DC Metro Moms

A Question I Wish Wasn't Rattling Her Brain

2010-03-10T10:00:00-08:00

That day had dragged on, and although it was early evening, much still remained on my agenda. As I eased myself into the cushy rocking chair, I envisioned a few quiet moments in my immediate future, nothing too taxing or remarkable.

Man, I couldn't have been more mistaken.

Not thirty seconds after settling down for my intended act of respite, the bright red hair atop my almost-four-year old daughter's head came into my line of sight, and it didn't take more than a moment to detect the look of pure distress on her face.

"Mommy? Are we going to live forever?"

Utilizing one of the oldest stalling techniques in the book, I responded with a completely lame, "What do you think- do you think people live forever?" Forgive me my inability to think quickly on my feet, for I was instantaneously immobilized by this query. I was also not prepared for her reaction to my response. Apparently she had already been giving this question some thought, because she didn't answer me in words but instead in a slow moan that soon developed into a full blown episode of sobbing. I'm not exaggerating when I apply the term despair to her emotional state at that moment.

Continuing in my parental ineptitude, I asked her why she was crying. (Duh.) Of course, her reply was straightforward, "But... I don't want to be dead!" As that last word escaped her lips almost unwillingly, she climbed onto my lap and proceeded to whimper into my chest. I cradled her like a baby, because honestly, she has only existed for three years, and the memory of her infancy is solidly fresh in my mind. But at that moment, I felt helpless and dumb and more unprepared than ever before in my role as Mommy.

Without a religious doctrine or belief system to point to, I was hesitant to discuss any ideas of the afterlife with my preschooler, because it's clearly not the time to launch into my sometime-atheist/sometime-believer-wannabe train of thought. But the scientific perspective seemed much too harsh to toss at this child whose brain was posing a question that her emotions were simply not prepared to contemplate. While she has not experienced the death of any important person in her world yet, she has seen the occasional dead bird outside, and we've watched a couple of insect captivity projects go awry, so obviously the concept of being no longer alive isn't completely foreign to her. For whatever unknown reason, she suddenly thought to apply the concept to her family and herself.

As we rocked together, her tears pooling on my t-shirt, I tried to find words that would bring comfort without making me cover up her fears with lies. "Sweets, most people live many, many, many years in their lives, living until they are very old grown-ups. And that's what we hope to do- live really long lives. And all we can really do is be happy today. We can be happy that we're here today and we have each other."

While I may not have all the answers, and I'll probably never know what pushed her thoughts in this direction, I do hope that I was successful at conveying the love I feel for this child with my words. Are we going to live forever? I'm logging that one as the downright hardest question my heart has ever had to hear.

This is an original DC Metro Moms post.

Dawn blogs nonsense about her family at my thoughts exactly, and tries to sound intelligent when she reviews books at 5 Minutes for Books.

How I Learned to Embrace My Curls

2010-03-10T06:00:00-08:00

When I was in third grade, my mother had her hairstylist cut off my long hair into what I can only describe as a miniature afro. I was mortified. I wept -- big, fat tears soaking my face -- while I was still in the salon chair. No one understood why my mom had done it. I thought I was getting a trim. Mami always replied with the same lame excuse: "Ay, her thick hair was getting hard to braid every day."

Thanks to that one awful haircut, I had to endure about seven years of bad hair. Yes, that haircut was the bad-luck equivalent of shattering a mirror. As a young teenage girl, you can only imagine how I felt about having thick, un-tamable curly hair. If only Hermione Granger had existed when I was growing up, perhaps I could have had a bushy-haired fictional role model to commiserate with, but no, all I had were a bunch of white-girl friends with their lustrous, straight hair. Good times.

By full-on puberty, my hair settled into ringlets, and I discovered that hair products were my friends. So throughout high school, I made sure to wet-and-gel my curls every day. It was exhausting, and I still harbored ill will about my hair. I even made my mother -- by tearfully reminding her of THE BAD HAIRCUT -- let me straighten my hair.

The relaxer burned, but I got so many compliments it only made me cry out to God in despair: "Why God? Why did I get cursed with curly hair?" Mami had beautiful, shiny wavy hair you could actually brush, and my sister had feathery layer with a light curl. OK, my brothers had curly hair, but they could cut their hair so short you couldn't even tell.

It doesn't help matters that most hairstylists outright LIE when they say they can cut curly hair. No. They CAN'T. Fast forward 15 years of horrible to decent to occasionally good haircuts to the year 2007, when I was 31. A mother with gorgeous curly hair recommended I look for a Devachan-trained Curly Girl stylist. I ended up seeing Nicole Lueschow, who really has changed my life. She was the very first hairstylist to really make me appreciate having curly hair.

Thanks to her encouragement, I finally know what it takes for me to have fabulous curls. I don't always do it and end up sticking my hair in an Evita Peron-style bun, but I have the tools. I've followed Nicole to three different salons, and I would follow her anywhere (even beyond the Metro area) for helping me make peace with my curly hair. Every time she does my hair, I feel blessed, and not cursed, to be a Curly Girl.

An original DC Metro Moms post. Sandie occasionally blogs about motherhood, movies and being mother-less at Urban Mama, but she regularly blogs about entertainment for AOL's Inside Movies and Inside TV blogs. She also writes movie reviews for Common Sense Media.

Photo courtesy of Holly via a Creative Commons license (it's of her, not me!)

The Lost Art of RSVP

2010-03-10T04:00:00-08:00

Perhaps it's the fact that it's in French (Répondez s'il vous plaît) or maybe it's because people are lazybusy, but I am saddened by the lost art of RSVPing.

Mom A plans great birthday party for her son. She rents facility, orders cake, plans food, sends out invitations with email address and phone number. Two days before the party she hasn't heard from half her guests--most who own blackberries or iPhones. She stresses about party favors and if she has enough food. Mom B decides since Mom A couldn't get responses, she'd send out an Evite to her son's friends. She rents facility, orders cake, plans food and gets party favors. Mom B loves Evite because she can see who has viewed and not viewed. Two days before the party, she's still waiting for people to either open the evite or respond.

I am the first to admit that I've let a few of these invites pass me by. Though with birthday parties, especially, I try to get to the birthday child's mom sooner rather than later because, if nothing else, their need for head count.

In an era when responding doesn't even mean having to pick up the phone, why is it we can't carve out the time to respond? Perhaps people are waiting for a better option to come along. Could it be that no one wants to commit because once you say yes or no, you can't change your mind. I say it's a bit of both. But remember that parties are a perfect time for people to gather and be together. Something we don't do much of anymore except on email, Facebook or blogs.

