DC Metro Moms

My Scarlet Letter H

My youngest child is a force of nature.

Holden is a challenging child, I know, but he's also incredibly sweet and very bright.  It's just that he's very different from his older brother, Hollis.  Hollis is our introvert, shy guy and people pleaser.  Holden is...well, Holden is Holden.

We recently moved Hurricane Holden from a more traditional preschool to a Montessori-based school after some behavioral problems developed.  Holden has always been a stubborn child, but he was hitting and kicking his classmates and flat out refusing to participate in anything that didn't interest him. His preschool teacher adored him and was well intentioned, but Holden was clearly in the wrong kind of classroom. 

Holden was starting to become "that child." 

How Do You Talk To A Preschooler About Race?

After my daughter was born, I became more conscious of how I should approach race with her. With an Asian-American and a black father, she would be constantly question about her ethnic background.

Perhaps I was a little naive to think people would be as rude as to ask, "Is she yours?" After hearing many versions of this question, I wondered, should I teach her about race or wait for her to ask?

Recently, the black and white Doll Experiment has been in the news again. The study went like this: children are given a dark-skinned (aka black) doll and a light-skinned (aka white) doll and asked which one they prefer. Many of the children (of different races) picked the white doll.

Do you jump in puddles?

This morning (despite a stuffy nose and sinus pressure), I put on my running shoes and left the house, leaving my husband and daughter to fend for themselves.  As they made French toast, I jogged down the wooded Accontink Creek Trail which today was full…full of puddles that is.  I did my best to avoid each puddle which meant a crisscrossing from left to right, right to left, and sometimes even running on the shoulder of the trail.  As I maneuvered (I have been know to be a klutz) carefully, I began to wonder:  at what point do we stop wanting to jump in puddles? I am not sure I was ever a big puddle jumper (playing in mud or getting dirty in general were never activities that I sought out as a child), but a good jump with a far reaching splash?  Wouldn’t that be fun?

In my other life, training for a marathon, it made sense to avoid the puddles when possible.  Who wants to run 20 plus miles with shoes that feel like bricks?  But a short run?  Would getting all wet and muddy really be that bad?

Reconciling Mother's Day--Whose Day is it, Anyway?

Before the day arrives, it's the talk of playgroup: How are you planning on spending Mother's Day? 

On the 'big day', emails are thrown back and forth sending Happy Mother's Day wishes to my favorite moms and Hoping you get a chance to enjoy your day!  Texts and tweets with Mother's Day greetings are passed around like hotcakes (yep, 'hotcakes'), and it's impossible to ignore the well-wishes on TV, on the computer, literally everywhere you turn. 

The talk of moms at drop-off and pick-up this week was, of course, how each person spent her Mother's Day.  And I realized that there's a split, an absolute division, between those moms who were 'pampered'--treated to a day of peace and quiet at the spa, enjoying their mani's, pedi's, full-body massages, and facials, or just time by themselves--and those who had to do the 'pampering'. 

Those winning-ticket moms who were treated like queens on 'their day' pay the price when those who 'pampered' others really lay on the guilt: Oh, yeah, my Mother's Day was awesome.  I wolfed down the stale bagel that my kids brought me to eat in bed because I had ten minutes to shower, pick up the house, and make brunch for my parents, in-law's, and sisters who came over to my house for the day.  Really relaxing.  My dream day.

So who does Mother's Day belong to, anyway?

You hurt my feelings

Lately, I keep hearing a chorus of “You hurt my feelings” over and over and over again.

Yes, you guessed it, the author of said quote is none other than my daughter Principessa, who at 5 ½ has become very skilled in the art of negotiation, manipulation, and all things “self.” When given a direction that she does not particularly care for, or if, gasp, given a re-direction, she gets a pouty look and says, “You hurt my feelings.”

As a ten year teaching veteran, and going into my 6^th year as a parent, you would think that I have this stuff covered by now.  Nope.  Not at all.  I have not figured out how to help this only child of divorced parents, who now finds herself with a new step dad, to understand that life is not all about her.  Plus, there is a problem:  life really is all about her. 

If This is Her "Golden Year," Should I Be Rocking the Boat?

After attending a recent "tweens" parenting class at my fourth-grader's school, I came away with some serious doubts about my abilities in that department, as well as questions about how we as a society parent today.

Not that I think I'm the perfect mother -- not by any stretch! But I left with a list from the Parent Encouragement Program of what their "experts" say fourth- and fifth-graders ought to be able to do for themselves.

I have to tell you, I was a little shocked.

