Mom in DCity

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WooHoo, Party at the Biker Barre!

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Today was a big day for me; today, I am officially free from pins, casts, stitches, and– most importantly– exercise restrictions. You wouldn’t think that a broken wrist would impact so many parts of life, but my doctor said that walking was the only exercise I could do during the healing process. No running, no Zumba, no square dancing (as if), and no yoga.

Since April 13, I’ve followed those orders. And during the past two months, I’ve managed to gain 10 pounds. I wonder how much I would have gained if I hadn’t done the vegan cleanse! So when the doctor gave me the go-ahead this morning, I immediately started plotting how to punish my body back into shape. First on the agenda: spinning. I have never been spinning (spun, spinned?) before, but I’ve seen people come out of those classes and that’s what I want to feel like. Legs wobbly, dripping with sweat and ready to vomit. Fun, right?!

A friend asked me to join her at a biker bar, and I immediately accepted–  picturing a place like this where I could meet her for a beer after spinning:

Yeah Baby!

 

But alas, she really meant Biker Barre, a new studio on the Hill that specializes in spinning and ballet-inspired fitness classes. We signed up for the 7:45 and I decided to walk the mile to class– these pounds aren’t going to melt off on their own! My friend arrived wearing a Camelback (which terrified me a little) and carrying an extra pair of padded biker shorts (which terrified me a lot). She told me to change so that my butt wouldn’t hurt “as much.” I told her I have plenty of padding back there, but she just laughed and pointed to the changing room.

Wearing my new, cut-off-your-circulation biker shorts and looking hella sexy, I walked into the dark room. The instructor explained how to adjust the bike– the seat moves forward and backward, up and down, and so do the handlebars. I hoped I wouldn’t need handlebars much since it still hurts to use my wrist. She turned off the lights, turned up “Born to Be Wild” (really) and proceeded to perform for the next 45 minutes. This instructor also happens to be the owner of the studio, and she is a rock star. Seriously, I would pay money to see her in concert dancing, singing and working the room (oh wait, I did pay money to do that). I knew I was supposed to take it easy as a beginner, but let’s be honest, I’m too competitive for that. I worked hard enough that I wanted to toss my cookies, and then took it down a notch to make sure that I didn’t; you can’t embarrass yourself like the first time you meet people! I like to save that for our second date.

When it was all over, Rock Star Lady gave us all a cold, lavender-infused towel– just like the one they give you at the end of Bikram yoga. Is that a thing now? It’s definitely my favorite part of either class. I walked out of the dungeon (classroom?) and into the light looking like I’d gotten run over by a truck. As I headed home– in my friend’s car because there was no way I could walk home after that — I took a moment to be thankful. Thankful for her cushy car seats, thankful to be able to sweat for a change, and thankful that the torture was over– at least until tomorrow.

Nana: Paving the Way for Future Hoarders

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Remember all those cheesey 80s movies about going back in time? Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Back to the Future, and the like?

Well, going to visit Dave’s parents is kind of like being in one of these movies, but without  Michael J. Fox and Keanu Reeves.

We all laugh at Nana (behind her back, of course) for refusing to learn how to use a DVD player, text on a cell phone or work the digital thermostat. But it’s not just her allergic reaction to new technology that makes this place unique. Nana’s house is like walking into a time capsule that hasn’t changed since her kids were small.

Every toy, every book, every tiny piece of clothing is there. There are Barbies, board games, Slinkies, Snoopy’s Snow Cone Machine, and every original Berenstain Bear book. You name it and, it’s not only there, but in perfect working condition. All of her kids dress up clothes, their play clothes, their Christmas clothes. Every small item, all the way down to socks and hair bows.

