DCUM Weblog

In the waiting room of my OB/Gyn's office, you have the choice between two piles of tattered magazines:  Working Mother or Martha Stewart Living.

I guess the message is if you're involved in babies emerging from your body, you fall into one mother camp or another.  You either have a briefcase and a breast pump, or jelly-stained jeans and a passion for decoupage.  Either read about flattering suits that travel well or how to transport 75 cupcakes while preserving their perfectly piped icing. 

It's enough to make a girl reach for the chlamydia brochure. 

Because many of us mothers don't know where we fit in - we're double agents.  Thanks to the wonderful world of telecommuting, many mothers can now call themselves Hybrid Moms (a term so handy that it serves as the name of a new magazine).  Hybrid mothers both work and care for their children during some part of the traditional work day. 

A holiday card is never just a holiday card, especially for those of us who send them out with the hastily scrawled greeting, “Oh dear God, is it February already?”

 No, the holiday cards that have been dropping into all of our mailboxes are much more than simple, heartfelt exchanges of good cheer. They’re commentaries on our families, secret glimpses into our private lives, and portals into our parenting styles.  Not to put any pressure on the cards that you would’ve already bought and stamped and addressed for 2011, if only you were as organized as all of your neighbors and friends.

 There are certain rules for holiday cards, things to be conveyed in a charming but unmistakably clear way. First off is that your kids, like those who inhabit Lake Wobegon, are all above average. The best way to showcase this without resorting to stealing the report card of the genius in their class and “accidentally” Xeroxing it into your cards, is to include a photo of your child holding aloft a chess trophy while his sibling modestly polishes his Student of the Year medal. If one of them happened to save a cat from a burning building and the Associated Press captured the moment, you could include that snapshot, too.

A disagreement between Republican legislators and President Obama over the firing of a federal inspector general has ensnared DC Public Schools Chancellor Michelle Rhee. According to a report issued by Senator Charles Grassley and Representative Darrell Issa, Rhee conducted "damage control" concerning charges that her now fiance Kevin Johnson had engaged in inappropriate sexual conduct with AmeriCorps volunteers. In addition, when Rhee learned of one allegation, she said she would make it her number one priority and take care of the situation.

The volunteers' charges were included in a criminal referral by Corporation for National & Community Service IG Gerald Walpin, but ultimately dropped as part of a deal between Johnson and the United States Attorney. Walpin was subsequently fired by Obama, an act that Republicans have charged was a political favor to Johnson.

Our mission: To survive two cross-country flights with three young children, plus a seven-night cruise with assorted in-laws. Clearly, the numbers were against us.

Carry-on items for airplane: Baby wipes, check.  Boarding passes, check. Nintendo DS with charged batteries (we’ll not make that mistake again, by God), check. Snacks, gum, sweatshirts for the chilly plane, change of clothes for the baby, People magazine to peruse during leisurely moments (hey, a woman can always dream… but when did my fantasies about Brad Pitt become fantasies of finding time to read about Brad Pitt?) – check, check, check. Tylenol for packing-induced migrane, check.

Happiest moment of trip: A young businessman looks up from his Wall Street Journal at our unruly mob -- haggard parents, wired children, and drooling baby -- and flees from our row with an expression most often seen in horror movies when young campers get a glimpse of Jason’s flashing knife. Fine, maybe I gave one of my kid’s ears the slightest motherly tug to spark a timely squabble (“Hey! He pulled my ear!” “No, I didn’t -- owww! He hit me!”) They’ll work out their differences in therapy twenty years from now – in the meantime, we got a coveted empty seat!  

This article was originally posted in the DCUM Forum thread "229 Teachers RIFed, see DC Wire for full story". It is being republished here with the permission of the author, who has chosen to remain anonymous.

Most of yesterday was a normal day for me, a third year special education teacher. I wake up at 5 am. After getting up, getting ready, and feeding my four month old baby, I check my DCPS email, respond to a question about a student, and enter grades from the day before. Everything I need to do online I do at home in the early morning, because I don't have internet access at school.

