Raising DC by DC Mom

The Single Child: Cousins

districtmom — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 17:17:00 GMT

How much is birth order responsible for personality? I wonder this, as a middle child myself. The Bees will be an only child so this puts her first and ever foremost in her own family, which is not necessarily a good thing.

Her cousins however are, or will be, one of several. When Bees spends time with her cousins she gets to choose whether to play with the younger ones or the older ones, or both.

In North Carolina for Thanksgiving her cousin of just 4-1/2 months was there. Baby BG was just as sweet as can be, never crying, never fussing, just sucking on her hands and looking around the room from under long brown lashes. Bees was not much interested in "BeeBee" as she calls her cousin. She checked her out, audibly noted her mouth, her eyes, her nose. And then she moved on to her toys and to the little dog and to the attention of all her grown up relatives.

But when we returned to DC The Bees found her New York cousins M and H who are older. M is 6 years old, H is 9. Together they love to play with their cousin because she has finally achieved a fun stage, where she is not only running around, but talking in distinguishable words no less!

"She said "apple"", they shout. "She said "water"!" They note each new word and development, astonished.

So now they play together, chasing one another around the house, splashing in the bath, throwing a ball, sliding down a slide.

It's a world of difference for a child to have someone close to interact with. You can practically see the learning curve occurring. I wish I could give her a sibling but it's not to be. She'll have to make do with her cousins and of course her dog, Jemma. You can't overlook the power of the commands "fetch", "sit" and "stay".

Meltdowns and Mints at the Zoo

districtmom — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 17:13:00 GMT

Why does a trip to the zoo always necessitate a meltdown? It all starts nicely: we have breakfast, we stop in to see some friends at Balducci’s and we drive over to the National Zoo. The Bees remarks on seeing the bronze lions at the front gate, and she starts calling out for “CatCat”. We park, get her snapped into the stroller and start hiking up the hill. If we’re there by 10:00 we have a good chance at seeing the big cats and they oblige by stretching, flicking their long heavy tails, lazily stretching and even growling over the wall.

To leave the cat area I have a bit of a struggle getting her back into the stroller. Now that she’s 23 pounds I simply can’t carry her in one arm and push the stroller in the other. Especially since she’s got Dora in a vice grip and she’s not even trying to help by holding onto me with either arm.

We get to the gorilla house, always a rewarding destination. I feel an immediate sense of calm when I enter. The black creatures are meandering about, chewing on lettuce and onions, hanging in their beds, trundling through doorways. Bees waves and blows kisses. I look into their eyes wondering what they are thinking when they see us. I hope they are not sad or bored. I hope the rope swings and balls and fake trees are enough to make a life.

Somehow when it’s time to leave the gorilla house The Bees starts by running away from me. This is fun for about 2 minutes. Then she screams and kicks as I lift her. I check my watch and indeed, it’s after 11 and approaching nap time. She refuses to go in the stroller but she also refuses to walk. Outside she throws herself on the concrete and starts a fit. It’s a battle but I have to win this one. I wrangle her stiffened body onto the stroller and snap on the belts. It’s a noisy ride down to the parking lot.

The way to ensure a peaceful ride home so that I can make a few calls is to give her Altoids. Ever since she was one she’s been asking for this most powerful of mints. It eludes me – how is that her delicate palate can tolerate it, when I can barely stand to eat one?

All I know is, by the time we are home and I am rocking her to sleep she gives one sweet, minty kiss. Maybe I should pack them in the stroller for the next visit to the gorilla house.

Preschools: And Away We Go!

districtmom — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 17:54:00 GMT

We are in the throes of applications, interviews, and tours. It seems absurd; the Bees is not quite 20 months and we are wringing our hands over what school she will be attending next fall.

It seems that The Bees might be outgrowing our daily ritual of getting Mummy’s coffee, dry cleaners, book store, a zip through the zoo, a whirl around the playground, swinging legs at a café table lunch, charging through Safeway, tromping through the woods with the dog. Throughout the week we have sprinkled some classes: Spanish, Music, and Blue Igloo Playgroup. Even so, I find her calling out when we drive by groups of children, shrieking when we pass a playground, and as I’ve mentioned before, she loses her heart to a new nanny every week.

