momindcity, Author at Mom in DCity

Triple B and Those Last 10 Pounds

August 24, 2012 by momindcity 15 Comments

I have decided that it’s time to lose those last 10 pounds.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been proud of my curves. In high school, when my nickname was “triple B” for “big bootie Besa,” I answered to it with pride. In college, when my pants split down the middle while I was shakin’ it at a club, I shrugged and moved on.

The pounds have been creeping on for a while. A little muffin top here, a little can’t-button-my-jeans there. But I hadn’t really thought about it much until I caught a rear-view glimpse of myself in a dressing room mirror. Game over– it was time to do something. On a side note, what’s up with the lighting in those dressing rooms? I thought they were trying to sell clothes in there, not rip self-esteems to shreds.

I won’t bore you (much) with the details, but I feel that a public declaration is in order. I’m counting on my MomInDCity readers to hold me accountable, ‘kay? Can you do that for me?

The plan started Monday (this is day 5), and so far so good.

I’m doing it old school and counting calories. There’s an app called MyFitnessPal, which is apparently cool because my college intern told me everybody‘s using it. And that includes my mom (really!), so it must be true. I’m also tracking my exercise, which is good for damage control– ate some gelato? go run 3 miles.

I generally enjoy healthy food, but I’ve also never met a cupcake I didn’t like. So this will be a challenge.

Anyone else on a weight-loss mission? I’d love to hear about it.

P.S.- You might be thinking “you don’t look fat in any of these pictures.” And you’re right. Because 1) I delete all non-flattering pictures of myself and 2) it’s all in my a$$.

Tuesday Night, Kid’s Night

August 21, 2012 by momindcity 2 Comments

Living far away from family and friends is hard, but being in D.C. is really the best-case scenario. It’s a place people travel to and through, so we always have a steady stream of visitors. Tonight, it was my brother. Thanks to a business layover, we got to spend the evening with him.

Fortunately, he’s not high maintenance so when we suggested going to kids night at one of our local hang-outs he was all for it. We got to Mr. Henry’s around 6, which is about as late as you want to get there on kid’s night. The place is packed with Capitol Hill families there to enjoy a meal without worrying about the fact that their kids are crawling under the table, throwing crayons or spilling their drinks; everyone’s kids are doing the same thing! The wait staff is reaching saint-hood status with their smiling faces and relaxed demeanor. Kids eat free and there are cartoons playing and lawn chairs set up by the tv in the bar area; you barely even have to look at your children, much less talk to them!

Like many of the old restaurant/bars on Pennsylvania Ave, Mr. Henry’s is a little dumpy, but it does have a history: in 1968, the original owner hired Roberta Flack (I know you know “Killing Me Softly”) to sing at the pub. At the time, she was a local music teacher looking to get out of the classroom and start performing. I’d rather watch Roberta, but free mac n’ cheese will do.

Before saying goodbye to my brother, we stopped by one of my personal favorites, Pitango Gelato.

All I can say about this is “omnomnom.” You can get whatever you want, but if you don’t get nocciola (hazelnut) and pistachio, you’re making a mistake. Dave tried cardamom and fell in love, but he’s weird.

Then it was a quick ring-around-the rosie in the rain and a rainbow spotting to top off the evening.

What did you do with your Tuesday night?

Neighborhood Assault is a Harsh Reminder

August 19, 2012 by momindcity 3 Comments

A couple of weeks ago, I met a friend for dinner at Senart’s Oyster Bar in Eastern Market. It was fab-u-lous. The oysters, the mussels, the trout special. All of it. The grapefruit crush was a winner too. When we were done eating, we stopped at the metro station so he could hop on and head back to Virginia. “Oh no… I can’t let you walk home by yourself,” he insisted. I told him that was ridiculous, that Eastern Market is completely safe, that I wouldn’t live here if I couldn’t walk home from dinner by myself. “I walk with my kids in this area all the time!”