Playing with pinwheels at Nana's
Model: Zana, Outfit: Vintage (circa 1982)

I’ll admit, the first time I saw the pileup of “junk,” it reminded me of a bad episode of Hoarders– especially compared to the house I grew up in. I come from a big family (my dad was one of 10 and my mom was one of 6), and  we were constantly sending our old toys and clothes to my cousins– especially the ones that lived in Kosovo. But also, my parents would give away the clothes off our backs– literally. They’d say things like:

  • “Give her that jacket. It will look great on her!”
  • “Go pack a bag of toys to send to so-and-so’s kids.”
  • “We’re out of Halloween candy; go get some toys out of your room for the trick-or-treaters.”
  • “You haven’t worn that shirt in weeks. Put it in the box for that girl that just moved into town.”
It wasn’t all bad. For one thing, my brothers and I were always getting new things to play with– but we could never get too attached.
Nana’s kids (Dave included) all seem to have acquired her nostalgic streak. And while I do enjoy a good trip back in time (especially if it’s in a Delorean), I won’t ever have those sentimental attachments.  Just like my parents, I am constantly giving things away, and wanting to buy new ones.
Is one healthier than the other? Well duh– if I’m doing it, we all know it’s healthier. But at my house, I’m definitely outnumbered. Lira and Zana are hoarders in training. The only way to get rid of something of theirs is by sneaking it out of the house. Everything is their favorite. “Mom! Why did you throw that away? It’s my favorite bubble gum wrapper!”
So what’s a purger like me supposed to do with all of these things? Our storage facility is running out of space (thanks in part to a certain someone’s He-Man castle and Star Wars action figures). We live on the Hill so there’s no such thing as a closet or a garage. I can only think of one place for all of these things to go… a place where they will never be lost, unappreciated or forgotten, a place so full of memories that it puts a nursing home to shame. You know the place: Nana’s house.

Ebenezers is Not for Scrooges

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Raise your hand if you like coffee!

Raise your hand if you like open spaces where you kids can run around while you relax!

Well if you like them, why don’t you marry them?!

I’m about to tell you a secret that will make you want to marry me. There’s this place, right on Capitol Hill where you can get a delicious caffeinated beverage and actually sit down and enjoy drinking it with your kids in tow.

It’s called Ebenezers Coffeehouse. You’ve probably heard of it; maybe you’ve even been there. But you haven’t done it the right way. How do I know? Because I’m there all the time and have never seen you there. I’ve almost never seen anyone there. Why? Because we hang out in the secret basement.

Perhaps it’s not exactly a secret to the hundreds of people who go there for meetings and concerts; but for families on the Hill, it must be a secret because I can’t think of any other reason why you wouldn’t all be there all the time.

Our weekend routine goes like this: grab our beverages, squeeze by the crowds of people upstairs and go to the basement. There, we have the entire place to ourselves. The girls drink hot chocolates, then play games, dance, sing, hula hoop, whatever their hearts desire– all while Dave and I enjoy a relaxing cup of coffee.

You can even hula hoop here
It is a staging ground for our weekend adventures. We go there first thing in the morning and decide what to do with the rest of our day. Sometimes we hang out there for hours, especially during cold winter days. There are TVs showing news or sports and a sound system that usually plays smooth jazz or R&B (which happens to be my fave). There are bathrooms and water fountains, so there’s no need to go upstairs. And ever time we’re there, we ask the same question, “why isn’t anybody else here?”

It's just us in here!
You can sit on soft leather chairs, in a booth, or in one of the many and stackable chairs. But don’t sit on those; they really need to be replaced, and a certain member of our family may or may not have had one collapse beneath him).

We’ve brought family and friends here, and it never disappoints. Occasionally, a rogue single person comes down hoping to get some work done. But my girls manage to scare them off fairly quickly. We even thought about renting the space for one of the girls’ birthday parties, but (just like everywhere else on the Hill) it was expensive.

Why am I telling you about this? Because I love you! Well, that and the fact that I can’t keep a secret. But now that you know, I’ll see you next weekend!

DC Must See: National Cathedral at Sunset

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Saturdays are all about packing in as many things as we can into the shortest amount of time possible. It’s exhausting. If I listed everything we did today, you’d feel tired. Wanna see?