And she is ready. She needs to be around other children, to be under the tutelage of other grownups, to have a facility with plants, puzzles, play doh, a toy kitchen, bubbles and what have you.

Now, whether I’m ready to part company remains to be seen. What will I do with my 2-1/2 hours of free time? I have dreams of grandeur: a part-time marketing job, volunteering at a shelter, storming the capital to campaign on important issues. Even if I end up just sitting here at home alone, drinking too much coffee, typing away at my blog, I forge on, knowing this is a good thing for both of us.

The issues with preschool are proximity, facilities, financial and, frankly, cache. There are several schools nearby. Two of them are close but only offers a 2-day program for 2 year olds. 2 days is simply not enough for either of us. One school that I really liked in Georgetown disqualified us as The Bees was 14 hours too young. She would have to have been born by March 31^st, but she was born on April 1^st. I pleaded and cajoled, to no avail. They were polite but firm and encouraged us to apply for the following year.

There is one school that is twice the price of the others. Twice! Is a 2 year old really getting double the value at School B over school A? Who knows. I agonize over minor things like windows, fluorescent lighting, whether there is a pet animal in the classroom. They don’t have a foreign language class? Mon Dieu!

And the tours and interviews are "sans bebe". So you have to get a sitter, or beg your parents, so that you can go, tour the school and then sit down to hear what makes their 2-year old program better than any other.

My father commented that where she goes doesn’t really matter, that at this age she is really focused on things that are within three feet of her. Simple things like paper, water, trees, dolls, things that snap, zip, button and fold.

In the end of course, the choice is not mine to make. There are so many families with sibling priority, families with famous last names, families with connections (of all the DC people we know we are the least politically or socially connected I believe).

No matter where she goes there is one important thing these preschool teach that will apply to me: “You get what you get and you don’t get upset”.

Accessories Down the Drain

districtmom — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 20:02:00 GMT

Accessories are the bane of my existence. I must say I've wasted more money on The Bee’s accoutrements for hair, hand and foot. With girls especially, there is this need, either a socially-encouraged one or maybe from within, (a desire to dress up my own living doll). Let's be clear- I'm no Mrs. Benet Ramsey: we have yet to have professional pics and there will be no beauty contests.

Starting with those for hair, how many of these things have I bought only to have them drift off, ricochet into the sunset, or be ripped out by her own grubby little hands. There they go to the great graveyard of hair accessories. More elastics, bows, flowers, buttons, cats, sequins, felt... now dust in the wind.

And then there are shoes. I was so excited to find that Trumpette, the company that makes those cool socks that look like Mary Janes, also makes patent leather driving shoes that look like baby Tod’s. So I got them in hot pink in the smallest size available. When The Bees outgrew those I got another pair. She had worn them just once when, after tickling her on a sidewalk in Bethesda, I drove home to find, in horror, that one shoe was gone. It had been kicked off in the tickle frenzy.

It was worth a return trip to search the streets, but with no luck I am now certain it went straight down the Bethesda street storm drain, those yawning chasms that menace you whenever you park- inviting your keys, wallet, glove and shoes to tumble down into an abyss.

And now we're on to mittens. I bought three pairs when she was an infant. The first was just a fleece sack, and it slipped right off her paws. The second pair had a thumb and fit well but had no insulation so her paws were as frigid as if they had been out in the elements. The last pair was perfect: water-proof and warm, but she soon outgrew them.

Now I am in the market for a new pair: waterproof, windproof, and child-proof (she can't take them off). I can’t remember where I bought that last pair and I have been to 5 stores to no avail. And when I do find those mittens how do you get their thumbs in the right place and get the mitten to stay on? I have the clips to attach to their jacket. But please – how do they stay on those slippery little hands, frantically waving and grabbing and patting and picking and pulling everything in sight.

