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??

Hill Life: My Neighbor Got Clocked By Thugs On Our Street

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I spend a lot of time writing about the wonderful reasons we live on Capitol Hill in DC: kid-friendly coffee shops, free museums, and nearby beach getaways. Sometimes, it’s hard to imagine who wouldn’t want to live here.

The Incident
Today, I was reminded. My next door neighbor sent a group email letting our street know that he had been assaulted and robbed at 8:30 last night. It happened on our street. He was walking home from the metro, as we’ve all done a hundred times before, and was followed by a group of kids (thuggish teens). When he turned onto our street, he was punched in the head. When he fell to the ground, they took his bag and ran off. Another neighbor saw the aftermath, screamed, and then called 911. Since he was hit from behind, my neighbor didn’t get a good look at who did it, so nobody was arrested.

The Meeting
Neighbors on the Hill are always really close. Maybe it’s the fact that we practically live on top of each other? I remember living in North Carolina, driving into my garage after work every day, and not even knowing my next door neighbor’s name. Here, we’re like family… for better or for worse. As we all started to arrive home from work tonight, we gathered on our front stoop for a hug-fest/therapy session/why-the-hell-do-we-live-here pow-wow.

The Love
One neighbor pulled up with a bouquet. Another offered a replacement cell phone for the one that was stolen. One offered to drive him to and from the metro so he wouldn’t have to walk. Another gave suggestions about how to find the bad guys, and make sure they’re arrested. All the while, my daughters played in our tiny (joke of a) front yard with a friend, and Dave picked up used dime-bags and 40-bottles to throw in recycling. A cop rode by on a bike and stopped to ask how our neighbor was feeling after the assault.

Sometimes it’s beautifully peaceful here

The Hill is a strange place to live. We take the good with the bad. But it seems like every time we get comfortable, something else happens. A friend’s home is robbed 3 blocks away; someone is shot down the street; we witness a drug deal on our front steps. As I’ve said before, Capitol Hill is definitely the crossroad between heaven and that other place. And every day we face the question: should I stay or should I go?

It Ain’t Easy Being Green on Capitol Hill

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I may have mentioned before that my husband is a bit of a tree hugger. It’s not that I don’t appreciate a good tree– you just won’t ever see me picking up beer bottles on the side of the road to take home and put in our recycling bin.

Hopefully, my girls take after me and leave the trash alone. Why? Because of reports like this one today from the  Baltimore Police Department:

“Kids are putting Drano, tin foil, and a little water in plastic drink bottles and capping it up – leaving it on lawns, in mail boxes, in gardens, on driveways etc. just waiting for you to pick it up intending to put it in the rubbish, but you’ll never make it!!!

If the bottle is picked up, and the bottle is shaken even just a little – in about 30 seconds or less it builds up enough gas which then explodes with enough force to remove some of your extremities.”

You’ll never make it?!?! Remove some of your extremities?!?!

This sounds serious. The report went on to say that this isn’t just happening in Baltimore, but all over the area!

I’m not sure who’s responsible, but it sounds like “kids” to me. And it’s “kids” who seem to cause all of the problems in our area. It was “kids” who were shooting at one another as I was dropping off the girls at school one morning. It was “kids” who put a bullet hole in our window the week before we moved into our house. “Kids” sell drugs on our corner. “Kids” who drive so many people out of the neighborhood.

I hate to blame the neighborhood high school students (as if they ever actually go to school) for something they didn’t do; it just seems like something they would do based on what I’ve seen so many times before.

I know that young people everywhere are mischievous. My parents and the owners of The Magic Time Machine were more than a little unhappy with my brothers when they lit the trash can on fire in the restaurant bathroom. But those things are usually not the norm… and they certainly don’t cause people to move out of their homes to escape.

If I could name the top 3 reasons to leave Capitol Hill they would be:

  1. those “kids” on the corner
  2. the parking situation
  3. the Persistent Peggies (just kidding about this one, but they are annoying)

For families like ours who love our life here and want to stay, a lackadaisical attitude is not an option. We must stay informed and be each other’s watchful neighbors. We’re all in this together. So please, neighbors, watch my husband. If you see him kneeling down to pick up a soda bottle tell him to leave it alone and go hug a tree instead.

Like Father Like Daughter

More Than a Mom

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When you’re a mom, you sometimes forget what it’s like to get male attention (husbands excluded—mine gives me more than I can handle). So when a strapping young fella reminds you that you are, in fact, still a woman and not just a mom—it’s kind of exciting.

I rode the metro to a downtown coffee shop to get some work done before a doctor’s appointment. This was the scene:

Me: (typing feverishly on my laptop)
Tie Guy: Hey, how’d you break that wrist? Bar fight?
Me: No, I broke it beating my children. (I wasn’t actually trying to shut him down but I realized afterward that I may as well have said ‘I have children and am not interested.’)
Tie Guy: (looks dejected)

It must have dawned on him that I said “kids” but not “husband” so he comes back to my table a few minutes later.

Tie Guy: So how was your Mother’s Day?
Me: It was good… nice family brunch.
Tie Guy: Where’d you go?
Me: Andrew’s Air Force Base. My husband works there.

Aaaaaannnnddd, that was the end of it.

Tie Guy: I hope your arm feels better. Have a good day.

Wasn’t that an exciting story?!

If this happens to you all the time, good for you; I don’t want to hear about it.  But if you’re a mom who occasionally has an extra cheerio in her bra and a few pacis in her purse, can I get an amen?! [Read more…]

Splish Splash, These Girls Really Need a Bath

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You know what’s fun? Rainy days in the city. It’s especially awesome when I have a cast on my broken wrist  that I can’t get wet, a 2-year-old who wants to hold the umbrella and no parking near the daycare. All of this excitement and it’s not even 9 a.m. Jealous?!

It’s days like these when I miss the burbs. I’d pull up to the house, press the garage door opener and never feel a drop of rain. I’d get my Starbucks at the drive-though window and then pull up right in front of the daycare for drop-off.  I didn’t even own an umbrella!

Fortunately, Dave offered to pick up the girls after school today. He loves the rain and doesn’t turn into a pouty-pants like I do when there’s no sunshine. I’m also cranky about the 21 day vegan cleanse I’ve started today to help get me back on track after gaining 10 lbs.

If you’re still reading, it’s proof that misery loves company.  Did I already mention that it’s Monday?

When I arrived at home after work I was greeted with shrieks and giggles, and Dave wasn’t the only one who was excited (ha!).

“We want to go on an adventure!”

Me too… only my adventure would involve my pillow and some Ambien.

“Come on, Mom!”

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