The checklist started out this way:

1. Is fairly competent cook (i.e., can make several simple meals)

2. Can clean and organize his/her own room as well as other common areas of the house

3. Can do laundry competently (sort, wash, fold)

4. Can shop independently using comparison pricing and make generally sounds choices

My Kids Hated the White House Egg Roll

Tens of thousands of parents and grandparents sign up for the lottery for tickets for the annual White House Easter egg roll. All of us are dying to dress our kids up and parade them around on the White House lawn, with photo ops aplenty.  I mean who doesn't want a photo of their child merrily rolling an egg with the White House in the background?  The memories, I was sure, would be priceless as well.

I got lucky.  I'm a member of Blue Star Families, a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting and empowering military families.  And, as part of a military family, we got tickets to the White House for the egg roll.  We were headed to the egg roll, along with 30,000 other people, split into groups of 6,000 people for each of 5 time slots.

I was thrilled!

I carefully planned my boys' outfits.  They had to be cute, but not matching (my husband's rule) and comfortable for play.  Of course, I planned my own outfit with care as well.  We arrived at the security entrance on the ellipse shortly before our scheduled 11am time. And then we waited in line, in the hot sun with no shade, with 2 small children for more than an hour.  We weren't just in line, we were bunched up in a crowd of hot, sweaty, cranky people.

There were beverages and some snacks (a granola bar my kids refused to touch) available while we waited in line.  But we couldn't get to them after a point, because we were stuck in a White-House going scrum.

While my kids clothes were appropriate for the weather - polo shirts and khakis - it was much warmer standing in the sun.  And small children do not like to wait in line.  I ended up handing over my iPhone, but even that didn't stop the whining.  Still, while my make-up melted off of my face, I entertained the kidlets as best as I could.

Why is this Easter different from all other Easters?

Because we're going to the White House Easter Egg Roll. When I told one of my friends I was going to write up a post about it, she warned, "Be careful when you blog about it, you know how some readers are, they will wonder why you are going because you're Jewish. And they might get pissed off."  True. But will these folks also question why the Obama's hosted a Passover Seder at the White House last Monday and non-Jews, including the First Family, attended? 

The answer to both, as I see it, is sharing a celebration is different than actually observing it yourself.  I strongly believe when you are invited to participate in someone else's holiday tradition, it is an honor to attend.  We were invited to attend the White House Easter Egg Roll by Blue Star Families who provided tickets to military families, such as our own.  So we're going to go. And yes, even my own kids asked how this all was going to work because they obviously know they themselves are Red Sea Pedestrians. So I used an explanation I learned a few years ago from a friend of mine who is also in an inter-faith family (Remember, my husband is a Not. i.e. Not Jewish, Not anything else either).

Done being Mommy.

I need some time alone every day.  I crave that time alone, and have been known to become rather cantankerous when I don't get enough of it.  When I've been engaged in conversations for long periods of time, I feel my energy draining and my ability to interact deteriorates.  I've taken the Myers-Briggs test enough times to know that I am a classic introvert.  I am comfortable with that label.  It suits me fine.

My kids, however, exhibit extroverted tendencies at their young, tender ages.  While I realize their personalities are still developing and emerging, it would not surprise The Husband and me if they all grow up to be gregarious extroverts like their father. 

Needless to say, the introvert in me is zapped by the constant  People Time that defines my day as Mommy.  By the time The Husband gets home, I've had as much interaction as I can take.  I am Done.  Done with questions that mostly involve the word Why.  Done with requests for 337 snacks.  Done with distracting, re-directing, diverting, etc.  Done with Dora, Barbie, Tinker Toys, Legos, Curious George and every other single toy-game-book we have in the house.  Done with tantrums, sibling altercations and end-of-the-day whining.   I am Done with being Mommy.  Done.  Done.  Done.

Did I Really Say That? Really?

There are times when I look back at things I have said in the past and cringe to myself.

Because I was one judgmental little pain in the butt.

When I was in my 20's I was someone who felt the need to tell everybody ALL my views on life and oftentimes, how I thought others should be living their lives.  I think I thought I was providing a public service of some sort.

Well if that me was standing in front of this me now, I'd have a real bone to pick with her.

And she (I) might have even gotten a little b&%ch slap from me.

SLAP.

It mainly had to do with the obnoxious things "Old Me" would say to my friends who had children.  Being a mother myself now (one who can hardly find the time to brush my hair, mind you), "New Me" would really like to go back and pick a really nasty old fight with "Old Me".

And I am surprised more of my friends didn't.

Here are just some of "Old Me" views on life that I felt the need to share with anyone who would listen.