I just can’t bear to lose one more accessory right now. I have just purchased two tiny little holiday bow clips from Kidville. One is green with a glittery stone and one red. Let’s see if we can get through Thanksgiving with what we have. Just one week I pray.

3 Places To Shop for Quick and Easy Cooking

districtmom — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 18:07:00 GMT

My second favorite subject these days, after The Bees, is food. Since CB travels every week I frequently eat alone at home so nothing makes me happier than discovering a new take-out item or something easy to cook at home.

I think I’ve mentioned that I food shop at three stores: Safeway on Sangamore, Whole Foods in Glover Park and Trader Joe’s in Bethesda. I like to say I get my staples at Safeway but there are really two reasons why I go there: Skinny Cows and Steamfresh veggies. Skinny Cows keep you from ordering dessert. They are fudgey and satisfying, especially if you eat two. I've eaten so many that I've definitely earned the second part of the name. Steamfresh veggies are frozen bags. They microwave in 4 minutes and are crisp and delicious. I drizzle some olive oil or soy sauce on mine (which defeats the purpose) and I can eat an entire bag in one serving. At Safeway I can also pick up organic ground beef and chicken for the Bees. It’s too late for me – I continue to sully my body with toxins and artificial everything, but we have only highest organic hopes for her.

At Whole Foods I get my ready-made soups. Every fall I turn to soups again, hoping to stave off those old holiday pounds lurking around the corner. Full and warm I am only truly satisfied if I end with a Spanish manchego cheese or a creamy French goat log. The cheeses at this store are amazing. Ask for Thistle Hill Tarentaise, an aged, rinded cheese similar to a mountain gruyere. My brother John makes it up in Vermont. While shopping at “Whole Paycheck” I pick up three or four boxes of organic Elmo meals for The Bees (an inoffensive combo of pasta with steamed veggies). Believe me, the brand comes in handy: giving her the box alone buys you 20 minutes of solitude). On my recent trip to Boston I was introduced to American Flatbread found in the freezer section. This pizza is my new favorite thing. It’s a thin crust, with delicious toppings of mozzarella, tomatoes and herbs. If you are as picky as I am about pizza then you must try this. It comes in single servings (perfect for the lonely, part-time, single mom).

Finally at Trader Joe’s in Bethesda I find individually wrapped frozen cutlets of fish and pork (convenient to cook for the Bees), as well as turkey meatballs and a few prepared meals for myself.

As I'm reading this it all sounds quite healthy (but for the cheese). Of course, I don’t mention the peanut butter cookies I might pick up under the auspices of doing something nice for my husband. Or the one or two samples of brownie bites, or the occasional piece of chocolate here and there. Never mind. The Bees still loves me, holiday pounds and all.

Excuses, and Hiding Behind Your Kid

districtmom — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 14:20:00 GMT

So now that we have one we're part of this club. This exclusive group which, when we were single and/or had no child we had no interest in joining anyway. But here we are, and here comes the wave of holidays again, the parties, the family gatherings, the this, the that. And I can see how you can use your kid as an excuse.

When we go shopping why do I use my child as an excuse to talk out loud, to hear my own voice (and how that used to enrage me B.K. (before kid). And refer to myself in the third person in that irritating way, as in "Give it to Mummy".

But I do use her as an excuse, and not just to get out of doing the dishes, or cooking a meal. Having a kid is a nifty way to leave a soiree early, to arrive late, or to beg out completely. It's also a convenient means of making conversation especially if you're somewhat at a loss. I am also relieved to have an excuse to not talk about work all the time. Maybe that's because I myself am not working. I’ll talk another time about the tug-of-war between envy and guilt about staying at home.

When we’re out at a cocktail party I do usually ask about other people's children. But when parents start talking about how their kid did the funniest thing the other day my eyes just glaze over and I sort of space out and think about what is on that serving tray that was just whisked by my nose. And also who is that woman over there and how dare she have cuter shoes.

