May 2008 - Posts

• A Few of My Least Favorite Things

  These are a Few of My Least Favorite Things. The Julie Andrews song from Sound of Music keeps running through my head. At just over a year The Bees has amassed a small fortune of toys. We have a downstairs play area (defined by a four foot carpet, but slowly bleeding into the entire living room,) and of course there are toys in her room. There are certain items that just get on my nerves. Some of these are gifts from well-meaning friends (who will probably read this blog) and others for which we can blame no one but ourselves. The Bunny Express train. At Easter I bought these miniature train sets from the CVS on Macarthur Boulevard, one for The Bees and one for her baby cousin Ellis. You connect the 6 plastic tracks and the little blue engine pulls the little green train round and round. The Bees was mostly interested in breaking up the tracks and shoving them one by one into the stereo system. Then she watches the engine as it careens across the room, crashing into something and spinning its wheels until it redirects itself. Or not. But this Bunny Express engine also has a mind of its own. It often starts running by itself in the toy bin, which can be disconcerting if you are sitting alone reading in the living room. And worse - it has teeth! One day I was running it up her arm and up her leg just tickling her. And as I ran it up her neck, the engine started and the wheels ran up her hair, got tangled and stuck and there she was, screaming with the Bunny Express train hanging off her head. I turned it off and had to essentially yank it out taking a small snarl of downy wispy strands with it. The Singing Dog. A gift for The Bees when she was born, this is a crazy looking dog that can be prodded to sing or say different things depending on where you prod him. Press his hand and he sings "ABC". Press his foot and he sings “If you’re happy and you know it”.  Press his stomach and he says "That tickles!”.  But the dog won’t stop talking – even after you’ve gone to bed. An eery "You're my friend!" echoes from the front hall. My husband claims to have heard “I love you!” emanate from the toy box. The Cat. A birthday present from The Bee's godfather, we thought it was so cool that the animal actually spells out its own name. So the head is shaped like a C, the body like an A and the tail like a T. With magnets the three pieces stick together and look like a cat (sort of). But when The Bees starts playing with it the head falls off, and she's left holding the body. It’s no longer recognizable as a cat so it is thrown aside. Later I find the creepy bug-eyed head lying under the armchair. Buzzing Bee The book about a buzzing bee was a gift from her cousin Ellis. The story is engaging - you take a small stuffed bee and you buzz it from the garden into the jungle, into the ocean (as bees often do), and back into the garden again. However The Bees grabs the bee and is obsessed with just pushing it through the window. She won't stop buzzing the bee back and forth through the windows so you can never make any progress with the story. I’ve taken to hiding the thing under a sofa cushion or in a closet so that we can make progress with our books. Lastly (and now I know I’m going to alienate many of you): Religious toys. The Bees insisted I get this blue bunny at the ice cream store (a mother holding a screeching infant is the perfect target for impulse buys). The bunny sings a sweet song when you press its tummy. I lived with it for three days before my husband pointed out that it’s a song about Jesus loving little children. At any rate, she persists in having me press its tummy over and over again, and I hum the tune while keeping an eye on the horizon for lightening bolts that should strike me down at any moment. Stay tuned for an article about My Favorite Toys! I will certainly mention Tugooh Toys on Wisconsin Avenue.   Posted May 30 2008, 12:08 PM by districtmom with 2 comment(s) Filed under: baby, toddler, train, cat, infant, religious, bunny, religion, toys, toy store, child [Edit Tags]