RSVPing is no longer a just a basic skill. It is a learned art form, and I appreciate those who practice it.

Here is a quick lesson (one which I need to practice myself sometimes):

1. Receive invitation. Don't put it in the mail pile or it will get lost. Don't give it to your child or it will get lost. Put it on the frig or somewhere else where you will see it.

2. Ponder first if you want to attend. Don't ponder more than 24 hours. C'mon you know if you want to go or not. Don't drag it out.

3. Respond before the deadline or at least 4 days in advance. If you don't want to go (that's OK), find a very believable excuse and give it now. "Sorry we have plans for that day" will totally suffice. If you do want to attend, but are not sure you can, let the person know you're considering it so they can account for you. But let them know with enough time so they don't have to sprint to the store for you the day of the party. If you want to go, say yes and say it sooner rather than later. They have probably worked hard on this, invested time and money and invited you for a reason. Party planners (like myself) love others to be excited about a gathering.

4. Follow up. Even if you don't go, ask about it the next time you see them and thank them for the invitation.

I'm getting ready to plan my oldest child's birthday party and because every year, I have to make last-minute phone calls to find out about party goers, I'm opting on the Evite hoping this will save me a few phone calls.

If you have an invitation sitting around in your house, "please respond."

This is an original DC Metro Moms post.

Linda officially apologizes for any invitations she has not responded to in a timely manner. She's still working on developing her art. She writes at Baby Bunching.

Confronting the breastmilk taboo

2010-03-09T11:00:00-08:00

I'm on maternity leave right now, which means three things: I live in pajama pants, I watch way too much daytime TV, and I'm sustaining my son with my body. He's a breastmilk boy and I'm incredibly proud of that. He's the only of our three kids for whom I've been able to produce enough milk to avoid the siren song of Similac. And if I'm going to live this life wired in to DDD bras, the mammaries owe it to me to fulfill their biological function, don't you think?

It also means, let's go for full disclosure, that sometimes I'm a bit of a drippy mess. It gets everywhere, especially at the end of a pumping session. But the growing golden bags in the freezer fill me with a tangible sense of accomplishment. As I labeled another bag for storage last night my husband complimented the fruits of my labor, and how happy this will make the baby in the coming months. I tossed an offhanded remark back about how of course it'll make him happy - the stuff is sweet and delicious. The husband stopped what he was doing and looked at me with surprise: "you've tasted it?" I hadn't thought anything of it. Breastmilk gets all over me. It's been on my fingertips and the backs of my hands. Yeah, I've tasted it. (And if you've nursed or pumped, haven't you?)

This morning I was watching the fourth hour of The Today Show and in Hoda and Kathy Lee's opening segment they had a plate of Chef Daniel Angerer's breastmilk cheese before them. (To see the clip, go here. The cheese discussion starts at about 7:28.) The chef's description of his food philosophies says that he leans toward natural, sustainable food. When he and his wife found themselves in possession of more breastmilk than freezer space, cheesemaking was a solution that they agreed upon that falls in line with their food philosophies and avoids "wasting gold."

I have no problem with the cheese. I have no particular interest in practicing any culinary arts with my own supply, but I understand the space limits of a New York City apartment, having spent some time living in one myself.

I have a problem with Hoda and Kathy Lee.
And with the entire Today Show staff on set.

The hosts were scandalized at the idea of tasting the breastmilk cheese. They sought volunteers from the set to try it and only succeeded in corralling one because the volunteer hadn't heard what he'd be tasting. And the derision when he bit into the cheese was unanimous. The collective disbelief that anyone would eat food made from breastmilk was offensive, and that its message carried on for more than two minutes of air time was excessive.

Why is breastmilk such a taboo?

I eat honey. I eat eggs, and have you ever thought about what part of a chicken the egg falls out? I drink milk from cows and I eat cheese from goats and I rub lanolin on my skin, which is essentially sheep sweat. None of those animal byproducts seem to upset the populace.

Here's the point I would like to make: I have milked a cow, and I have milked myself. I think I have an edge on the cows. For one thing, I shower several times a week. For another, I never defecate while expressing my milk. This is not to stage some PETA-like argument against drinking cow's milk. Rather, it's to provide some perspective. I have no personal interest in utilizing my own stream of liquid gold for anything other than my newborn's health and pleasure. But the milk my body makes for him is remarkable. If it's good enough for him, why wouldn't it be good enough for everybody? I don't want to share with you, but why should you be horrified if I did?

Hoda and Kathy Lee, you let me down today.

When Robin isn't flashing her body parts across the internet, she manages to embarrass her family in other ways at The Not-Ever-Still Life.

Happy wedding day!

2010-03-09T07:06:32-08:00

Today is the first day same-sex couples can legally get married in Washington DC. The District began issuing the new licenses for gay couples last Wednesday. The Associated Press reported about 300 couples applied for licenses from Wednesday to Friday; almost all of those licenses were for couples of the same sex.

I have to confess: I am surprised that Washington DC jumped this hurdle and is now permitting same-sex unions! I mean, DC may not be as stodgy and conservative as people initially think...but I certainly thought states on the Left Coast would legalize same-sex unions before DC would! Instead, The District becomes the sixth place in this country, behind Connecticut, Iowa, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont, to legalize gay marriage.

So after the mandatory four day waiting period, today is the first day couples can pick up those licenses and put them to good use. Many weddings are planned around town for today. Who can blame them? I wouldn't want to wait a single second longer either! Nine years ago, The Husband and I purposefully chose to have a short engagement, because as Harry Burns famously said, "... when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Gay couples may have already made that decision. Maybe they've already had commitment ceremonies, live together and are raising kids together...but today is the FIRST DAY their decision to be united will be recognized legally. There's something to be said about that. *applause applause*

I am hopeful the rest of the country will follow DC and the six other states in legalizing gay marriages soon. Someday, I want my kids to be shocked into disbelief as I tell them how once upon a time, same-sex unions weren't legal across this country. I want them to know how proud their mom was as she witnessed the legalization of gay marriage in her beloved nation's capital..though they will probably think she's just sooooo old to have observed history in the making.

Happy wedding day! Congratulations to the many couples getting married today and in the days/weeks/months ahead...and may your (legal) unions be happy and blessed forevermore.

Original DC Metro Moms post.
Michelle blogs at Wife and Mommy.

The Price of a 'Big Boy'

2010-03-09T07:00:00-08:00

To see your offspring, the product of your loins, grow and become independent is a wonderful thing...

in some ways.

There is a price to pay...