Sometimes I do wonder whether I'm hiding behind my child.

Do I blame it on The Bees so that I can escape chaotic gatherings? Sometimes I run out of a room at the first cry (hers, not mine) so I can sit in a rocking chair in the dark, her head heavy on my shoulder, listening to her breathe. If I’m not in a fit of pique missing out on the conversation downstairs, and if it’s not the 14 time that night that I’ve consoled her, then I think about all the centuries of mothers who have done that very thing. Sometimes (indulge me here) I even think of the mothers back in the 1800's riding the covered wagons crossing the vast expanse of our country, praying against assault of man, weapon, disease or famine. And I think of these women holding their wailing children, willing them to sleep, the wagon lurching and creaking along through the night.

Is Your Toddler Speaking English Yet?

districtmom — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 00:24:00 GMT

No parent likes to admit her child is behind developmentally. While I’ve spent months crowing about The Bees’ physical agility I have been noticeably subdued on the topic of speaking. It's not that she hasn't been talking. Vying for airtime with her parents, her observations become louder and more urgent, but it's nothing you mere mortals would understand. But after months of little to no progress in the English language department we seem to have made a breakthrough. All of a sudden, in this 19th month, The Bees has decided to throw us a few bones. In fact, this week alone we got “shoes”, “blow”, “flower”, “freeze”, and “soup”. And of course CB and I beam across at each other, each jockeying for a crumb of credit.

As we approach the holidays (and the prospect of larger family audiences) I imagine the language tumbling out of her. Let’s not discuss the little girl at the Palisades Library story time, who was uttering full sentences at 16 months. “I want to read a book now”, she said to her caretaker in a tiny sing-song voice. I smiled through gritted teeth as I congratulated the proud nanny. Meanwhile Bees was in my lap, turning around to say one of the 9 words in her repertoire: “Mama”. Somehow it made it worse knowing that these two girls had started out on the same level back when they were 3 months old at Jonah’s Treehouse.

Of course The Bees’ favorite word right now is “No”. Actually it’s with emphasis, like “Nyoh!”. Tired of this response to his every plea for affection, CB is dying for her to say “yes”. I’d like to hear that magic word “please” for once. But of course it stands to reason - she knows we want it too much.

And I guess I have to wait until Christmas 2009 before I hear, “You are simply the Best Mummy in the whole wide world”.

"There's Been an Accident"

districtmom — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 17:50:00 GMT

We all wonder how we will react when our child is hurt. Yesterday CB took The Bees to pick up coffee at Balducci’s. When they hadn’t returned after 30 minutes I had a gnawing troubled feeling. What if they were in an accident, I thought. Would he take her straight to the hospital? Would he bring her home first. When would I get the call?

I was halfway up the stairs to shower when CB came up the walk with a weird look on his face. Carrying The Bees into the house he said those dreaded words, “There’s been an accident.” “What accident! What happened!” as I ran back down. Her face was covered in blood. She stared at me, and I knew I could not alarm her.

“Okay, Okay”, I said in a steady voice, as I carried her quickly to the bathroom. CB was explaining that a woman at the playground had given The Bees an unwelcome push down a big curved slide and she had flipped over onto her face. "And she didn't even apologize" he said, "even though I told her Bees was bleeding".

I splashed cold water on her face so I could see where the blood was coming from. It was her mouth. I laid her down on her back, and used my pinkies gently to get a good look. Maybe she had cut her tongue. Lost a tooth? She had cut the inside of her lip and her top gum. Both lips were very swollen but the bleeding was slowing down. I breathed.

Poor CB kept saying over and over “I’m so sorry Bees. I’m so sorry”, even though it wasn’t really his fault. She was crying and I just repeated “It’s okay, It’s okay”. I carried her to the freezer where we keep “Boo Boo Bunny”, a small blue rabbit that holds a freezer cube. I grabbed that and a chocolate Skinny Cow popsicle, and soon she was sniffling, alternating first one then the other into her stuffed pillow of a mouth.