• Looking into the Eye of an Octopus

  Recently The Bees and I had a free day. (Actually that’s almost every day. Thank god I’m forced to write this blog otherwise I’d have little impetus to ever leave the house). It was beautiful weather and I decided to brave The Mall. Anyone who lives in DC knows that this takes a certain resolution, a certain girding of the loins, preparing for battle and all that. You have to drive down there, competing with downtown stop and stop traffic or – as we did- go the other way which put us smack in the middle of cherry blossom fever. We made it to the other side which was C street and 14th, and I did a very illegal u turn to grab a parking spot. I must have had good karma that day because the meter was already full. I unstrapped the bees from the seat and then strapped her back into the stroller (nothing pisses her off more than being constrained). I packed her snacks and off we went. She was complaining quite loudly within 3 minutes and the tourists were staring. The only thing I could do other than stop and take her out) was to start running and do these zig zags with the stroller that make it look like a very drunken woman is making a serious judgement error with her child. The Bees screams with delight and I’m wishing I had my jog bra on. We arrive at the Department of Commerce, I hike her up some stairs and into the front door and through security before I learn this is the wrong entrance. We go back out, and down the block and try again. Scan scan scan my diaper bag. No weapons here. We have arrived at the National Aquarium. The National Aquarium is in room B-077. This tells you it’s in the basement. Take the elevator downstairs and we are in a cavern. Or a haunted house. The place is dimly lit, there is a musty odor in the air. We go left and pay the $5 (for me, children under 2 are free) at the desk. There is nowhere to park the stroller so we take it along (normally I like to hold her so I can pick her up to peek in the windows). The first few boxes we see are just videos. I wonder whether there are any live fish in here. Then we see some empty tanks. Then finally - some fish! As you enter the main exhibit hall there is a large (8 square feet at quick glance) tank, a watery jungle where three alligators are lurking. The Bees points and says "Dada!" Two are lying absolutely still and the other one takes a few steps and swishes into the water, his tail waving slowly like a fan. The Bees watches him as he takes a turn by the window, his yellow belly up and legs splayed out.She is particularly taken with his teeth and keeps pointing to his toothy smile saying "Mimah? Mimah?" for our dog Jemimah. We watch the gators for a time and then move away to see the fish. There are perhaps 20 tanks in the whole place, most the size of a plasma television screen, and at first, glancing around and noting how small it is, the aquarium is a bit disappointing. But as you move along and peer inside each tank you are captivated by the variety, the care in which they have showcased various national sanctuaries, highlighting fish that live in each one. You have fish from the Florida Keys, from Buck Island, from Gray's Reef and even from the USS Monitor, a Civil War ship that sunk and is now a wonderful underwater reef. The colors, the variety, the habitats are impressive for such a small exhibit. We move around from tank to tank, and I feel calm here (something you don't feel at the popular but crowded Baltimore Aquarium). I'm so grateful to have the place practically to ourselves, so we can stop and watch quietly, waiting for the fish to emerge from their little caves and from behind coral shelters. We arrive at a large dark tank and the sign says there is an octopus. I hold the Bees up so she can stand on the window sill. We look and look and I see nothing but murky depths. All of a sudden out of the corner of my eye I see something slowly move. It's a large tentacle, a huge one and it's suckers are helping it reach for the spot on the glass where The Bees is leaning. I follow the curly leg all the way up and see an enormous black head planted in the corner of the tank.. It has its eye on the Bees and it is making its roiling way over to check her out. We squeal with delight and spend at least 5 minutes there, just staring and talking to the octopus. The turtles are fun, spadefish, snapper, others that I don't remember. There is one tank that says it holds a snake. After looking and looking I conclude that it's empty and then I look up and notice disconcertingly that the top of the cage is open. The carpet under my feet is squishy and damp. I get a shiver up my spine and move The Bees along. We did not go into the gift shop- I thought that was asking for trouble, as she always clamors for another stuffed animal even though we have about 25 at home. My takeaway from the National Aquarium is, though I'm glad that I had opted not to hold my wedding reception there (a brief notion 18 months ago), and though it doesn't hold a candle to the Baltimore aquarium, still, it is a pleasant retreat from the hustle and bustle of downtown DC, and an hour of entertainment for a child of any age. Posted May 28 2008, 12:38 PM by districtmom with 1 comment(s) Filed under: babies, snake, tank, toddlers, aquarium, fish, outing, octopus [Edit Tags]

• A Part-Time Single Mom

  Every week I am a single Mom. CB travels for his job, usually three days a week, which is almost tolerable. But sometimes he’s gone for 6 days, and that feels like a lot when you have no help. The moms in my neighborhood all have help. If they don’t have a full time nanny then they have an au pair. Or a sitter who comes during the day to spell them. If they are not paying for help then they have a fabulous mother who lives next door who arrives daily to watch the kids, cook their meals, clean up, and leave the smell of fresh chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. Cry baby, cry baby. I actually know two truly single mothers, who have done the whole thing by themselves, and they are my heroes! I never really know when a killer week is coming. I think CB hopes I won’t figure it out until he’s already gone. It’s not until he’s out the door when I say “so when are you coming back? (Midnight Wednesday) “and when are you leaving again?” (Thursday morning) “and when are you coming back again?” (Saturday and leaving Monday). That’s when I get the pit in my stomach. That dreaded feeling. Ok here we go. It’s not just that I have do it all myself all day until she goes to bed, but it means I actually have to get up out of bed at 6am. That’s the hardest part, because that’s CB’s big gift to me when he’s home. He gets up with her in the morning. And I don’t function well before 7:30 unless coffee and the NYT were to be delivered to my bedside, which has never happened. Not since I fell through a skylight and my parents took care of me for 6 months. But that’s another story. So he throws down another one of these killer weeks and I run through the options. In a panic of facing a week without adult company I start to email all my friends – let’s meet for play date, let’s meet for lunch, let’s meet for dog walks, let’s go to the mall, will you come over, please please if I pay you $100? The truth is that when he’s gone we miss him VERY much at 6am. And then we don’t get to look forward to his coming home at 6pm. Homecoming is like this – I call to find out when he’s leaving the office, I try to get her fed before she’s too distracted. I look to the window every 3 minutes until I see that huge silver vehicle pull up in front of the house and eclipse the house across the street and then I shout “Daddy’s Home!” And it’s a BIG celebration by dog and child, lots of barking and pointing and squealing and jumping. And a relieved exhausted mother who says “here take her, feed her, clean her, and can you crack me a beer?” Beer in hand I escape to open the computer and write to you. So when he’s gone we try to have a chock-filled day, with a play date for Mom thrown in, and then we walk the dog, and come home. I put on the crazy French songs and serve The Bees her Organic Elmo mac and cheese and veggie dinner around 5:30, and do the crazy dance around the dining room. And then give her a bath, Or not. (gasp! Don’t tell The Other Mothers but I don’t bathe her every single day). We read a few books downstairs while I chase her around with some yogurt. I might push her in the swing a few times. We go sit outside again, but she knows where her watering can is and she’s bound to get wet all over again so we come back in. We play with her toys, we read 5 books upstairs, we rock and sing and then (hopefully) she’s finally asleep. I finally get to crack that beer, watch the news, write a few paragraphs and then curl up with a book. I lie there exhausted and think: just 7 more hours until it starts all over again. Posted May 27 2008, 01:23 PM by districtmom with 2 comment(s) Filed under: baby, playdates, toddler, travel, single mom, play, nanny [Edit Tags]