Are you reading this while your little one sits on the floor in his or her adorable matching outfit... complete with matching socks?

Are you? Enjoy it. Those days are gone for me...

My son never used to care about what he wore... so I could dress him!

But now, he does care... he just doesn't care if it matches or not.

He's picking out his own clothes and (Mom Victory... wait for it...) getting dressed completely by himself!

We used bribery for the latter... Hey! Don't throw stones!

But what price did I pay?

His favorite, 'go-to-even-when-they-are-dirty' articles of clothing are: his orange pants and his blue blazer...

Yep. Orange Pants and a Blue Blazer.

Plus, the orange pants are becoming highwaters, no, they are highwaters... He doesn't care, his response, 'I'll wear them for the rest of the winter and then you can cut them off and make them into shorts!'

The thing that I can't argue with is, his retort to everything- "I'm a Big Boy."

He is a big boy, and I'm so grateful;

But now he has decided that since he goes to 'real school' (kindergarten), he will have his own 'classroom' to go over daily lessons and Letter People.

Oh, wait! You've never heard of Letter People? Oh, you must have small children, nursery school age...

Prepare yourself for... Letter People!

They're great, educational, promote reading and writing...

AND THEY ARE ALL OVER MY HOUSE!

I mean EVERYWHERE.

Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful...

But I think I liked his 'steering wheel' phase better (we'd make steering wheels out of paper plates... Every... Day) and that bordered on the obsessive... But you can stack paper plates up so quickly and neatly!

I think, since he is a 'big boy' now, I will introduce to him a new concept/phase...

The 'You are such a Big Boy, you can easily pick up all your Letter People, and your dirty clothes that are carelessly strewn all over your room, after you change clothes' Concept/Phase.

Yes, that is our next phase.

Wish me luck...

Yeah, I know,

just wish me luck.

Original DC Metro Moms Post

When Nicole isn't unconsciously humming songs from her son's Letter People CD, while she's finding Letter People all over her house, she's at her Mom Blog - BananaBlueberry or sharing helpful hints at her HouseHold Tips Blog.

High School? How Can This Happen?

2010-03-09T02:00:00-08:00

I had thought about writing a post about the snow, but really even I am "snowed" out. But, wait volleyball is in full swing. I could write about trekking from tournament to tournament following my daughters' teams. But... maybe another time. I definitely need to write about what I am going to do with the rest of my life...but I need to figure that out first. Baby steps...

Do you ever have a post brewing in your head that you know you need to get down on paper, but can't? I have a post that I need to write, but if I write it I can no longer ignore the reality of the situation. It's nothing to do with the health of my family or a possible move across country. But, it is a life-changing event for our family and my oldest daughter.

Warning: Saccharine, sugary sweet, and sappy paragraphs ahead. Watch for falling cliches. You have been warned.

When my daughter was born I could barely visualize her starting school, let alone graduating from high school. She was a tiny, delicate baby. So vulnerable. So in need of my care and support. I was adamant that I would look after my daughter 24/7 with my husband as my wingman and my mother on call.

As my daughter approached her 2nd birthday, I could no longer ignore that my life as part WAHM and part SAHM was in dire straits. I was exhausted keeping up with my toddler during the day while working on editorial assignments at naptime, after her bedtime, and on weekends. Oh, and did I mention I was newly pregnant, too??

With great reluctance I began Preschool Research Project #1. I did an in-depth preschool search for each child. Over the years, I have had kids at 4 different preschools. For my search, I called, grilled, and visited preschools and day care centers. The day I put the deposit down for her at a preschool in Damascus was a bittersweet day. I was excited for her to have experiences in the new world of school and learning, but concerned as she would be away from me for the first time.

In a few short years, my oldest daughter moved from her first preschool to a pre-K school to elementary school and finally to middle school. She is a "never looks back" type of kid. At 5, she walked on the school bus and never gave me a backward glance. So, it is no surprise that she is ready and raring to go to high school.

High School? Gulp! I can barely say the name of her school without feeling all queasy and worried. I am currently prone to thinking "Where did all the time go?" or " What? She can't possibly be ready for high school. Didn't I buy her a Teletubbies lunchbox for preschool not so long ago??"

My teen is handling the transition to high school and my worries the way she handles everything...with confidence and strength. Two weeks ago she guided me through the high school course catalog...patiently explaining to me what courses she needed for 9th grade. I was tongue-tied of course. "But, only yesterday you were writing an A"! To my daughter who always looks forward, never back, I am incorrigible.

Moms of high schoolers? Do you have any advice for how to survive high school? I know my teen will be just fine. As for me, the jury is still out.

When not fretting over her children growing up too quickly, Jill Berry writes about raising preteens and parenting tweens in Baltimore. If you are a DC/MD/VA Mommy, you will want to join www.DC.CityMommy.com: a lively message board for DC area moms who want to connect, discuss, learn, and save! Jill is the new City Leader!

On the outside looking in...already.

2010-03-08T09:00:00-08:00

I am on the outside of a love triangle and it's breaking my heart. Amusing me, and breaking my heart. It appears as if I have already been replaced in my little one's eye as the end all be all female. Yes, I've been usurped by a tiny 16 month old named Sadie. She has fluffy hair that she wears in a pony tail on top of her head and the sweetest little voice I've ever heard (other than Max's of course).

In preparation for our Hawaii trip, and to edge out the mind numbing nothing to do-ness of this snowy season I have been hitting the gym on the daily. Monday through Friday I escape to the elliptical, plug my earphones into the attached TV and delve into a show that doesn't involve anyone animated or threatening to swipe anything.

I was hesitant to use the gym daycare at first, and so I had been waiting till after the baby went to bed to rush out and get in my workout before the it closed. It was my husband who one fateful Monday he had off of work insisted we give it a try. I am so glad he did. The woman who runs the daycare is so fabulous I wish I could poach her for my very own. I mean, if I had such a lifestyle that I needed to poach a full time personal child care taker! Since I have been staying at home and since we know, well, basically no one in this area it's really been me and the kiddo against the world. I have loved this time together, but as he creeps steadily towards two I see more and more that he needs interaction with other children and to learn that I can go away but will always come back. The first few times we took a trip to the gym there were many tears (one or two of them may have even been mine but I'm not admitting to anything). After a week or so I would say to him "would you like to go to the gym and see Anna Maria?" and he would say 'ball!' which is code for 'why yes, I'd love to go to the big room that has a giant football looking thing on the door.'