She spent the rest of the day with a particularly petulant look about her. It did change her face and I wondered if other parents at the National Building Museum noticed that she didn’t look much like either of her parents. By late afternoon the swelling had subsided a bit, and by dinner she was happily munching on fries and veggies.

We went back to the playground this morning, and she pointed at the wretched slide. I took her in my arms and onto my lap and we slid down the thing together. It was too steep and too fast for her, so now we know.

And now I know how I will act when there’s been an accident.

10 Things You Do With Your Kid, Post Election

districtmom — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 19:41:00 GMT

1) Dress her in celebratory blue the day after your candidate wins

2) Pump her little arms in the air several times throughout the day shouting “Yesss!”

3) Buy cookies for her, and help her eat them with great exuberance

4) Spend lots of time looking wonderingly up at the sky and the trees (while others in your family look grimly down at the ground and at the leaves)

5) Show her pictures of her new role models: the black white house girls

6) Wave and honk your horn at the mailman

7) Take the “I Voted” sticker and paste it into her baby book with a note that she participated in a most historical event.

8) Avoid whooping and beaming while your Republican husband is home

9) Go to the toy store and do some serious wallet damage

10) Feel truly, for the first time since she was born at 2:08 pm April 1^st, 2007, a semblance of real hope for her world.

Bi-Partisan Kid: Who Gives me the Most Cookies

districtmom — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 18:56:00 GMT

Shortly after The Bees was born a friend sent us a onesie depicting a half-elephant, half-donkey, that reads “Bi-Partisan Kid”. She wore it a few times, but after the primaries I pushed the shirt to the back of the drawer, believing in my heart that she’s a good liberal just like her Mom. Of course CB believes that she is a good Republican just like her Dad.

So this morning, on Election Day, The Bees went to the polls, twice. At 6:00am CB got up and gave The Bees some oatmeal. At 6:30 he carried her to the polling station around the corner at the Horace Mann School. They stood in a long line outside the playground for 55 minutes, at which time it was announced that names ending in S through Z could go straight in to vote. Our name ends in B so they had to wait. And wait and wait. The Bees clutched her Dora doll, pointed out airplanes and bestowed many kisses and hugs on her Dad. I'll bet he was whispering "Go McCain!" into her ear.

When they finally got inside the tiny voting room was a madhouse with no one in charge, and three different stations with confusing signs. People started arguing with each other and CB left without voting, utterly frustrated. "I think I was the only Republican there" he grumped.

By 11am the place was deserted but for a few local DC councilpersons and a shepherd puppy. I loaded the Bees into her stroller with her dolly and the dolly’s bottle. We strolled into a room with about 20 people in various lines. I opted to vote electronically thinking that the pencil and paper would be too much of a temptation for the Bees to draw. The electronic version was more confusing than I expected, and The Bees was reaching for the screen and kvetching, but we still got out within 10 minutes.

Outside we smelled waffles cooking and saw a tent laden with home baked goods, the proceeds benefitting the school. “Mmmmm, cook-cook!” the Bees clamored. I’m easily persuaded to buy (and eat) cookies for a cause, so I picked out five and we both chomped away happily. “Yay Obama!” I murmured into her ear.

At noon CB came back home to vote and we rewarded him with peanut butter cookies and some TLC. Needless to say, we will not be watching the results together tonight. He plans to drink away his sorrows downtown while I sit at home, The Bees on my lap, cheering away.

Childhood Memories on Halloween

districtmom — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 17:54:00 GMT

We spent Halloween in Boston this year, in a small suburb called Wayland. When I was 8 years old we moved to the town next door, Lincoln, for 2-1/2 years. My mother was working on the ’76 Boston bicentennial celebration. Being in that area in the fall brought back vivid memories of biking alone down rural roads to see friends, of trick or treating in frigid nights, of apple picking, hot cider and haunted houses. Although the Bees was sick with a cold, (and tortured me with no more than 2 hours sleep each night) she was thrilled to have three little girls in residence and she readily crawled into their laps for a cuddle.