• Glen Echo Carousel

  I don’t consider myself a creature of habit but every now and then I get stuck on something and just can’t seem to get enough. I feel that way about Hinata Sushi in Bethesda (the freshest fish flown in daily), about the macaroons at Praline’s bakery in Bethesda (to die for), and, most importantly about The Carousel, in – yes you guessed it – Bethesda. Wait! Isn’t this blog supposed to be about DC? Well yes, but we all know that to truly explore this area with your child, (and without even leaving the beltway) you must cross the state line in any given day. Glen Echo Park is currently at the top of my list of favorite things to do with my child. The primary reason is the Carousel. I don’t know about you, but although I had a great childhood, and was exposed to lots of fun, exciting and exotic activities, I don't recall having special memories of a specific carousel. This one is worth remembering and worth writing about. The Dentzel Carousel was built in 1928 on the site of a cultural institute that had started in 1891. It ran until 1968 when the park closed.  With private donations the carousel was recently bought back by the National Park Service, and has been lovingly and painstakingly refurbished back to almost its original condition. Rolicking music greets you as you stroll across the bridge from the parking lot. From the pathway you can see the flickering lights, and see the shapes going round. If you’re The Bees you start shouting and pointing, expressing more excitement at this sight than even seeing my father’s cat, Hank. The Carousel costs $1. Yes, read that again. One dollar. This is both a blessing and a curse. It means that there exists an entertainment establishment that is not fleecing you, but it also means you could not explain to your child why you can’t ride it again. And again (unless you are my husband CB who turned green the first time he rode it, and whined to get off). The low price also means it’s enormously popular with school groups which can make for long lines. However school groups means lots of bouncing happy kids, exuberant at being released from the stuffy confines of their classrooms. The Bees is ecstatic to see other children, and she waves and says “Hi’ to anyone under 3 feet who looks in her direction. As we wait in line she points to the animals galloping by—the horse, the rabbit, the deer, the ostrich. The animals bound along, their riders holding on to the shiny brass poles, big smiles on every face. When it's our turn we greet each animal – the lion, the tiger, etc.. until The Bees chooses which one she will ride. I tighten the strap around her, and hoist myself behind (there is almost enough room in the saddle for two of us, given that at least her bottom is so very small). You look up and admire the gilded ceiling, the swirls and flowers, the shiny mirrors reflecting 1000 lights so you can see yourself (and your fat thighs) having a grand time. The Wurlizter organ begins to play – this thing is amazing. You have to see it-  it still plays on paper rolls, with 256 pipes that make the most incredible orchestra music. Apparently there are only 11 functioning organs like this in the country. The castanets are on the outside, clacking away, and the carousel begins to turn. The Bees holds on to the brass pole, her eyes wide with excitement. I can’t tell if I’m happier for her or just for the sheer joy of riding it myself. We go round and round, The Bees offering a little pat of encouragement to the neck of whatever steed is hosting us that day. After the carousel ride we meander over to the playground where she can swing or climb a play house, or trip around in the grass. For people who are always hungry like me there is a café where you can purchase a sandwich and a drink, and picnic tables on grassy lawns make this quite an appealing family destination. There are other things to do at Glen Echo Park: the puppet playhouse which I will write about later, and the Adventure Theater, art classes and pottery workshops for older children and adults. There is the famous Spanish Ballroom if you are inviting 500 guests for a party. We can never leave the park without riding the carousel a second time. The man collecting tickets gives me a second look, and I suspiciously check my cleavage. We go whirling around again, and I just never want it to end. Heading back to the parking lot, the Bees murmurs happy little quacks to herself and the lilting music faded behind us. Posted May 23 2008, 06:21 AM by districtmom with 2 comment(s) Filed under: babies, dc, toddler, carousel, park, fun, amusement, kids [Edit Tags]

• The Playground

  The downside to having only one kid is that for the first 2 years or so, it's hard to have a play date. All the cool moms in my neighborhood have more than one kid (and a nanny, mind you). This means their schedule revolves around the older child, and they just drag the younger one along for a ride. All the great playgroups are from 9:30 to noon, as are the informal gatherings in my neighborhood.  Since The Bees naps from 10 to 11-ish, we can never seem to join in on the fun. Instead, we head out in the afternoon to play by ourselves. Playgrounds are really great for kids over 2. They can climb on the jungle gym, run around, ride the little push cars. For younger ones though, the playground is at best a limited interest, and at worse, a treacherous territory. At just over a year, the only the thing The Bees can do is swing in a bucket swing for about 2 minutes and 55 seconds until she starts yowling to get out. And then she can totter 5 steps, crouch down, pick up wood chips and eat them.   Often I take her to Guy Mason Park which is nearby and has bucket swings. Another favorite is Turtle Park, a popular place for the cool moms I know. After Spanish class ended last week we were in the neighborhood so we headed over to Turtle.  I parked and immediately spotted a nanny driving a kid from our music class. I have never seen most of the mothers of these kids. It seems in Washington DC, nannies do the bulk of the mothering. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, if you ask me on a difficult day. We walked around the fence – they make it very hard for kids to get out, and consequently, for adults to get in. I glanced at the scene around me. Crying babies, children clamoring for another more push on the swing. A mother doling out cheerios, eating a desultory ham sandwich. The kids on the swings were pumping so high and so fast that The Bees looked stunned.  On the jungle gym 6-year olds chased each other, running and leaping and swooping down the slide.  When the coast was clear I held her up on the top and slid her down, holding her waist, skittering her little rubber heels as we went. Astonishingly she liked it, and hopped up for another go. I soon discovered she likes hiking back up almost as much as sliding down. The bigger kids came along shouting, pushing and chasing each other, and they catapulted themselves down the slide – a little too rough and tumble for us. So that lasted about 3 minutes. I find playground fashion to be quite dreary. The sweatpants, the old husband's old t-shirts, the droopy faded jeans, the worn heels of Dansko clogs, or chewed up Teva sandals.  I know it seems silly to dress up for a day with a kid, and certainly impractical if you dare to wear white as I did recently. However a little effort, a bright accessory, a cheerful shirt, or even some lipstick is appreciated by some people like me. We tried the sandbox – she plopped down and licked her hands. Crunch crunch, and looked up at me. We tried riding a little truck but its wheels were so bent it couldn't move forward. "Let's give this another week" I said to The Bees. By this time she was pointing at kids eating snacks around her, and I realized that I had brought nothing. Feeling terribly guilty I packed up and we moved out, leaving the creaking swings and the shouts of the boys behind us. Posted May 22 2008, 12:00 PM by districtmom with 2 comment(s) Filed under: babies, dc, playdates, toddler, playground [Edit Tags]