I take the metro to Anacostia and then walk the mile to the high school, arriving to work at 7:30. On the way in I see the assistant principal who tells me that there will be 10 students added to my caseload of 20 and I should consult with their general education teachers about their progress. I go to my classroom and prep. I set up learning stations for my group of diverse first period learners. Some will be doing a math activity, others a reading activity for the first 20 minutes of class. All teachers are then called to a meeting. We are told that DCPS has lost their contract with Hawk One Security, and therefore today there will be no security guards. All teachers will need to give up their planning periods to man the halls.

This weekend my husband and I celebrated our seven year wedding anniversary. Well, actually the anniversary occurred earlier this month, but amongst the craziness of our lives we postponed the date night celebration to this weekend.

I still feel like a married rookie in some ways. But when it comes to verbally communicating, Chris and I have definitely improved, and we've developed a sense of humor about those specific questions that require specific answers in a male/female relationship. After seven years of married life and nine years together, for many situations we have implemented a system not unlike a dance with choreographed steps.

I'm the last person who needs an excuse to spend more time on the computer.  When my kids want juice, my instinct is to say, "Put that request in an email, will  you?" I've bought everything from aspirin to diapers to shoes on-line (and yes, the shoes didn't fit, and no, I didn't get around to returning them, and please, don't tell my husband. I told him they didn't fit because my feet change size with every pregnancy).

But recently, I took the plunge and entered the great time-suck known as Facebook. I'm not sure why I did it, except all my high school friends were doing it, and I'm just hypocritical enough to tell my kids to stand up to peer pressure but crumble to it in a New York minute myself.

At first I felt addled and ancient. What was the big deal about this newfangled network all the young people were talking about? And why would I want to post a note on someone's "wall" - their Facebook page - when I could have a lengthy, personal, and pleasant talk with them by email? I had no time for this; there were ill-fitting shoes to be ordered.

Originally posted by "anonymous" in the thread titled "DCUM, it's not you, it's me":

I think there are several different types of posters on DCUM. Let's start with the noble nice guys. These people come on here with trepidation, generally do not post many questions, but mainly answer others. They are always nice, always helpful, and go out of their way to say things like "this may not apply to you" or "you've probably already thought of this approach, but have you considered..." They bend over backwards to give helpful advice in a way that doesn't sound overbearing. These people keep me coming back. 

Then there are the obvious trolls. These seem to be the work of one or two posters. Foreign-born former nanny is the standout here. She disagrees with everything just for the sake of being crotchety, typically insults Americans in general, tells us how we're worse than a "third world country", and then adds that she is sorry for our husbands or children. All with creative grammar, lots of ALL CAPS and free standing sentence fragments. 

What parent hasn’t heard these words? “Be an advocate for your child.”

But what does it really mean?

When my 6-year-old started first grade, I kept hearing those words over and over again from parents with children in the public school system.

“Be an advocate for your child.”

And I wondered…what did people really mean when they said that?

Now I know. And I’m here to tell you, this is what it means:

- Talk to your child about his day at school.
- Visit the classroom.
- Ask questions.
- Follow-up.
- If something doesn’t seem quite right to you, talk to the teacher. Talk to other parents. Talk to the principal. Talk to the PTA. Explore the formal complaint process in your school district.
- Follow your gut.

I lost 10 freaking pounds people.

It could be a little more, since I'm in the throes of the PMS bloat and last night scarfed the Peeps I'd bought early for the kids' Easter baskets. But it's real weight, not "bridesmaid dress" weight where you turn around two seconds after a good number on the scale and then THEY'RE BAAACKK like Poltergeist bloody 2 or something. It's wow, I really have to belt these jeans so I don't show butt crack weight. Or dude, I don't need Spanx with that cocktail dress after all weight. The best? Wow, I can't believe those pants still fit is that really my ass did I finally get back to that number? weight.