We lucked out with the weather – it was sunny and warm so we enjoyed an afternoon at the playground and Saturday morning at Drumlin farm, where the kids patted sheep, mules and goats, and enjoyed surveying the animals from a hay wagon. The Bees was astonished to see real roosters and she plopped herself outside the coop, egging them on (ouch) with crows of her own. Beautiful red, orange and yellow leaves surrounded us and crisp brown ones crunched underfoot.

For Halloween The Bees still refused to put on her black cat costume but she was perfectly happy to wear the Bumble Bee one again from last year. We took the kids trick or treating and Bees, youngest by far, caught on right away. With her small felt pumpkin sack over her wrist she tottered from house to house, going right up to the front door chattering away, and picking out her one piece of candy from the proffered bowl.

Back indoors I let her spread out her modest loot and watched her eat a few M&M's and a few Skittles. High on her first real dose of sugar she giggled, drooled and shrieked, and never sat still enough for a picture. The next day I ate two pieces myself, and then three more last night to finish it off. (I rationalize it as being for her own good).

If only the end of the weekend had been as sweet -- the Bees was so sick that the flight home was excruciating. Big fat tears rolling down her face as she just howled, clutching her ears. It was awful, and made me wish I had given her a dose of that “bad medicine”, the one taken off the shelves, to assuage her pain.

Though neither one of us slept much we both had a great time celebrating fall in New England.

Get That Costume On This Minute!

districtmom — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 18:25:00 GMT

I have been thinking about Halloween. Normally this happens around the first of October, when I catch the first glimpse of candy corn and I begin to strategize how to get some of it without eating an entire bag at home.

This year I’m less concerned with sweets, knowing full well that there will be a large cauldron of it where we are going, and that everyone will be so distracted that they won’t notice my grown up hands sneaking wrappers into my pockets.

Right now I’m thinking about Halloween costumes in particular. When this festival first started in the 16th century, the Celtics were celebrating the end of their harvest season, and believed that wearing costumes would scare away the devils and the dead, thereby protecting their crops and livestock. It was an adult tradition.

These days costumes are worn mostly by children, though some grownups (myself included) still relish the opportunity to disguise themselves, for just one night, as someone or something else, preferably macabre.

The Halloween industry is a racket and they’re making costumes for younger and younger children. You can find thousands of toddler outfits, as well as infant outfits and even costumes for babies in utero (the ubiquitous maternity pumpkin, for starters).

Last year we thought we were very clever for finding a beautiful bumblebee costume for The Bees. We popped it on her the first day of October and she wore it for weeks, bouncing wings and waving her antennae at everyone.

This year since the Bees is obsessed with felines I thought a black cat costume would be an appropriate garb for All Hallows Eve. I found the perfect one- it’s solid black, fuzzy, has a long tail, a hood with ears. Fetching. It arrived a few weeks ago, she took one look and just shook her head. As the big day looms I have been trying to put it on her, and I get as far as her legs before she is flailing and screaming. She pulls at the neckline and turns to me wailing to take it off. The hood has yet to grace her head.

So here it is Halloween tomorrow, we are off to Boston to trick or treat at a big block party in Wayland with scores of other children and she is refusing to put on her costume. Why do I feel like a failure. Why is it important. Is it because these kids look so cute? Is it a non-negotiable tradition like leaving a note for Santa or hunting for Easter eggs? If she is only 19 months and will have no memory of this occasion does it matter that she wear a costume this year? Does it matter if she ever wears a costume again.

Somehow I feel with conviction that it is. I envision myself the lone forlorn parent off to the side, her child dressed as an ordinary child, wearing just a parka and pants on Halloween. Sad faces searching mine. And why would anyone give her candy if she hasn’t dressed up.

No, I can’t allow it. I am already scheming of ways I can distract her with tv or bribe her with a lollipop so I can get that wretched itchy black nylon thing onto her squirming little body. I want to hear the appreciative noises from other parents even if it means howls and rages from my child.