• Boutiques and Babies

  Have I mentioned my shoe obsession? My husband CB will say this is one of the few hobbies we have in common, and with only the highest hopes for our child’s style future, we plan to pass this trait on to The Bees. If you are serious about women’s shoes then there are two places you must go in D.C and they are next door to one another. One is Sky Valet on Wisconsin where they sell the fabulous Taryn Rose line, Edward Green men’s, and the service is unparalleled. The other is a boutique clothier, or haberdashery as I like to say, called Everard’s. We love Everard’s, as much for the owners as for the clothes. Run by Louis Everard and his wife Jen Nygard this is a bright, friendly place offering high end men’s and women’s clothing. Louis will inevitably greet you at the door, or out on the front sidewalk, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit with a sassy Hickey Freeman shirt and pocket square. His wife Jen, not to be outdone, models the elegant designer slacks and blouses sold upstairs. Here you are welcome to linger, browse the wooden shelves, or just sit in the silk striped barber chair and sip a glass of wine. The Bees loves Everard’s because of Brinna, a beautiful black cocker spaniel whose bottom never stops wriggling with excitement. She stomps after Brinna going round the small shop, getting underfoot of serious dandys hunting for their next pocket square. I scoop her up and head upstairs, past step after step featuring a new spring shoe from Olivia Rose Tal. It’s such a clever way to showcase shoes as you really admire each one individually, and you can pick one up to match whatever outfit you are trying on. My favorite shoes here are the pointed silk mules in all different patterns. They are comfortable to slip on, look great with trousers or skirts, and can really jazz up an otherwise plain outfit. Polka dots, bows, striped and floral, they are as beautiful as candies and remind me of Marie Antoinette. I adore the dressing room at Everard’s because there is a padded bench for your things, soft lighting, and it feels indulgent, girly and wonderful. The salespeople do their utmost to help you, standing outside the door, offering different sizes and always coming up with great tops or jackets to match. But trying on clothes with The Bees is another matter. In the beginning we are both cheerful. She’s excited to be in a new place, she bumbles around, inspects everything. In the bathroom she searches every corner for something new. I dole out raisins and goldfish to the eager little hands. With each new outfit she totters out with me to the 3-way mirror. But after about three changes she is clamoring to be picked up, and the whining commences. Back in the changing room for the fourth time the raisins are now hurled around the room, the goldfish are ground into the floor. The Kleenexes are pulled from the box, and she begins to kick her heels on the floor. When the screaming starts you feel a pang of guilt, knowing that you are costing the shop a customer or two (who can tolerate that shrieking sound when they are trying to enjoy their boutique experience?). Your second reaction is annoyance at this writhing creature, now butting her head on the floor. She has once again foiled your own shopping bliss. Then you have to quick scoop up the Bobby Jones pants and jacket that you can’t live without, hand them to Jen for when you cajole your generous and loving husband to come back with you later. You scoop up your beast, run out the door and across the street to the Einstein Bagel store to get chicken salad and a bagel pronto. New place, children to watch, yummy food to devour and she’s once again the little lamb you call your own Posted May 22 2008, 12:09 PM by districtmom with 1 comment(s) Filed under: babies, dc, baby, boutique, shoes, toddler, shopping [Edit Tags]

• Flying With Fruit

  Once The Bees started crawling I could not have restrained her off the filthy aisle of a train. If she wants to get down she will buck her little body violently until she flips right out of your arms. I weighed my options: my family had recommended the Vamoose bus, a cheap, clean, quiet bus that goes from Bethesda to DC. But I figured with The Bees along it would no longer be quiet – and we would no longer be welcome. Flying seemed the best option at this time, constituting the least amount of time that a child must be constrained to a seat. I prefer to fly out of National Airport since it's10 minutes from our house. Yes I know it has a new name, but I'm old school, and wasn't a huge Reagan fan, so I persist in calling in National. The Bees loves to go through security. She is perplexed about why we have to take off our shoes - yes even her tiny little size 3-1/2s – and she points at all the interesting things people drop into the bins: belts, coins, cell phones. She waves to other passengers and the security personnel as we go through the line. When flying I always pack snacks, books, wind-up toys, diapers and wipes in my purse. This means my very chic Italian leather purse ends up looking like an exploding baked potato. I can't find anything inside it and if I try to pull one thing out like the tiny lip gloss to show security, inevitably a tampon will jump out onto the floor. But my friend Katie had it worse- security stopped her purse to inquire about her KY jelly! Before we've even boarded the flight the Bees is fighting and squirming to get away from me…we enter the plane and select a seat near the back – somehow I feel that her cries and screams are less offensive in the rear, "cattle class", near the toilets. We sit down and she immediately pokes her hand through the gap to the seat behind her. Passengers can then choose to either ignore her completely or play along, and I am so grateful for the latter. She can be happy for an entire flight with the charity of one energetic hand waving from behind. Otherwise she is likely to reach over the seat ahead of us, and pat a bald pate, or pull a ponytail. On a recent trip we sat down, she peered over the seat back and sure enough there was a friendly playful hand waving. Before long a banana appeared over my shoulder. Half way through the flight an apple appeared. By the end of the flight a whole bag of fruit was tossed over, freshly washed and ready to be gnawed on by one bored, hungry child. We touched down, taxied and stopped at the gate, and I turned to thank my kind benefactor. "No problem" she said, "I'm the nanny for five". Posted May 21 2008, 12:42 PM by districtmom with 1 comment(s) Filed under: babies, dc, toddler, travel, flying, airplane [Edit Tags]

