Mom in DCity

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A Is For Apple, F is For…

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You know when kids have that exciting breakthrough in reading? They’re no longer struggling to sound out works, but instead announce every word they see loudly to the world- so confident and proud. This is Zana right now.

“Barber shop!”

And a few minutes later, “do not enter!”

As we were leaving her sister’s Capitol Hill soccer game this past weekend she couldn’t wait to yell out the two words spray painted on the electrical box: “F*ck Gil!”

Shocked silence from everyone including me.

“SHHHHH,” I said just as loudly as she had screamed “f*ck!”

“What?” She was confused.

I told her it wasn’t a nice word and that she shouldn’t say it ever again.

Zana: what does it mean?

Me: don’t worry about that. All you need to know is not to say it.

Zana (whispering): ohhh you’re going to tell me when we get to the car?

Me: no, you just need to not say it

Zana (no longer whispering): I’m just going to keep saying “f*ck” until you tell me what it means!

Typical Zana. The same kid who wasn’t satisfied with my answer to how babies come out (“between your legs”) and grilled me on how a human could come out of a “peepee hole.”

You just never know how far the conversation will have to go with that one.

So I gave the best on-the-fly answer I could come up with: “It’s a not-nice word for sex.” (*please don’t ask me what that means*)

And she didn’t.

F*cking Gil and those f*cking kids he ticked off. Now can we please get this cleaned up before next Saturday so other parents don’t have to explain f*cking profanities to their kids??

Capitol Hill Moms are Not Dance Moms

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We’re taking the summer off from dance. It’s the first time in four years that we won’t have a dance class every Saturday. We have a lot of plans this summer, and dance just doesn’t fit into the equation. I’m not sure what that means for her So You Think You Can Dance future, but we’re risking it.

Lira’s first dance recital was a couple of weeks ago. She’s been waiting for it since she started taking classes at Joy of Motion when she was 2 years old. The recital was everything she hoped and dreamed of—the  lights, the costumes, the hair. It was just like an episode of Dance Moms except the kids aren’t wearing half shirts and bootie shorts, Miss Crystal is no Abby Miller, and Capitol Hill moms are definitely not dance moms. In fact, they’re pretty much the opposite. For example…

They don’t know a thing about hair. I may have had to watch a YouTube video (or 3) to learn how to do a proper ballerina bun, but I did it! Not everyone got the bun badge of honor, though. One mom who shall not be named actually took her kid to a barber shop to avoid dealing with the hair nets and donuts (not the Dunkin’ kind).

 

Check out that hair
Check out that hair

They don’t dress their kids like Jean Benet-Ramsey. There wasn’t a set of red lips, a trace of body glitter, nor a single half shirt in sight. And based on the snack choices, it didn’t look like anyone had put their kid on the proper dance diet either. (Don’t you people know how many calories are in those granola bars? Sheesh)

SYTYCD Season 25?
SYTYCD Season 25?

They Don’t Show the Proper Dedication. The recital was about 45 minutes from the Hill… and boy were there complaints… and forgotten ballet slippers… and tights… and hair bows. A few kids didn’t even show up to the “mandatory” dress rehearsal and at least 2 showed up in sundresses and sandals.

Precision in dance
Precision in dance

Abby Miller would be appalled… and so would a lot of people I know from high school who actually are proper dance moms (I’m from Texas, you know). And they’d really be appalled to know the #1 dilemma faced by Capitol Hill moms of girls: dance vs. soccer. They’re at the same time on Saturdays. What’s a Barber Shop Mom to do???

Is Rat Murder a Crime?

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I’m embarrassed to even tell you all this—especially all the non-Washingtonians who believe (like I did) that rats will only live in the filthiest of places. But for the past couple of weeks, at least one fat, hairy nasty rodent has taken-up residence in… our house!

How do I know this? The evidence had been mounting for a while—food strewn across the floor in the morning, loud chewing sounds coming from behind our garbage disposal, and most recently… the fat f sucker actually jumped out from behind the cabinets and onto my foot! You should have heard me scream… then jump on the counter and throw my foot into the kitchen sink to scrub it with an SOS pad. The thing was huge!