Just last week I put him down and as I removed his jacket he was already pulling away from me...towards that little siren, Sadie. They moved towards one another in that fun little toddle that, ya know, toddlers have. She reached out and squeeked "eye maaah" Clearly, 'Hi Max.' He didn't say anything. He just wrapped his little arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. oh.my. I was unprepared for that! The daycare workers and I all awwwwwed, unable to stop ourselves from the cute attack. It was without a doubt one of the sweetest and purest things I've ever seen. I wish Sadie's mother had been there to see it, it was precious. But there's a complication. Katrina. Two and a half, she has her sights on my son and nothing, no not even sweet Sadie will stand in her way. If Sadie isn't there Max is thrilled to play with Katrina, but if Sadie and Katrina are there...it's tug of war with Max. Just yesterday I witnessed Katrina being taken to the car by her freshly Yoga'd mommy crying "Max!!" and reaching for the playroom door. I peeked in and Max was happily handing a baby doll to Sadie. Hmmmmmm.... I marvel at the intricacies of the relations between these three under three. Max is gentle with both of them (oh how I pray he always will be!) and the girls negotiate who gets Max when. Katrina is clearly dominant but Sadie looks out for herself too. Personally, I'm pulling for Sadie. My husband only had one comment about the whole thing "Two girls? That's my boy!"

When Stephanie Stearns Dulli isn't trying to win back her son from toddler vixens, she blogs about babies, shopping, and other funny nonsense at Dial M for Minky

How to Choose a Preschool (It's Not for the Faint of Heart!)

2010-03-08T02:00:00-08:00

Are you the parent of a two- or three-year-old agonizing over where your child will hang his or her little backpack next year? Are you currently in the throes of preschool open houses, waiting lists, applications, deposits, nights spent in sleeping bags to secure a place and other angst? If so, my prayers are with you. Seriously. Three years ago I was where you are now, and it was tough. I made it through, and you will too.

When my first kid left toddlerhood, gained a little sister and had his third birthday, I started to consider preschool for him in the coming fall. I read everything I could Google or obtain from the libraries (my sincere apologies to Silver Spring library patrons if you were waiting on Maria Montessori's book those three, OK, five months I had it checked out; for the fines I paid I could have bought us all our own copies.) I hounded parents in Safeway, CVS, the pediatrician's office, the community pool. I pity any parent with a child three years and older that struck up a polite conversation with me in 2006. I attended every preschool orientation in the six neighboring zip codes, every school fair in the county. I e-mailed my real-life friend Tech Savvy Mama about once a day for a while there; not only is she a great writer and tech education expert, she is one patient friend.

After much middle-class-SAHM-hand-wringing and frustrated-former-professional-research, I narrowed down my criteria. For my family and our situations, I settled on three-year-old programs that met two or three times a week for half days, were faith-based on our family's spiritual beliefs, ethnically diverse, located within a few miles of our home, had a small class size, cost less than $X per month and were not parent cooperatives. (Please know that this criteria was just what worked for our family schedules and finances and framework, it is NOT a commentary on five-day, coop, secular or other faiths' programs!) By narrowing the options down in such a manner and deciding what I wanted and didn't want, it was easier to limit applications to three preschools, rather than 13.

We were accepted into one program immediately, and placed on the waiting lists for the other two schools. Of course the two waiting-listed schools were morning programs and the one we got into outright was an afternoon program, which stressed me out. Mornings were better, right? My kid would be more alert, better behaved, less fussy in the morning and he was still napping in the afternoons. I was also thinking that with a morning program while my younger child was awake, I would be able to get more done, like exercise my body into Gabrielle Reese shape, do every errand imaginable for the family, work part-time from home, learn French and volunteer in Africa. You know, very realistic expectations of what I would do with six hours a week with only one child to care for.

Come June, we were still on the waiting lists and I became resigned that the afternoon preschool was where we should buy the sweatshirt, send the vaccination forms, set up the automatic tuition payments, coordinate summer playdates with other families. And you know, everything just fell into place. I stopped the daily fights for the daily nap, and my son magically started going to sleep at 7:45pm every night without a wimper. The afternoons while his little sister slept became a time that my son and I did crafts, played games, baked and became best buddies all over again, preparing him for afternoons of learning and cooperation come September. I loved the kids that would be his classmates and had massive girl crushes on the teachers and other mothers.

I finally realized that my anxiety was unfounded and self-indulgent. I was lucky to have the cash to send my kid to a safe, warm place where he could make friends and gain independence a few times a week. I was darn fortunate that putting my child in another person's care was totally optional, since my psyche, personality, spouse and family budget were down with the whole SAHM thing. The school was accredited and award-winning, and the teachers were loving, experienced and genuinely enjoyed their jobs. The veteran parents had already created a community of caring in their commitment to the school. My kid would be happy here. He would happy at any of the schools. He would be happy if I was happy.

Of course we received two phone calls in August when on vacation offering us positions at both of the other schools, just as everyone said would happen. I didn't look back for a second and politely declined the offered spaces. My point for writing all this is to assure you that by this time next year, your child will be blissfully attending his beloved school, you will be one of the old-guard parents and you will watch your kid play Rudolph in the Christmas sing-along or similar preschool production. Any subsequent children you choose to send there will have family priority. You will never have to go through the preschool angst again.

Unless you move.

Jessica McFadden is a freelance writer of family features. She lists activities for parents and all DC area schools' open houses (for no charge) on A Parent in Silver Spring.

I need a church-like family without so much church

2010-03-07T15:56:41-08:00

I used to go to church when I was younger, and have attended many services of several different religions. It's not the religious part of church that I miss, but it's all the other stuff. You know - the family, the community, and the friends that you make at church. I remember connecting with people at a different level. I remember meeting new friends that I still have today. And I remember the unconditional support I received from all of those folks.

Outside of a church, it is much harder to establish those connections. There are very few groups that bring people together for a shared experience that connects them at the level that a church does. And my trouble is that in my world, especially in this area, I don't have that connection with more than a few people.

I have a small group of girlfriends, but not folks who get together regularly to visit, or for that matter even know each other. Folks here are so busy that even Moms Night Out isn't well attended. School is another avenue that might be a good one to connect with folks, but we have kids from all over the county at our school, plus a large population of parents that don't speak any English. This is where I've made the most connections though - to other parents at school - even if they are far away. And recently I met a bunch of the folks in the neighborhood - a snowstorm does a great job of bringing snowbound folks together. But I am still missing that critical link to a small group of folks who I've bonded with tightly. I'm not quite ready to step foot back into a church for the purpose of worship, but the draw to find that kind of a home is definitely strong.

This is an original DC Metro Moms post.

Suzie also blogs about life in a household of six over at Confessions of a Not So Well Behaved Woman.