• Traveling with The Bees: Broken DownTrain

  We leave town every 5 weeks or so. Usually we head north to New York, either to the city (my old home town) or to upstate NY to see my parents. Long ago we called it quits on road tripping with The Bees. You pack her in her seat with toys, snacks, and taped up family pictures for her to view. But you haven't even left the nation's beltway before the cycle begins: whining, whimpering, crying, screaming, kicking, whimpering…   The Amtrak train was a fine option for the first 6 months (before crawling). I had a fantasy of her sleeping for the entire trip, allowing me to flip idly through gossip magazines. The reality was that I would spend most of the voyage standing in the aisle, The Bees tucked into the Baby Bjorn on my chest, bouncing and bouncing. On a few trips I spent the 3-1/2 hours to New York walking the aisles – not just in my car, but for the entire length of the train-- simply to spread out the public pain that is the sound of a child wailing. I was hoping for sympathy and distraction but I caught many a dirty look from business travelers that day… The Bees and I had one particularly trying train voyage from New York that turned into a 7 hour odyssey. On that trip we were somewhere in Delaware when we caught a whiff of smoke. Our train slowed to a halt in a rural area, miles between stations. The conductor and the engineers all gathered in the front car. I knew it was a bad sign when they climbed out of the train and peered up at something. Then came the dreaded announcement that our train had broken down. We waited in the dark with no air conditioning for over two hours, first in silence and then, as often happens, passengers who had earlier ignored each other began to joke, and reminisce about other travel disasters. Many trains whizzed past us, to the groans of everyone around me. Finally one slowed to a stop across the way. Then we had to climb down off the train (lugging sleeping baby, suitcase, car seat, stroller, diaper bag), cross the rocky track and climb aboard the rescue train which was already full with annoyed delayed passengers. I felt particularly sorry for those headed for South Carolina or Florida that day.   Once we arrived at Union Station I discovered the stroller would not open. I pulled and tugged, and kicked to no avail. Weary, I looked up and down the platform, but forget chivalry - not one person of either sex offered to help. I carried sleeping baby, car seat, stroller, and diaper bag on one arm -- and dragged my suitcase behind me with the other. My husband CB was surprised at my particularly effusive greeting to him that day. Posted May 19 2008, 07:15 AM by districtmom with no comments Filed under: babies, dc, train, travel [Edit Tags]

• Desperate for Playdates

  As we pass the one year mark I've become desperate for play dates, for both Bees' and my sake. So much so that I will lunge at a stranger with a child at the supermarket, begging for a date. Recently out of boredom we were up shopping at Buy Buy Baby in Rockville. We did the obligatory tour through all the aisles (picking up Elmo to keep The Bees occupied while I shopped). We stop in the nursing closet -- a nice idea but they've got this huge mirror two feet away so you are staring at yourself -- and I am not fond of the up close vision of my enormous bosom smothering the face of my child. Your other choice is looking at First Aid posters from 1970s.   With The Bees on the brink of a breakdown I race off (literally running the stroller up the sidewalk because it cheers her up) to the Whole Foods nearby to refuel us both. We eyed the deli sandwiches, tasted the soups, she clamored noisily as we passed the salad bar so I stop and filled a bowl with an assortment of colorful goodies (sneaking her a chicken strip to keep her quiet). We took a table near the registers and I began the messy process of offering her things to mouth and spit out. Nearby there was a mother with her two young daughters, ages 1 and 3. She glanced over as another spoonful of tuna salad went flying in an arc over my shoulder, chickpeas flung into the aisle. I long for some sympathetic adult conversation, and I can always count on the Bees to create an encounter with another child. We packed up the stroller and I got up off my hands and knees from collecting corn kernels off the floor. On cue, The Bees chimed and pointed to the girls so we waved, said hello and began to chat. The mother was a recent transplant from New Zealand, here on her husband's job transfer. We exchanged emails, and I was jubilant on the way home. A new friend!  A play date for the Bees! A trip to New Zealand in our future! We did meet a few times, twice at her house in Potomac where I hungrily eyed the large pool, thinking ahead to summer. At this age the kids don't really play together. They crawl around, noses running, whining. The Bees was thrilled to discover a new box with new and interesting toys, but they ended up vying over a caterpillar, tugging and pulling on a doll and eventually it disintegrated into crying. Still, I enjoyed having a place to go, someone to talk to, and especially appreciated the cheese and cracker snacks. Maybe I wasn't her type though - after several months of silence I get the feeling she has dumped me. The other day we had two kids over. I had met the mothers in the Sibley Prenatal Yoga class. This class saved me during pregnancy – twice a week it was the thing that calmed me, stretched my aching back, and soothed my anxieties. The mothers and I have stayed in touch, even a year later.   The Bees and Emma were jockeying at the toy piano – Bees is not used to sharing her things – I fear this will be a lifelong problem if she's an only child – and she was fiercely protecting her piano. Their shoulders pushed and pushed and then The Bees leaned over, and (I am now ashamed to admit) I was a proud to see her take her first bite. Emma took it in stride, looking more surprised than anything. But I don't think they'll come over again any time soon. Posted May 14 2008, 09:37 AM by districtmom with 1 comment(s) Filed under: dc, baby, playdates [Edit Tags]

