure up the image of the gray-haired, orthopedic shoe wearing little old lady?  That, I'm not.

But in this era of blended and non-traditional families, where nine-year-olds like my daughter become elementary school aunts and uncles, maybe it's time to think of some new words to describe these relationships.  So I'm open to suggestions!

But the first one of you to call me grandma is going to be SO sorry!

When Joanne isn't struggling with the intricacies of modern family relationships, she's usually embracing her wonky side at her blog, PunditMom, as well as The Huffington Post & BlogHer, where she's a contributing editor for News & Politics.

Original DC Metro Moms post.

Fashion Magazines, I Have to "Quit" You!

I thought I was doing a pretty good job of making sure my nine-year-old daughter would have a positive sense of self and accurate body image as she heads for those treacherous pre-teen and teen years.

I NEVER complain about how I feel about myself when she's around, even though I often have the dreaded ongoing conversation in my head about the few pounds I want to lose or my wish to look a little bit different in my swimsuit.  My husband and I have always encouraged PunditGirl with positive comments, not so much about how she looks, but about her strong legs and healthy body.  We praise her legs that are so good at running for soccer and jumping for ice skating.  We focus on how her strong arms make her a successful swimmer.  And we make sure she knows that her body is healthy and turning out just the way it should.

Apparently, there are stronger messages getting through that are undermining those efforts.

Barack Obama as "Cheesecake?"

It's no secret that some ladies around the country find President Barack Obama attractive, in addition to being a good politician with fresh new ideas for the country.  One of my favorite bloggers has actually dubbed him Barack O'Boyfriend!

While I wasn't initially an Obama supporter, I am a Democrat and know that President Obama has many fine qualities.  But, truth be told, while he is handsome guy, I've never thought to myself, "Hey, I'd love to see Obama's pecs!"  So, I was a little shocked to see him bare-chested on the cover of a magazine.  Who do the editors think he is, Miss California?

I'm pretty sure no one ever thought it would be a good idea to put a picture of Richard Nixon on the cover of a magazine sans polo shirt!

And Reagan? Carter? Clinton? Nope, uh-uh and not so much. Not what I'd call "cheesecake" material.  But apparently there is a demand to see President Barack Obama and his bare chest, because he's on the cover of Washingtonian Magazine, strutting his stuff for all the world to see.

When Is It Time for "The Talk?"

"The Talk" is staring me in the face.  Yes, I am referring to the one all parents dread -- the birds and the bees.  The facts of life.  Things that are going to be "changing" in my daughter's life.

I have been happily in denial, thinking that I don't have to worry about it with my nine-year-old daughter anytime soon.  Except that my stepdaughter is EXTREMELY pregnant and due in a month.  PunditGirl has been asking all the questions that should have given me a clue, like "Will it hurt when the baby comes out?"

I've been percolating the responses in my head and struggling with when is the right time. And how.  And with what words.

In the meantime, I've been filling out health forms for an outdoor summer camp, jotting down the usual immunization and emergency contact info, and came to this entry:

"For Female Campers: Has this camper menstruated?  If not, has she been told about it?"

Yikes.

I didn't learn about that until I was in 5th grade (and then it was a grade school movie and the Kotex pamphlet.  Not a lot of detail there).  I know I need to give this some thought about how to end the innocent part of her life where she doesn't have to think about her period or tampons or whether it's an OK time of the month to wear white pants.

I know there's a new book out that talks about all this in more personal ways called My Little Red Book.  But I need something less nuanced and more elementary school friendly.  And soon.

PunditGirl had a sleepover with my pregnant stepdaughter and her husband a few weeks ago.  She raised the issue of whether they should answer third-grade PunditGirl's questions that came up on this topic or whether they should punt.  Another mom at my daughter's school recently asked me whether I had figured this out, because she knew she needed to have the same chat with her daughter soon, too.

In my heart, my daughter is still my baby.  A little girl who sleeps with her blankie and a night light.  A child who won't let me give away the glider chair we used to rock her to sleep years ago because she still wants to have that 'remember when I was a baby' snuggle time.  Once I have "the talk" with her, we are headed down a road that I am not yet ready for and I know a door will be closed on a time of her life -- our life -- I'm not ready for.

Of course I realize that I have to let that go and step up to "the talk" before she starts hearing the info from other girls. But I'm not happy about it.

Wish me luck.

While Joanne is coming to grips with the fact that her little girl isn't so little anymore, you can also find her writing about all things political at her place, PunditMom, as well as at BlogHer, where she is a Contributing Editor for Politics & News.

Original DC Metro Moms post.

Mandatory Valentines Lose Something in Translation

I love Valentine's Day. What's not to like if you've got that special someone who will show up with at least a heartfelt card or a little chocolate. But I'm really tired for the forced elementary school Valentine's Day experience.

When my daughter was in kindergarten, she was all about making the special Valentine's Day card holder -- the overly decorated shoe-box adorned with pink and red hearts with the big slot in the top. My nine-year-old still has that one from her kindergarten year and gives me the evil eye if I even think about popping it into the recycling bin.

But as a slightly more mature third-grader, my daughter has no interest in giving Valentine's cards to each and every child in her class, especially the ones who, shall we say, leave a little something to be desired in the social graces, such as not hitting fellow students and not being bullies. But take them to school she must for the obligatory Valentine's card exchange.