Done being Mommy.

2010-03-07T02:00:00-08:00

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.

Fortunately, The Husband is an excellent Husband and Daddy who understands introverted Mommy is a better Mommy and Wife after she's had her alone time. He tries to give me as much of a break as possible once he steps through the door. The children are delighted to see their daddy and vice versa, so I quickly make my escape. I hole up in the farthest point in the house away from everyone and rock in a corner attempt to reset. I read. I knit. I catch up on the internet. Anything, as long as it is done in solitude.

Soon, way too soon, however, I hear The Husband calling for me. Or the kids come find me. It's Family Time. Dinner. More conversation. I try not to snap at The Husband, who just wants to talk to me, to find out about our day. I feel attacked from all sides as the four people I love most in the world will.not.shut.up.

The bedtime routine is the final straw. Doing jammies, teeth, books, songs, prayers, tuck-ins--and heaven forbid it be a bath night!--absolutely does me in since none of it can be done in complete silence. I collapse at the end of it, unable to form coherent sentences, with my eyes glazed over and my mind gasping for alcohol and a padded room complete isolation.

And the next day, it begins all over again...

Adapted from her blog for DC Metro Moms.

Michelle really does love her life as a Wife and Mommy!

Local Cuts in Education Will Affect Teaching and Learning

2010-03-06T02:00:00-08:00

Throughout the DC Metro area public school systems are bracing themselves for 2 things- spring statewide mandatory standardized testing and the effect of shrinking budgets on staffing projections for the coming school year. As in years past, the economy continues to force school systems to make additional cuts but this year many counties are forced to reduce the number of teachers which will have a direct impact on teaching and learning.

Last week Prince George’s County Board of Education announced that their budget would eliminate 800 positions, 335 of which were classroom teaching positions. In addition to having fewer teachers, class size in Prince George's will increase by two students at every grade level except for pre-kindergarten and kindergarten. Across the river in Fairfax County, the school system expects to make $16 million in cuts and looks towards increasing property tax to help fund public education programs.

Late last week staff allocations to Montgomery County Public Schools (MCPS) principals were released and the future looks grim. In a message to staff from Superintendent Dr. Jerry Weast, class size throughout MCPS will increase by one student that will eliminate a total of 252 positions- 142 in elementary schools and 55 each at middle and high schools. Additional reductions in staffing can be made depending on enrollment and central services will take hits as they have over the past 10 years.

MCPS has reduced their budget by $18 million over the past 2 years but it is expected that an additional $6 million in cuts will be made due to lack of revenue from county taxes and state budget shortfalls. There is a possibility that there might be layoffs and any reduction in staffing will most certainly affect a school’s ability to provide the best education for our students as possible.

As a teacher, I am fearful for my job. As a parent, I worry about the future of education for my children, the oldest of whom just began kindergarten at our local public school this fall.

I have no doubt that my child’s teachers will continue to provide the best instruction possible despite having a larger class size and even more limited means for basic classroom supplies but I am more concerned about the continued cuts in education that could prevent our children from competing for jobs in a global economy as we look towards the future.

Original DC Metro Moms post

When Leticia isn’t worrying about her teaching job and the state of public education, she assists parents find quality technology products for their family at Tech Savvy Mama, muses about technology and education for The LeapFrog Community, and writes a column at The Washington Times.

It's All Fun and Games, Until Somebody Lets the Cattle Out

2010-03-05T08:34:37-08:00

We survived Snowmaggedon. But now that the forty-five inches of white stuff we got are melting, and Tug, our Golden, is anything but, I almost miss it.

Of course neither my husband nor I miss having our sons home for thirteen straight school days. That's right; thirteen. I had a maternity leave that didn't last that long. Talk about the perils of self-employment.

At first, both boys were only too happy with the sudden instructional interlude and found lots of fun ways to enjoy themselves. And then they got bored and things really got recreational. Right this second there isn't a Zoloft left in the house. And they put a darn good dent in the Jack Daniels, too.

The back to back snowstorms left us with a nice dusting of dead chickens, several rodents seeking respite (not to mention squatters' rights) in our utensil drawer, and a clutch of cows in the back yard. For the first time in the five years we've lived in the country, the cattle guard behind our house filled with snow and froze solid. And then, as I watched from the kitchen window, a dozen or so momma cows, baby cows, and at least one bull strolled out of the pasture, past our pickup truck, and up to the mud porch; they were too late for breakfast, so I gave them what was left of the boys' bourbon.

We were very blessed in that we never lost power, ran out of pain medication, or had to make a hospital run which, frankly, we couldn't have as the Virginia Department of Transportation had our road closed in both directions for two days. In fact, probably the worst thing that happened was that our satellite went down. This was bad because we missed the start of the Olympics. But it was good because we escaped the unending weather reports and the stultifying "What's Topper's Real Name?" guessing game our local news had going.

I don't know what Topper's real name is, and I don't care what Topper's real name is. I only know I'm stuck in the house, with a sick husband, two squabbling sons, a dwindling supply of wine, and the growing possibility I'll make the police blotter if you don't put The Big Bang Theory back on.

We were also lucky in that five of my husband's high school friends braved the weather and came for a visit. They brought several wonderful books for him, Super Bowl tee shirts for the boys, and plants for me. Despite my black-thumbed reputation, I've never actually killed a plant. Though my presence does seem to drive them to suicide.

By the time school recommenced, the kids had eaten through all the junk food, the sugar coated cereals, the non sugar coated cereals that they coated in sugar, the ice cream, the frozen cookie dough, and two packages of Swedish Fish they found behind the couch. They were slathering red grapes in Hershey's syrup so as not to go into withdrawal when we got the call that both school and our road were finally open.

Whew.

They left for class, and we left for chemo and a tumor count. Last summer, when we began the pancreatic cancer odyssey, my husband's tumor marker, a.k.a. his CA 19-9, was just under eight thousand. Eight thousand. Last Wednesday, it was thirteen. In case you don't know, and I sincerely hope you don't, anything under thirty-seven is considered normal.

Double, triple, quadruple, whew.

Of course he still has to go for treatment, and we've got to get some meat back on his bones (so please, send Swedish Fish; yeah, they were his). But for the first time in a long time he's making big plans for this place.

Once the weather warms up, he's going to get back to farming, planting, and driving the tractor all over God's green earth. Sounds good to me. Particularly since, when that happens, he'll also resume dog de-muddying duty. Which I must attend to now, as Tug, of course, is covered.