• New Mom - Old Bikini

  With summer rapidly approaching we recently signed up for swimming class at American University. Run by Curl-Burke, the program offers swim classes for kids of all ages.  The pool is in the Reeves Aquatic Center, the same one used by the A.U. Eagles swim team. You enter in the foyer where stand a painted donkey and elephant, souvenirs I suppose of the "PartyAnimals" exhibit in Washington a few years ago.  The foyer has floor to ceiling glass windows through which you can watch the AU Eagles swim team churning out their laps to loud music. The breadth of their shoulders, their smooth flipper kicks and fast turns mesmerize us. Down in the locker room we find other mothers chasing their naked children around, fighting to get their squirming little bodies into bathing suits. The Bees squeals and claps her hands – the poor thing craves the company of other children. I take a locker, set her down and she speeds off around the corner. I was excited to get The Bees a bathing suit – I had started with a bikini I bought on sale from BabyGap in Georgetown which left her shivering and blue in the first class. After some research I ended up investing in a shirt and shorts getup, sort of surfing costume for future sun protection, and topped it off with a miniature BodyGlove wetsuit to wear for warmth. In this hot pink outfit, with her tiny pot belly protruding, I must resist the urge to bite her. But this class also required my getting into a bathing suit. My husband had informed me I shouldn't wear my bikini to this mother/baby class especially since I'm nursing and 'the girls' tend to roll out above and peek out below. I hadn't had time to get a new suit so I wore the stretched out old bikini. To show some modesty I pull on a bright pink floral swimming skirt and trot out to the pool carrying The Bees. I immediately see that the other mothers have donned appropriate modest tanks in solid colors, their hair pulled up on their heads, no makeup visible. Run by a trio of sylphlike undergraduates, the class is 30 minutes of hopping around in the water singing songs while the babies cling to their parent's neck, often as not wailing. I step into the pool and realize immediately why women don't wear their poolside attire in the pool. Around me floating on the surface of the water was my skirt, a bright pink ring. Summoning Christo the famous artist who wrapped the islands in fabric, I did indeed look like a fried egg. I hop and dance, hop and dance. The Bees keeps herself tight around me like a koala bear. I ask the girls their advice about getting an infant comfortable with the water. "When do you put their head under?" I ask. Blank stares. "When do you let go to see if she can float"? Again, blank stares and then "just a second we'll ask for you". They come back with "just do whatever makes you comfortable with your child". I sigh, realizing the limitations of the class. We sing "The Wheels on the Bus", hop around some more and when I dunk her under the water for just a brief second she sputters, looks at me with indignation and then cries. Emerging from the pool I duck us under a warm shower for a minute and strip off her suit. I pop her under the hand dryer for a minute (alarmed looks from other mothers) and glance in the mirror to see enormous black streaks of mascara down my face. Glamorous me. Posted May 13 2008, 09:32 AM by districtmom with 2 comment(s) Filed under: baby, swimming class, bikini, bathing suit, pool [Edit Tags]

• Feeding The Beast

  These days I'm just trying to get The Bees to eat something - she's keenly aware that her father is the keeper of foods fast, fatty and full of sugar. So I've got the tougher job of feeding her things of nutritional value. She's twisting and turning, she's grimacing and squeezing her eyes shut. When, distracted for a moment, she points at a bird out the window, you finally shovel a whole spoonful of pureed carrot in her mouth. Success! And then there's this moment where, with bulging cheeks, she gives you this baleful stare. And we all know what is coming. Then she just spits it, literally spews it all up into the air, gleeful that you are now orange from head to knees. sigh. My favorite destination for feeding The Bees and myself is Whole Foods. I prefer the one in Glover Park on Wisconsin, as the store and eating space is all on one level. A panacea for whatever ails you, the store offers rows and rows of fresh, bright and delicious looking treats. There are two reasons to take your baby to Whole Foods. One is the salad bar, the other, more importantly, is the free samples. The latter can keep your baby happy for the 11 minutes and 20 seconds you are allotted to shop for your groceries. You enter by the fruit section and grab a grape or two… You swing by the soup and get a taste of chicken noodle, and you can't miss the cheese for the omnipresent Parrano. Then you end up at the salad bar selecting 13 peas, 9 carrots, 2 beets, 1 potato, 4 green beans, and one slow-cooked chicken thigh, plunking them into your bucket (evocative of "Blueberries for Sal"). If you remember to pick up a few things for yourself then it's a successful venture. You can park your stroller in the dining area, heat up your food and commence the feeding game there in public for all to witness your failure. Offering her 4 colorful options which she flings to the ground, and then another 4 which she presses into the stroller seat I feel victorious if she eats a few bites of anything. After you have picked the food and yourself up from the ground you can walk out the front door and take a right and you're at Guy Mason park where you can end the afternoon with a swing in the bucket swings there – or get a bottomfull of sand in the sandbox. Posted May 09 2008, 01:45 PM by districtmom with no comments Filed under: dc, baby [Edit Tags]

• Fun CAN be free!