He looks a lot like this, only bigger

I promise I’m a clean person—it’s almost a psychosis. My husband feels the need to remind me that “we don’t live in a museum, and it doesn’t have to be immaculate at all times.” But maybe I’m just kidding myself (and Dave)?

Our neighbors can attest to the fact that, when you live in DC, it’s not a battle against rodents; it’s an all out war. Since we all live in connected row houses, calling pest control (which we have all done multiple times) just moves the varmints to your neighbors’ house. Those suckers move underground through sewer lines and crawl spaces, and they’re wicked smart, stealing food out of traps while leaving them un-tripped

Some will tell you rodents are scared of people, but don’t believe them. Those long-tailed animals will come out, look you right in the eye and go about their business. It doesn’t help that I’m terrified of them. Just last night, I came downstairs for a drink of water, turned on the lights one at a time and yelled a warning cry, hoping that if anyone was in the kitchen they’d scurry away.

We’ve tried poison tablets, traps, and even considered getting (gasp!) a cat. But tonight, we are victorious. Guilty of our first rat murder! We didn’t use an ordinary trap for this crime. This was an industrial strength, chop-your-finger-off, you’d-better-not-use-it-around-pets trap. Dave set it behind our garbage disposal and baited the rat with some apple slices.

Christmas went off without a hitch and Uncle Fester (as I affectionately call our rodent friend) didn’t even come out to open his presents. I figured he was just laying low since we’ve had so many people over, and I was still terrified every time I walked in the kitchen.

Could Uncle Fester be near?
Could Uncle Fester be near?

Dave decided it was time to check the trap, even though we didn’t smell the rotting stench that usually comes with dead animals. I left the room. “We got him!”

No way!!! I sang a little song, did a little dance, and stayed as far away as possible while Dave bagged up Uncle Fester, took him outside and reminded me that “we have won the battle, but not the war.”

How’s a soldier like me supposed to sleep at night?!

Reporting Live on Hurricane Sandy

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Many moons ago, in a previous lifetime I was a journalist– the kind of journalist that stands out on the beach in the middle of a hurricane and tells people to stay inside. I don’t know how many times I said things like: “we’re the only idiots out here” or “I wish I could be at home snuggled up under a blanket instead of out here.” Well, today was my big chance! Washington, DC shut down, and guess what I did…

1. Ignored all warnings about leaving the house. After going stir crazy at 9 am (yes, that’s how long it took), I packed the husband and kids into the car and didn’t come home for hours.

2. Took pictures of anything and everything:

Check out the guy covering himself with a plastic tablecloth!

3. Judged all the news coverage. If all you have to say is “Caribou is still open,” do you really need to be out there getting blown around in the rain?

4. Criticized the city. Why didn’t they clean up these leaves before the storm? Are they actually hoping for a flood caused by clogged drains? Huh, Mayor Gray? Is that what you want?

5. Put on makeup in case a real reporter needed someone to interview. But only if they need to talk to someone who really knows what they’re talking about (flips hair over shoulder).

6. Drank too much coffee. I forgot I didn’t need to be up for days on end, and now I’m all jittery.

Starbucks was closed but Caribou wasn’t!

7. Updated Facebook on area business closures. Well you were all wondering, weren’t you?!

8. Went to the airport to see if all the flights really are cancelled. They were for the most part. And while we there there, the girls ran a few laps around the terminals and then ate some lunch at the only place open: Dunkin Donuts.

“Reporting live from the airport, I’m Zana.”

9. Looked out the window every 5 minutes to see if things have gotten worse.

Still raining out there…

10. And of course… blogged about it.

I tell ya… you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the– wait that’s not the one. You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t– no, that’s not it either. Oh what-the-hell-ever.

I’m sure it sucks if your power went out or if you’re roof flew off today. But since that hasn’t happened here (yet), I will continue to make light of Frankinstorm.

Keep it here for the latest. Now back to you…