Susan McCorkindale writes about life on the funny farm on her daily blog, or just buy the book, Confessions of a Counterfeit Farm Girl.
An original DC Metro Moms post.

Making Yourself Happy

2010-03-05T03:36:00-08:00

I found myself incredibly unhappy on Valentine's Day. My family was supposed to be away for the weekend, but the recent snow and power outages made that an impossibility. And with the cancellation of our weekend away went the spa day I had planned. But I had secretly hoped my husband re-booked them at a spa closer to home.

I woke up Valentine's morning to well, nothing. Not a card, not flowers. Not a mention of a spa appointment, nothing. Just a leaking roof.

I have a great husband, I really, really do. And I traditionally get flowers for Valentine's day and we normally mark the day somehow. But I think all the snow just screwed everything up.

I spent that whole weekend feeling very stabby as my four year old was feeling the ill effects of being couped up for so long and his behavior was starting to reflect that. He spent a lot of time in time out and I spent a lot of time yelling. I was just tense, and stressed out and pissed off. Angry that my spa day got canceled and angry that it never occurred to Doug that he should try to rebook my appointments at a spa here. Like somehow it was up to him to make a phone call because there was some stupid Hallmark holiday.

And in all honesty I don't even like Valentine's Day. My feeling has always been if someone loves me they should love me everyday of the year and not just one. So why was I pouting because Doug couldn't read my mind? I eventually sucked it up and found an appointment at a newish spa by my house. And it honestly, it was spectacular. One of the best spas I've ever been to.

The morale of this story is sometimes you have to take care of you. Why should I have been miserable waiting for him to do something I am perfectly capable of doing myself? And I would have done every other day of the year? And that made us both happier? I got out of the house and got what I wanted, and he got a less tense and stressed out and wife.

Now if I can just get that roofer to return my phone calls.

Adapted for DC Metro Moms from Jodi's personal blog jodifur. Jodi writes, a lot, about being a wife, mother, attorney, and everything in between. You can also follow Jodi on twitter.

The Possibility of Everything by Hope Edelman - A SV Moms Group Book Club

2010-03-05T01:00:00-08:00

Does your child have an imaginary friend? What would you do if you thought - or knew - your child's imaginary friend had a bit too strong of a hold on her? Jet off to Belize in search of Mayan healers to banish the friend? What a story this is. And a real life one too. Join us today as we discuss The Possibility of Everything by Hope Edelman.

Hope has also graciously done a Q&A with the SV Moms Group bloggers. Read the Q&A here.

Lori from New Jersey Moms Blog leads us off as she is parenting by feel
Florinda from The 3 R's Blog: Reading, 'Riting, and Randomness has a perception of danger and possibility
Marianne from Writer-Mommy thinks its hard to be three
Cristie's from The Traveling Circus eyes were opened by this faith journey
Jennifer from Connect with your Teens through Pop Culture and Technology examines believing in the unknown
Darryle from I never signed up for this... starts to talk about her own journey with a healer for cancer
Michelle from Wife and Mommy asks what wouldn't I do?
Lisa from blog on the wall is keeping faith
Kristine from Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine wishes for magic
Lisa from Hannemaniacs says bring on the bush doctor
Cindy Fey from We All Fall Down knows she need to let her daughter be who she is without projecting her fears on her
Michele Spring Fajeau Read Out Loud discusses faith, hope and healing
Jessica from It's my life... thinks about the lengths mothers will go to help their children
Nicole from Not Just a Working Mom related to feeling like a single mom sometimes
Amy's from Occupation Mommy daughter's imaginary friend is named Sally
Meghan from Meg's Idle Chatter has a mother's instinct
Jessica from This Mom Rocks It talks about the art of parenting
Linsey from Me Too You asks if twins need an imaginary friend?
Heidi from Coast to Coast Mom is a workweek widow

New Jersey Moms Blog is hosting the book club discussion this month. Please go here to join in the discussion.

Past SV Moms Group Book Clubs have included:

The Mominatrix's Guide to Sex by Kristen Chase
Coco Chanel & Igr Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh
See Mom Run by Beth Feldman
Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind by Phillip Done
This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Topper
Do One Nice Thing by Debbie Tenzer
Birth Day by Mark Sloan, M.D.
What Happened to the Girl I Married? by Michael Miller
Testimony by Anita Shreve
Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs
Much to Your Chagrin by Suzanne Guilette
It Started with Pop-Tarts by Lori Hanson
Who By Fire by Diana Spechler
The White Trash Moms Handbook by Michelle Lamar
Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues
The Vaccine Book by Dr. Robert W. Sears
The Other Mother by Gwendolen Gross

Click here to read all about the SV Moms Group Book Club.

The Intersection of Parent and Playmate

2010-03-04T10:00:00-08:00

Right off the bat, let me clear up any potential confusion from the above title- think in the direction of that old children's song, "Playmate, Come Out and Play with Me," and not of the Hugh Hefner connotation to the word. Now that we have that straight, let's see how effectively I can sort out my thoughts about my role as a parent when it comes to my children's entertainment. You see, I recently read a blog post and an article by Lenore Skenazy, an author who I deeply respect, and the topic is one that has definitely filled my own thoughts as well as conversations with friends or general playground chit-chat-- playing with our children.

While I'm not particularly a fan of the title itself, officially I am in the "stay-at-home-mom" category for occupation. Yes, the salary is ridiculously awful, and the hours are ungodly, but it's the right answer for me and my family right now. After we send their big brother off to school each morning, my 2- and 3-year old children and I settle in for our day, which usually consists of toys scattered around the entirety of our small house and an outdoors jaunt if the weather cooperates, interrupted at periodic breaks for reading books, eating and napping. I have tried to set up our small home in a way that the children's toys and art materials are easily accessible for them, and they are close enough in age to still be interested in the same kinds of play. Seems ideal, right?

Then please explain to me why I can sometimes feel guilty if I choose to pick up my book to read while the kids play together. Worse yet, if I dare to spend a few minutes on Facebook or attempt to blog in the middle of the morning, I can hear the voice in the back of my head. I'm very familiar with the voice, since it really only has one line that it has repeated many times for the almost ten years of my parent status. It's the "You're not a good parent" voice, and I'm pretty sure that I'm not the only one who hears it. I guess I don't hear the voice so much when I'm occupied with the have-to-do tasks that can call me away from giving my full attention to the kids. Hey, if they want food to eat, clothes to wear, or a carpet to play on that isn't covered in debris, Mama's got to do some housework throughout the day. But what about the bigger question at play here? (Sorry, I'm a sucker for a bad pun.) Should we be playing with our kids?