  I am thankful for any upcoming holiday - it gives us something to do, a focus, during the day. Sometimes we head to Bethesda to browse shops at Westfield Montgomery Mall. I usually let The Bees touch things so she can explore, to the great annoyance of shop keepers. But I've had to curtail it a bit as she inevitably brings the object to her mouth. This can be anything from a sharp pinecone at Crate& Barrel to an alluring doll's hair at Claire's. Recently while in Bethesda we stopped by this great five and dime store called Bruce Variety in the Bradley Shopping Center on Arlington Road. They have everything there from party hats to panty hose, from stickers to sandals. This is a great place to take a baby as neither of you will ever get bored. We parked our stroller in the colorful buttons and bows section where we spent some time plucking at various sequins and stars, glitter and googly eyes. There was a display of long furry pieces hanging down over us. I coaxed down a fluttery red boa and pretended to attack her face. She swiped at it, she bit at it, and we had a few minutes of raucous fun. Serious scrap bookers and craft shoppers stepped around us. Later I found long red strands gummed in between her fingers with her rice cake, stuck in between her toes, curled in the crevices of her car seat, and yes, stuck in her teeth. We never go to Bruce's without stopping at Strosneiders next door, my favorite hardware store. This is a shop where customer is king. Or maybe it's just that female customers are appreciated. They have all these salespeople in red vests who actually ask you if you need assistance, and they never abandon you in the aisles like most other stores. You could easily spend half an afternoon here just exploring the bird houses, the kitchen utensils, the door mats, humidifiers and garden ornaments. They understand that your toddler is a ticking time bomb, therefore questions and issues are dealt with promptly and expeditiously. The other thing I like about Strosneiders is they will try to fix whatever you have that is broken. I had one guy spend 20 minutes just swapping tiny little batteries in and out of a small music toy for me, to see why it wouldn't work. Since I'm already in Bethesda I often stop at the Spring Mill Bakery. The fresh-baked bread here is delicious. They offer samples of two or three kinds at once, but you must ask, you cannot help yourself, or you will be chastised. Remember Seinfeld's "No Soup For You"!  I can never justify buying a whole loaf of the warm fragrant yeasty treats, as I'm often a single mom during the week. I could imagine how, after a particularly grueling day of parenting, I could find myself hunkered under my dining room table, gnawing on the loaf like a wild beast. If I have any willpower I will walk out of the store but more often than not I indulge in a chewy often still warm oatmeal raisin cookie. Posted May 08 2008, 06:54 PM by districtmom with no comments [Edit Tags]

• Teeth and Claws - and general hygiene

  When The Bees got her first teeth she liked to try them out on the back of my hand, on my shoulder, on anything satisfyingly squishy (which is most of my body). She did not, thank god, test them on my breast. That said, we are locking horns in other ways. The latest issue is that she will not allow me to file or clip her razor-sharp talons. This means they continue to rake across her face causing scary looking scabs. Strangers look at her and say accusingly to me, 'what happened to her?!'   And on the subject of hygiene, she will also not allow me to approach her nose in any way. I can wipe her lips or her forehead. But if I attempt to touch her nose or even swipe just above her mouth with a cloth she starts to scream with rage and will buck me off violently. When a baby has a cold you're told to siphon their nose with a rubber bulb thing. After numerous noisy attempts late in the night, my husband crouched by my side in support, I decided to forget it- we have come to blows over this bulb (her little fists swatting my face). Other mothers say you have to just pin her down - I have tried, lord I have - but I am no match for this infant. There it is. The Bees' learned to wave overnight. For months we were all waving energetically at her, which looks a little silly when the child doesn't return the gesture. All of a sudden she decided she was interested in participating in this game. One morning she awoke at 6:30. I went in to find her on all fours in her crib. As I lifted her up she turned to face the shelves where her dolls and bears sit. And she waved madly. Still, it was still weeks before she'd wave to us mere humans. She is truly a match for me. She persists in saying 'Da Da'. And when I ask her to say 'Ma Ma' she narrows her eyes, chuckles and says 'Da Da'.  Lately she'll start complaining and I'll realize there is a stink in the air. I carry her to the changing table. I take off the diaper and in the blink of an eye she has flipped herself over and the hard brown ball has bounced out of her diaper and rolled onto the floor. Strapping her onto the table I then have to chase the ball out from underneath where it has rolled over to the wall. Where is DaDa when you need him. Posted May 07 2008, 01:27 PM by districtmom with no comments Filed under: babies, teeth [Edit Tags]