Still, he insisted. When we arrived, I thanked him and said “see… it’s completely fine around here!” And I generally live with that mentality; if I didn’t, I’d go crazy worrying about the possibilities. If I let my mind run wild, I might come up with something like this:

My husband doesn’t come home. I call the police to report him missing. The next day, police find him beaten unconscious on someone’s front porch. He’s rushed to emergency surgery for a brain hemorrhage. I have to send my kids to a friends house while I wait, helpless in the hospital.

But that isn’t something that I dreamed. Instead, it really happened to a family in Eastern Market this weekend. It’s horrifying to think that this could occur at all, but when it happens half a mile from home, it gives you a sick feeling that’s hard to shake.

Was he doing all of the things that I do when I’m alone at night: walking with a purpose, keeping one hand on the phone ready to call 9-1-1, taking off my headphones to pay closer attention to my surroundings? How long was he lying on the ground before somebody found him? There are so many good people who live on the Hill– were there witnesses? I’m sure he screamed. Did anybody hear him?

I ache for this man’s wife and young son. And I think about my own family, vulnerable to circumstances like these, beyond anyone’s control. I remind myself that crime happens in every community. And when you look at District crime statistics, the key numbers have been going down for years. But 108 homicides last year doesn’t give me a warm fuzzy feeling.

People often ask why we don’t move to the burbs. I never want to make a decision like that out of fear. There are so many wonderful aspects of life in our neighborhood; but unfortunately, you can’t ignore the bad. We’ve been talking about a dog for a while. Maybe now’s the time to get one? In the meantime, I’m grounded. Dave says I’m not allowed to wander the neighborhood by myself at night, and I can’t say I blame him. Maybe next time my dad offers me a handgun I should take him up on it? Just considering my options…

Potty Party on the Front Porch!

August 16, 2012 by momindcity 11 Comments

Any day that I get a package from BeeBop (my mom) is a good one. And yesterday’s mail came at the right time; a 5-hour work meeting had me feeling pretty cranky.

We ripped open the box and it was even better than I had imagined: a potty training gift pack!

As you know, Zana started going peepee on the potty at school last week. She only does this at school, and pretends she doesn’t know how when she’s with us.

Since BeeBop knows that a party ain’t a party unless we’re all invited, she sent new undies for everyone!

For the potty trainee… bloomers!

For the big sister… multiple fluorescent options that she believes look better layered.

For Daddy… underoos! No really. Superman underoos and Bevis and Butthead boxers.

And for me… a bunch of goodies from Victoria’s Secret.

Naturally, all of these needed to be modeled immediately. Outside in the street. For everyone to see.

I’ll spare you the pics of Dave posing like Superman in his underoos and me wearing a VS thong with the girls’ fairy wings and pretending I’m in the annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion show. But trust me, Dean Cain and Heidi Klum would be jealous.

When the paparazzi was done taking pictures, we all went inside and I changed Zana’s wet diaper.

If you think I’m stressed about this whole potty training thing, you’d be wrong. My potty training philosophy is that I don’t have one. I was apparently fully potty trained by 18 months, but that’s because BeeBop was an overachiever. Zana is already 2 ½. It’ll happen eventually, right? Before college?

What’s your potty training philosophy? And, more importantly, what are your favorite kind of undies?

No Parking! Imaginary Street Cleaning

August 14, 2012 by momindcity 8 Comments

There are two days a week– and I can never remember which those are– when I’m not allowed to park in front of my house because of street cleaning. This alleged cleaning happens between 9:30 and 11:30 am. So on those days, no matter what’s happening– you’re seeping in, recovering from surgery, you’ve been robbed and tied to a chair, whatever– you must move your car. If you don’t, you’d better believe you’ll get a ticket. Trust me, I’ve had several.

But there’s just one problem: the city hasn’t cleaned our street in weeks. Months? I don’t think they’ve cleaned the street once this summer. Every time the girls and I get into the car, we have to step around broken glass. [Read more…]