Even typing those words makes me cringe a little bit, because my gut reaction is to say that, in theory, YES, of course we should be playing with our children. We love them, we should spend time with them doing what they love, right? But, I'd be lying if I said that I'm always pumped to pull out the Little People and play house, or that rolling trains around in circles brings me a thrill. I feel extremely selfish to say that I'd often rather hang out near the kids with a novel in hand while they play amongst themselves. Not ignore them, per se, but not be directly involved in their play either. Does that assertion legitimize that voice in my head?

The other perspective I bring to this is from my decade of preschool teaching, and I'll tell you right now that I felt like a much better teacher when I detached a little bit from a group of children and simply observed them at play. From a slight outsider position, I could pose questions to the children that might help them to think more deeply about their play or scaffold their learning. And more importantly, when an adult would become one of the players in a group of children, suddenly she would become the de facto leader. Children who would have been perfectly content making suggestions for the direction of play among their peers would suddenly turn to the teacher to make the decisions. But, doesn't that simply defeat the entire purpose of play?

I realize that I'm not in the role of classroom teacher for my own children, and I appreciate that my observational notes get to take the form of silly blog posts instead of written developmental reports. For me, my perspectives have to merge and, as it is with so many aspects of my life, I need to find balance. I'm not saying that I'll be ignoring my children from here on out, but I think I'll be shushing that voice the next time the kids are playing happily together and I reach for the bookshelf.

This is an original DC Metro Moms post.

Dawn blogs nonsense about her family at my thoughts exactly, and tries to sound intelligent when she reviews books at 5 Minutes for Books.

Pearls of Wisdom

2010-03-04T03:00:00-08:00

One of the things we all do when we become parents is dream about what the future holds for our children. We think about who they are going to be. Or more accurately - who we want them to be.

Every night when I was pregnant with my first baby, I thought about all of the qualities that I wished for him. I wished for kindness and generosity. For self confidence and intelligence. For humor and charisma. For talent and creativity. And happiness.

Then he was born and I just wanted him to sleep.

But in my heart, all of those wishes lived on - and still do. And I tried to do the same for my other children. I had the same hopes for my twins, though a bit less focused.

By the time I was pregnant again, my first child was still a stinky sleeper, and I tended to pass out the minute my head hit the pillow. So there were no thoughtful lists chanted nightly for the twins and their own triumphs of character.

It was then that I gave myself license to tuck those dreams in a pocket where I knew they would be kept warm and alive. Even if I couldn't recite them by rote. Maybe if I wanted them enough, they would be imprinted in all of my intentions, and it none would go astray. It would be a string of pearls that would never break.

And I think it has been. They're all still there, permanently knotted on the strongest of fibers - gleaming in the shadows of my pocket. I don't need to memorize what is in my heart.

It's been over three years since the last of my babies were born, and I'm now starting to see glimpses of my dreams in their eyes. I smell them in the soft scent that no longer whispers baby. And I feel them in the squeeze of small fingers around my own.

They are becoming people.

And as much as I frequently cup my precious wishes in my palm, I know that it's out of my hands. I can't keep my children in a pocket. They have to decide who they are going to be, and it seems that starts as early as...well, now.

It would be so easy to label them. He's the sweet one. She's the feisty one. He's the gentle one. But they change daily - sometimes to my liking and sometimes not.

But you always loved to paint. Where is my little artist?

What do you mean you won't wear the pretty dress? Dresses are your favorite.

Since when did you stop liking Barney? Nevermind - that's fine, thanks.

In these small ways, they assert their growing personalities. They try them on like scraps from a dress up box. Cherished one moment - then dismissively discarded. Thoughtless. Artless. Fickle. And free.

But we have our favorites and sometimes we interfere. Put on the pink one - it's your best color. For all of our good intentions and pride, we so often try to box our children into neatly labeled cubby holes...the nice one...the pretty one...the smart one... And we even do it to each other as adults. Maybe that's where we learn it - from our own parents. The circle of life. The beat goes on.

And maybe that's fine. Perhaps it's necessary to be guided to our strengths. But that's some power we parents have. And Power is never far from its evil twin, Responsibility.

I honestly do think that as I provide that necessary guidance to my children, I'm just as responsible for following their lead. And protecting their right to choose.

It used to drive me crazy when people would label my twins. She's the sweet one and he's the character. Or to assume that my oldest was supposed to suddenly be a mini man at 18 months just for the fact that he was an older brother.

My daughter, Eleanor has proven everyone wrong. She was the sweet one. She was the quiet one who was often ignored while her twin brother writhed and screamed with reflux pain. I like to imagine that placid little baby getting miffed. The squeaky wheel indeed!

She didn't stay angelic for long. She is the larger than life child. She sings and dances through the day. She leaps and twirls and demands her due with a jazz hands finish. But just like that little girl with the little curl, when she is good she is very, very good, but when she is bad... She stomps her feet, hands planted firmly on hips. Her "YES I can!" is less self affirming call to action than blood thirsty battle cry. She is fierce.

But I envy her.

And don't we all? Don't we all look at our children and envy their potential. Their bright, shiny newness. Their quicksilver ability to morph into anything they want to be.

I want to foster that. Sure, I have to say no sometimes. I have to be firm. But I don't want to take that ferocity away from her. Especially when I so often wish that I had it myself.

My cousin was apparently much like my daughter at that age, and my mother remembers some good advice that was given to my aunt and uncle. The grandfather who was well known for his "spare the rod, spoil the child" attitude about discipline shocked everyone by warning, "just don't break her."

Pretty wise if you ask me. And I would say that same advice transcends its original subject. I don't want to break any of my children of their ferocity or their quirks. As inconvenient as these traits may be for me - it's my responsibility to protect their individuality.

I was reminded of my string of wishes recently when my grandmother passed away. She left Eleanor a pearl necklace that had once belonged to her own daughter. It was old and fragile and in need of some refurbishing. And when Eleanor is old enough I will have it restrung for her. Like a mother's dreams for her children, the necklace will be passed on with love.

Every day, I wrap my own dreams and wishes around my children. But in the end, it will be their choice how to wear them.

Original post to DC Metro Moms.

Kate writes about everything but politics and religion at The Big Piece of Cake and Wishing True.

Girl Scout Shenanigans

2010-03-03T11:19:59-08:00

You think I don't see it, Girl Scouts? Oh, I see it.

I suspected as soon as I saw my new box of Thin Mints. They seemed... off. Marginalized. Smaller.

But I found proof, girls.

I had a box of Thin Mints in my freezer from last year.

Behold: SHENANIGANS.