• Getting your child to speak - In any language

  When The Bees uttered her first real word we were so pleased and proud. It was "quack". Thankfully she was, in fact, mimicking me... mimicking a duck. Throughout our day together I do try to keep up a lucid banter in a normal speaking voice, but sometimes I do think I'm losing my mind... and it's not just the repeated animal sounds, nor is it the French language CD's I've got loaded in the car. "un BonBon, deux BonBons, trois BonBons". In an effort to entertain this child (and stave off boredom) I end up making up my own versions of songs.. "Rise and Shine and Give God Your Glory Glory" is a popular platform for all sorts of renditions…("Jump and clap 'cause your Mom is Crazy Crazy") We practice a little Spanish every day at Balducci's Sutton Place, where The Bees simultaneously browses the racks of greeting cards while mopping the floor with her dress. I stand to the side slurping down my coffee, watching her pluck cards from the rack. "Gato" (cat) and "Pero" (dog) are of particular interest though she hasn't actually said them yet. The nice lady at the prepared foods counter is enthusiastic about teaching Spanish to The Bees – she always offers a latke or a fingerling potato, and I'm pretty sure she's lobbying for a nanny job. But I do think it's important to have The Bees exposed to foreign languages at a young age, as I was (Arabic and French while we lived in Morocco, and then Japanese later). On Thursdays we take a Spanish class in Tenleytown. The communikids program offers classes for all ages in a variety of languages including French, Chinese, and Korean. The classes are held in a church, and it feels a little weathered and worn (I have flashbacks to my own kindergarden in Japan) but it's a cheerful place once class is in session. Raoul, an attractive energetic 30-ish guy, is endlessly patient and cheerful, a feat given the attention span of the students he has to work with. In any given class the kids go running off into the corners of the room to play with toys, seemingly ignoring the pleas of "Mira! Mira!". As Raoul explained it, "Kids this age are like water. They spill out to explore the edges of whatever space they are given". Class involves following the rituals of a day with the sun coming up, a song about the sun and moon falling in love, getting married and having a baby (a star?!). There are a few songs (I mouth and mumble but I join in raucously on the refrain "Muchas Gracias Te dada!"). And there are lessons about the 5 senses. The babies particularly love Taste, of course. I get a slight queasy feeling as I watch them all gumming the salt shaker or the sugar bowl and then passing it around. There is always a snack time when goldfish and water are served. The Bees is particularly noisy about getting her 'Pes' and her 'Agua'. The other mothers cast long mournful glances at me as if I don't feed her. We end the class with Raoul lying on the floor snoring under a parachute. To an outsider it might seem improbable, but I start yawning and yearn to lie down on the floor next to him to take a nap. Posted May 07 2008, 10:20 AM by districtmom with no comments Filed under: babies, language [Edit Tags]

• Flower Fair Monkey Flipping the Bird?!

  Last weekend The Bees and I got up and strolled down Lowell street for our daily coffee ritual at Balducci's Sutton Place. I love this routine as it gets us up, dressed and out, we see our friends, both employees and daily customers. The Bees likes to have her breakfast en route these days which means not only throwing a path of scraps behind her like Hansel and Gretel, but also decorating the floor of Balducci's with whole wheat bagel or mashed banana. She also enjoys grabbing the candy boxes and shaking them violently, much to the consternation of management (though why they display the candy almost down on the floor I do not understand). Recently when I was busy gabbing with other moms, she managed to open the wrapping of a fancy European chocolate bar. When I went to pay for it I was horrified to learn it cost $3.95. It was a great excuse to eat chocolate, but the taste did not match the price. Valerie, the barista, asked what we would do that day and I was flummoxed. I hadn't even thought about it. Just then my friend Virginia texted that the National Cathedral was having their annual flower festival that day. Saved. When the Bees awoke from her nap I armed us with drink, food, toys, diapers, wallet, keys, and sunhat and we headed out. We parked a few blocks away from the Cathedral and crossed Wisconsin. There were white tents everywhere hosted by garden clubs, jewelry designers, food vendors all selling their wares. Admission was free which was nice, so that families who just wanted to browse the stalls or picnic on the grassy slopes could do so. I noted the Flower Mart had not managed to protect their own plantings however – scores of the pretty blossoms surrounding the trees were already trampled down by the hoards of visitors. We stopped at the organ grinder to hear his lilting music and watch the mechanical parrots bobbing their heads. I was a little put off by the monkey which seemed to be giving us all the finger. But I think he was supposed to be beckoning children. Something about the scene reminded me of the child catcher from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang". The organ grinder approached The Bees with one of his parrots on his wrist- as he spoke, the parrot then repeated back (in a tinny, recorded mechanical voice). The Bees looked anxious and squirmed to escape. There were all sorts of amusements – a miniature ferris wheel, a spinning saucer ride, a bouncing castle, even a climbing wall -- but most appropriate for a toddler, they had a carousel. We got in line with our two tickets and chose the sleigh so The Bees could turn around and wave to the two little girls behind us. Children were wailing to be let off their horses before we'd even begun, but once the music started and the carousel lurched around we all settled in. I was enjoying the breeze on that hot day and, adopting that smug "Ha Ha we're doing something special" feeling, I couldn't help but wave gaily to everyone still standing in line. We parked the stroller under a tree, pulled out our snacks of pasta, banana … and before long The Bees started tripping about, visiting neighboring picnickers in the hopes of scoring something better to eat. Shamelessly I watched, hoping she'd bring back something good for me as well – a cookie, a doughnut. There were so many delicious things to eat at the fair but I remained strong, vowing to raid our own fridge once we got home. The flowers for sale were gorgeous, and well priced but I realized I had no way to carry them back while pushing the stroller (or more than likely, carrying The Bees on my hip and pushing the stroller. The vendors' stalls were colorful and inviting with jewelry, children's clothes, toys – all kinds of things you'd like to buy. Somehow though, the prices were less inviting – most things were just as high as in a boutique shop, and you felt that if you bought a jacket for your mother for $102 you would have little recourse for return or exchange should she not like it. We never made it into the Cathedral to see the floral displays. It was just too beautiful a day to go inside. But we'll go another time. My uncle Nol, a blacksmith in Virginia, forged a gate long ago that is somewhere in the Cathedral so we'll have to go back another day to find it. Posted May 06 2008, 07:55 AM by districtmom with 1 comment(s) Filed under: flower fair, national cathedral [Edit Tags]