Childless in Manhattan

districtmom — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 17:07:00 GMT

I have just returned from my first weekend away from The Bees. Contrary to my expectations, I did not weep upon takeoff, I did not rail my fists on the floor upon arrival, I did not despair in loneliness and rush for the Doubletree hotel door. It was really a lovely time, and though I checked in frequently by phone I had no trouble enjoying the freedom of being childless in Manhattan.

We drank multiple cocktails, ate enormous bistro meals, cackled at the drag queens, and scampered around Soho. We were dutiful tourists watching an enormous crane hoist a prefab penthouse onto its perch. We ran into fashion houses and tried on clothes we couldn’t afford. We took in a hilarious play (“Boeing Boeing”), admiring the 60’s stewardess costumes and talked about copying them.

On Sunday we walked and walked up Fifth, down Madison, raced around the Metropolitan Museum, and fortified ourselves with a hearty brunch afterwards. The afternoon sun blazed down upon us and sitting on a bench in Central Park, under falling leaves, facing the lake, I remembered what it was like to live there.

It was a wonderful weekend, a joy to see old friends, and a good respite from full time motherhood.

Best of all, my husband CB did not complain about his sleepless nights with the Bees. He even offered to do it again sometime.

Leaving Your Child

districtmom — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 12:40:00 GMT

I'm doing it.

I'm leaving my child. I will be far, far away, sipping a cocktail, dining until late, sleeping in, browsing shops at my own pace, seeing a few exhibits, even taking in a show! I am going to a family town, the best one on the East Coast, a place that has everything to offer a child – toys, music, zoos, museums, lights, rides -- and I am leaving my child behind.

It's time. It has been 18 months (and 23 days) that I have been with The Bees. I need a break, and she needs to bond with her daddy who loves her so much that it hurts.

I'm heading back to my home town, my stomping grounds when I was young. My old haunts, now replaced by new, swanky, newsworthy places, much too cool for Old Mum.

I will walk blocks and blocks until I’ve worn down the soles of my patent leather tortoise shell clogs. I will bounce and dance until my creaky knees are sore. I will talk and laugh until my throat is hoarse. I will sift through racks and piles of clothes until my eyes glaze over.

I am meeting two of my dearest friends in the world. It's "Girls Weekend", but they're boys. We’ve going to have a blast.

And I will miss my baby fiercely.

Does Your Child Watch Television?

districtmom — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 18:01:00 GMT

I was one of those mothers who insisted my child would never watch television before the age of 6, when she could take in the series of “The Tudors” or “I Claudius”, or if she were very good, maybe a performance of “The Three Tenors at Carnegie Hall”. I was sure TV would numb her senses, zap her of her love of books, and poison her little brain with the toxins of material desire.

When The Bees first discovered the cartoon character Dora in a bookstore, she would shriek every time she spied that familiar helmet of brown hair and the pink shirt with purple backpack. When she was just a year and starting her worst fits my husband discovered the loveable character on tv and ever since then we rely on good old “Dora” for a panacea of ills, whether it’s a tantrum, sleepiness, hunger, teething or general malaise.

CB is a softy and whenever The Bees looks up at him asking for “Dah?” and pointing to the TV room he has a hard time resisting her. Seeing The Bees curled up in a chair, the blue light flickering on her face, her brow softening, her eyes brightening and her mouth turning up I sigh and turn back to preparing her dinner. I’ve now backed myself into a corner where I feebly mandate “no commercials”, and “TV no more than once a day”.

With our recent school applications (and parent-only school tours) I’ve had to ask my parents to watch The Bees for an hour or two here and there. Even my father, a scholarly type, weary from his babysitting duties, has extolled the virtues of the cartoon network, noting that it occupies The Bees for more than 3 seconds at a time.

And when I need to get something done, get a load of laundry in, finish an article, write out some checks, make a phone call, I know I can get a good 4 or 5 minutes to myself by simply turning on the enticing, enthralling, noisy, wretched box.

So, in the end, maybe television isn't such a bad thing after all.