See? The box on the left is from 2009, or possibly 2008. You never know what is going on in my downstairs freezer. The box on the right is from 2010.

That is a big difference!

I've got my eye on you, girl scouts. It isn't just this either. I have long suspected that you put crack in the Samoas because no matter how hard I try I JUST CAN'T STOP EATING THEM until the entire box is gone.

Sorry. Too much sugar.

I understand that we are in a recession and the girl scouts are trying to make a buck for a good cause. I also understand that in light of the fact that I cannot physically stop consuming Thin Mints until the entire sleeve is gone, this is probably a good thing for me, yet I feel betrayed.

Next year I am buying smaller candy for Halloween. We'll see how the girl scouts feel then.

Sarah writes about her other issues at Sarah and the Goon Squad, Draft Day Suit, BlogHer,MamaPop, Loser Moms and Sarah Reviews Stuff Here .

You Can Learn A Lot From a Teenager

2010-03-03T06:55:02-08:00

I love teenagers. Probably because I still feel like one. I mean, how did I get to be almost 35, responsible for two kids that go to school every day, the owner of a mortgage and a minivan, already on my "second career," married for almost eight years and kissing only one guy for ten? Just two seconds ago my mom was checking me into college while I wore a flannel tied around my waist and Nirvana and Snoop blared from the dorm windows...right?

Not. I'm a mid-thirties suburban mom. Every day I awake and have to come to terms with this fact. But another fact is, I've never been so happy. Even as each day I see my hotness quotient plummet. Even as I realize the bra I try to buy at Vicky's Torrid Trampy Secret doesn't even come in boring nude or black. Even as the dermatologist I booked to zap my zits tries to upsell me on Botox injections.

And one of the reasons my sagging facial muscles are smiling is that I'm blessed to hang out with teenagers on a regular basis.

(Yup, I did bring it back around the teens...I'm sure you thought I was going to go on waxing annoyingly about how cute and young I used to be, so thanks for sticking around.)

My youngest brother is still a teenager - he's an 18 year old senior in high school. Several of my husband's nephews/nieces and young cousins are in high school and college. We're lucky to live next door and across the street to three fabulous teens who are not too cool to avoid watching the Superbowl with us or play some rounds of Apples to Apples. Both of our regular babysitters, age 17 and 19, feel like members of the family - little sisters to me, and big sisters to my kids. And my kids' school goes up to eighth grade and all the kids are tight, so our entire family gets to be friends with a wonderful group of middle school tween/teens.

Here's a few things - some fun, some profound - that I've learned from this great group of these kids-almost-adults:

A profession of love via Facebook wall post is the new version of the local radio station song dedication, e.g. "I just want to say that I <3 you Jenna, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me." (I don't know whether this or a poignant dedication of a Boyz 2 Men song is cheesier.)

Getting your driver's license is not that big of deal, and getting your license on your actual 16th birthday doesn't even happen anymore (in Maryland for instance, you must be 16 years 3 months to get a license that is only provisional - you're not allowed passengers for a good while after.)

Applying to high schools in the Washington DC area is highly competitive, be they public high schools with special programs or private institutions. The process requires letters of recommendation and awaiting of acceptance letters.

And applying to college? Craziness. From what I have learned from my brother's process this year, it seems akin to applying to medical school. According to The New York Times, the 2009-2010 school year marks the largest group of high school seniors in the nation's history, 3.2 million.

You'll get a WAY better response on a babysitting request if you text message your favorite teenager directly on her personal phone. The old rule of calling the house phone so that Suzy can check with her mom? Gone baby gone.

When you offer to burn your favorite teenager a CD? Of the new Weezer or Pearl Jam album (since you remember how expensive new CDs used to be for your own limited budget)? You have officially revealed that you are OLD honey, not that you are cool. FYI.

A compliment from a gaggle of pre-teen girls at your children's school who tell you, "Mrs. McFadden? We LOVE how you dress! You are SO cool." will freaking MAKE. YOUR. YEAR. And is absent the always-present-yet-sometimes-unspoken disclaimer "...for a mom."

I'm no longer a teenager, I get it, I get it. And I have the wrinkles to prove it (thanks for pointing them out.) But I can still adore those fabulous people that still fall in this demographic. Well, at least until my own kids catch up.

Jessica McFadden is a freelance writer of family features. She is well aware that she was born when Gerald Ford was President. She is a sister, aunt, employer and friend of teens, and the mom of a kindergartener and preschooler. She writes daily at A Parent in Silver Spring.

Original DC Metro Moms Blog post.

I can see clearly now the snow has gone, but now I'm kind of a weirdo

2010-03-03T03:56:00-08:00

The snow has almost melted and the roads have been clear for more than a week. Kids are back in school and one would think all would be right with the world. "The 11 Days of Captivity" as I have come to call it took a toll on everyone. The joke wasn't missed that the only day the kids went to school prior to The Big Snow was Groundhog Day, and the 10 days following just seemed like a really bad Bill Murray movie. Same snow, different day. Earlier today I was talking with our neighbor and something occurred to me, our reality has shifted to include things that earlier we may have eschewed but now embrace as routine, if not totally normal.

1. Inviting your neighbor over to do their laundry since you have a generator and they don't.

2. Wearing flip flops when it is 45 degrees because you consider anything above 19 degrees a "heat wave." This goes along with letting your kids wear shorts to school because you've lost touch with reality and they are going to be successful pushing the envelope, so they do.

3. Writing a "Thank you" note to your children's school because you now fully understand and appreciate why it is your children go to a school and are not home-schooled by you.

And let me break for a moment to say when my son's 4th grade teacher emailed homework for us to print, I went to download the PDF's and wondered, "Why are they studying 5 pages about hormones?" Homophones. It was HOMOPHONES.

4. Upon hearing a forecast of snow, you put hotdogs, ground meat and a variety of buns on your grocery list.

5. Barbecuing in your garage. (refer back to #4)

6. You open the mail box and find yourself genuinely surprised when there is actually mail sitting inside of it.

7. Shovel envy.

8. Blowjobs involve driveways and sidewalks.

9. You answer telemarketing calls because you're tired of talking to your family for days on end and the guy trying to sell you a new mortgage is calling from Florida, where it's warm. And you like that idea. A lot.

10. Buying a giant chocolate pound cake at Costco makes sense to you because a storm might be coming, but you get all judgey about the anyone buying caseloads of Spam. And you might even text your friend about it.

So tell me what new and interesting things are you doing now that the snow is gone?

Devra lost power for 12 hours during the storm. She's catching up with life here and over at Parentopia.

An original DC Metro Mom blog post