Mom in DCity

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Thrift Stores: Don’t Discount Them!

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I have a thing for bargains. The best places to shop are TJMaxx (remember Zana’s tantrum?), Marshall’s, and eBay. My love affair with discount shopping began in high school, when I starved my way through lunch  so I could save $10 a week to spend on clothes. My weekly shopping budget has increased (slightly) over time, and so has my love of great deals.

Lately, thrift stores are my favorite. It all started one day after the girls’ dance class on H Street… which just happens to be on the same block as a Salvation Army. Wasting a little time before Zana’s nap, I decided to stop in for a quick look. Within 5 minutes I found a pair of like-new Tory Burch wedges and some Citizens of Humanity jeans. Total price tag? $13!

Aren’t they beautiful?!

I was so excited  by the rows of disorganized racks of clothing that I barely noticed the disapproving stares while the girls played hide-and-seek around the store. I took them home, had my own personal fashion show,  and realized neither the jeans nor the shoes fit well. Not to worry: I sold them on eBay and came out $120 richer!

That was only the beginning. Now, I stop by that Salvation Army store every Saturday and rarely walk out empty handed.  I did some cleaning over the weekend and had a few boxes of things to give away. My favorite spot doesn’t take donations, which made it the perfect excuse for me to discover a new thrift store. I ended up at the Goodwill on South Dakota Ave in NE, and it was so much fun! Plenty of space, and the dressing rooms were spacious and clean. In fact, it was a much better experience than my nightmarish trip to Burlington Coat Factory earlier in the day (picture a mom giving her kid nebulizer treatments while waiting in line to buy a Baby Phat romper. Son pukes Hawaiian Punch everywhere and she’s annoyed at him. Don’t worry, she still bought the romper.) But back to Goodwill… I spent $17 and left with 3 treasures: a green, dolman-sleeve sweater, a double-wrap belt, and a hot pink, Ann Taylor “Miracle Dress” (with tags still attached). Can you believe people just give this stuff away?! (says the lady who just dropped off a bag of like-new shoes that didn’t fit quite right).

Anyway, here’s what the dress looks like on the Ann Taylor website:

Why would someone part with this beauty?

I’ll post an updated pic of me wearing it when I get around to it (probably tomorrow).

Until then, I leave you with a few tips for thrift store shopping:

1. Know your labels. Why were those Tory Burch shoes just sitting there untouched? Because people don’t know these things!
2. Try things on. Don’t count on the sizing label; often times clothing is altered. Of course, if you plan to resell your finds then it doesn’t matter.
3. Keep an open mind. You will have to rummage through dozens of blouses that someone’s grandma wore in 1937 before you find that gem.
4. Have fun! If you don’t enjoy the journey, don’t even bother. You may find nothing! If that bothers you, stick to the department stores. Or bring a friend and enjoy a latte while you shop– you may accidentally find something.

Discount divas, did I miss anything? And where are your favorite places to shop for bargains?

Reflecting Pool Opens: Still Not Reflecting

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Big news today, ladies and gentlemen: the reflecting pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial reopened today.

Since this $34 million renovation happened just a few miles from home, I figured we should go check it out. At 34-mil I was expecting a reflecting pool that not only reflected but made me look 20 pounds thinner.

Dave and I dragged the girls into the muggy morning air for a 1.54 mile (tracking every step while tying to lose these pounds) walk around the National Mall. Of course, we stopped to get coffee at Ebeneezer’s (our favorite spot) on the way. Dave ordered our drinks and spent the rest of the morning making fun of me for my medium, skim, two pump, vanilla latte. “Are you sure you don’t want soy? Small latte in a large cup, perhaps? Half Splenda have regular sugar?” He believes there should be a two variable limit on coffee orders. I clearly disagree.

The girls were so excited about the reflecting pool that they started running as soon as we got out of the car. When when we arrived, I wanted to take their pictures. “No! I want to go to the reflecting pool!” I told them we were already there. “But I can’t see myself in the water!” Um yeah… pretty much. It seems 34 million dollars couldn’t quite solve that problem.

Don’t get me wrong, it was… nice. I mean… it’s the National Mall so it’s not going to be a dump. But besides the missing construction workers, tractors and fencing, I didn’t notice much of a difference. Something else I noticed: there was goose poop everywhere. It surrounded the entire reflecting pool. If you ask me, this whole project could have been done for 1 million, leaving an extra 33 mil for a pooper scooper. But what do I know?

It’s a cool spot regardless. Site of Martin Luther King’s “I Had a Dream” speech and Jen-nay’s dramatic wade through the water toward Forrest Gump. So much history.

The new walkway around the pool was a nice addition. And I’m glad the water isn’t as deep now, because one of these girls will surely fall in at some point.

In summary, the reflecting pool renovation was just “a’ight.” But I’m sure the tourists will impressed.

 

Tuesday Night, Kid’s Night

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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!

Watching Alice in Wonderland

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.

Nocciola and Pistachio, of course!

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.

Dancing in the streets
Rainbow sighting!

What did you do with your Tuesday night?

Neighborhood Assault is a Harsh Reminder

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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!”

The girls in Eastern Market

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…

 

No Parking! Imaginary Street Cleaning

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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…]