  • Girls’ dance class
  • Trip to Target
  • Family Fun Day at a potential school for Zana
  • Quick lunch at a Metro 29 Diner
  • Summer camp orientation for Lira
  • 6-year-old’s birthday party
  • Visit with a friend traveling through town
  • Evening visit to the National Cathedral
  • Outdoor dinner and gelato at Pete’s APizza (that’s not a typo)

I told you!

I’m not sure why we live our lives this way, but we do– every single weekend. Some of the things on the list are repeats: We’ve been going to the same dance studio every Saturday for the past three years.

Tutu girls
Birthday parties (as we all know) are a weekly occurrence; in it’s a miracle we were only invited to one this weekend (it’s a curse being so gosh darn popular). Pete’s and 29 Diner are two of our local standbys.

But things like tonight’s sporadic trip to the National Cathedral to watch the sunset are why I love living in DCity.

Love the Gothic architecture
We are so blessed (you know, because we’re at a cathedral)  to have these opportunities right in our back yard. I remember coming to DC from Texas, as a kid. My parents dragged us to every monument and every museum (mostly against our will) during our 3-day weekend trips. And it wasn’t until I was older that I appreciated any of it. For my girls, it’s different. We go to the WWII Memorial, the Washington Monument and the Smithsonian Museums like some families go to Wal-Mart. They don’t think it’s a drag; it’s just what they’re used to doing. [Read more…]

Don’t Hate What You Can’t Imitate

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Picture this: It takes me an hour to drive 7 miles home in bumper-to-bumper traffic. When I rush in the door, I manage to fix one girls hair while wrestling the other, WWE style, to put some clothes on. It’s 6:15 and we’re hoping to make it to the Spring concert at Lira’s school, which starts in 15 minutes.

In a moment of clarity, I stop cursing under my breath and notice how stinking adorable Zana is, sitting in her stroller with her tutu, sunglasses and cheesy grin; so I snapped this pic and put it on Instagram so the rest of the world could tell me how much they “like” it:

The Spring Concert was very cute, pretty much what you’d expect from these things. When it was over we all went out to the playground so the kids could run wear themselves out before bed.

Then it was bath time, story time, laundry time and then… work time. The fact that it’s 10 o’clock, doesn’t mean my work day is over. Thanks to a flexible schedule, I get to leave early 3 days a week and spend afternoons with the girls; but because of that, I work late in to the evenings, often times long after bedtime.

As I waited for my laptop to turn on, I checked Instagram, I noticed that among the “likes,” there was also a comment:

“Your work hours are bar none the best of anyone I will ever meet.”

It was from a former co-worker. A guy I was never particularly close with.

Because I am hot-headed, I showed this to Dave to make sure I’m not reading it wrong. “Sounds like a backhanded compliment to me. Why would he say that?”

That’s what I want to know! I went to reply to his comment but couldn’t think of anything appropriate. But here are a few of my ideas:

  • Some people are in the office half a day, others are in the office 15 hours a day and still can’t hack it.
  • I didn’t think you noticed when I worked, based on the fact that you were on Facebook 10 hours a day.
  • Why don’t you stop worrying about what I’m doing and go find a job

But I’m far too polite (ha). Dave thought I should remind him that I work from home at night, but I was annoyed at the thought of justifying myself to him. I decided to do nothing (well nothing but block him from my Instagram feed and unfriend him on Facebook). But I still felt bothered.

I work when the kids go to bed; I work on weekends; I’ve respond to texts from my boss Friday nat midnight and I’ve had Skype meetings well after dark. Even when I was on maternity leave, I checked my work email religiously so that I could stay up to speed. It’s on my mind constantly because my coworkers have put their trust in me, and I never want to disappoint them.

So yes, a lot of times my life looks like this…

Or this…

But I don’t take that for granted. So there! Get a job. Stop worrying about me… you lazy bum.