A meaningless, emotionless exchange of cheap grocery store 35-in-a-box cards that will get unceremoniously distributed to each child and then probably tossed in the trash within days isn't the kind of friendship exchange that is good for our kids.  Why should we force our children to pretend they love everyone they go to school with?  No one makes us, as adults, pretend we like everyone we work with at the office.

So, teachers, I am asking -- why do we make our kids to do this? I know it's nice to have a little break in the regular school routine, but by the ages of eight and nine our kids couldn't care less about these cheap tokens of forced affection.

My daughter made some very cute, handmade cards for her best friends and our neighbors across the street. And they are real Valentine's -- they reflect her true love and affection for these people and she made them with joy. The ones that must be equal and the same for all her classmates, even the ones who are mean to her on the playground -- not so much.

Isn't it time we stopped forcing our kids to pretend they love everyone they know, including the class bullies?  For Valentine's Day, and every day, we'd better serve our children by helping them to show their real emotions for their true friends and not force them to love everyone equally.

Joanne also hangs out around the blogosphere as PunditMom, which is also the name of her blog where she writes about politics and motherhood.  You can also find her at BlogHer, The Huffington Post, and others!

Original DC Metro Moms post.

Blogosphere, There's a Good Reason I Can't Quit You

They say when things get tough, the tough get going.  For me, when things get tough, I retreat to my home office to procrastinate and hide.  If I do that long enough, the hard things will go away, right?

I'm not talking about day-today tough, like managing to juggle school schedules, errands and professional obligations.  HAH!  I scoff!  These days, those things seem like a piece of cake, though I have done more than my fair share of complaining about them in the past.

I'm talking about the parenting curve ball.  The moment you realize that your child develops a need, be it physical, emotional or social, that comes out of left field and you find yourself unprepared.  Or one that sneaks up on you, little by little and as a parent you discover yourself in a situation where you finally admit you need help -- especially the emotional kind.

That's why I can't quit you, blogosphere.

Economy Isn't Slowing Down Inaugural Festivities

The powers that be in the nation's capital are working overtime to fix our economy.  I know this not so much because of all the media coverage, but because one of the dad's from PunditGirl's school is involved in the process.  His wife tells me he hasn't been home before about midnight for the last six months.

Of course, President-elect Barack Obama is also doing his part to move things along, making speeches about how it's not going to be easy and that we'll all need to make sacrifices to put our collective finances back on track, if that's possible after eight years of dire neglect and rampant deregulation.

But it appears that some families aren't paying attention and are going even deeper in debt to spend a few days in Washington, D.C. for the Obama inaugural events.

Where Will Malia & Sasha Obama Attend School?

Where will Malia and Sasha Obama go to school? The Washington, D.C. private school gossip mill is working full tilt, chewing over the options, the whys or why nots, the connections, the prestige, the free publicity for any school that snags this "get."

"Imagine if they came to our school!" I've overheard more than one parent I know say, giddy with the anticipation of being close to a little piece of history.

The questions of public vs. private, big vs. cozy, famous vs. less-known are nothing new when it comes to the world of Washington, D.C. schools. How do I know? My third-grade daughter attends an independent school in the District, though it's not one that you're hearing about in the news.  (My
eight-year-old has gone to summer camp at Sidwell Friends, but I don't think that counts when it comes to tracking alums!)

One thing I learned as my husband and I tried to navigate the Washington, D.C. independent school culture was that the application process can be insane and it's hard not to get sucked into the private school one-upsmanship that seems to go along with the other status symbols here in the nation's capital, like your zip code and how few degrees of separation you have from a Capitol Hill power player. 

Where the children of the notable and noteworthy go to school is one of the better traded currencies here.

Mothers Voices Rising -- It's About Time

Why did it take the nomination of Sarah Palin to be John McCain's running mate to get the mainstream media talking to women bloggers about politics?

On the heels of McCain choosing the Alaska governor, networks were scrambling to talk to moms.  So what better place to find us, I suppose, than here in the blogosphere.  I was lucky to get called by a variety of news outlets to lend my punditry muscles to the discussion about whether Oprah should invite Sarah Palin on her show, whether Palin was being discussed in sexist terms, whether moms would vote for her because we're all moms (to that, I just said, WHAT??"), and all other things related in any way to she-who-can-field-dress-a-moose.

For a week, there was a flurry.  I have come to appreciate the luxury of sitting in the backseat of a comfy town-car to arrive at a TV studio calm and collected!   But I digress.

Happy the Hippo Needs a Lawyer

What's a zoo without a hippopotamus? 

Well, if things go according to the plan I read about in the Washington Post, the lone hippo at the National Zoo is going to be booted from his comfy digs next year.

They say there's a good reason -- the zoo is expanding the elephant exhibit to make it all nice and shiny for them.  But that means that Happy the Hippo has to pack his big toothbrush and leave the only home he's ever known.

As I was reading it out loud, Mr. PunditMom said to me, "Happy needs a lawyer."

Happy needs a lawyer!  I have a law degree and I practiced law for 15 years, but, sadly, I don't have a specialty in hippo law.