Urban Mama

Sleepaway Newbies

This is my daughter looking sweaty. This is not my daughter's bed. It's her very first overnight camp bed, and I have to admit I was more nervous than she at drop off yesterday. We may or may not have been one of the last parents off the lot (hey, we had TWO kids to settle in, since her older brother is also at camp). I know she's going to have an amazing time and will regale me with endless stories when we pick her up on Saturday, but part of me can't believe she's a) old enough to go to camp and b) brave enough to have asked to go (we were just going to send big brother and have her join the little brother at Grandparent Camp aka Noodle Camp). I hope they both make great friends and lifelong memories.

 

 

As for me, I'm spending my very first day kidless and fancy free... babysitting for my bestie's boys for a few hours. Does that sound ridiculous? Probably, but we all do crazy things for our closest firends.

My Daughter and her Theory on Race

My 6-year-old daughter, aka the Schmoopette, is about to join a brand-new Daisy Troop at her elementary school. In it will be several of her closest friends in the world (we mothers were pretty much commanded by our kindergartners to enroll them -- and it's hard to fight a pack of pleading five-and-six-year-old girls). Those friends (thanks to us living in a diverse suburb of the nation's capital) are everything from traditionally biracial to half-Jewish, half-German, white Mormon to black adopted by white parents, to name just a few of the girls.

While I think how wonderful it is that we can still find a culturally heterogeneous community outside of New York -- where our oldest son's preschool class was once completely multicultural except for two white kids who had gay parents -- what I think is even more wonderful is that my daughter doesn't really "see" the diversity the same way.

She has no idea that our decision to move to this neighborhood instead of the smallest house in a tonier neighborhood with the best high-schools in the State was motivated by our desire to make sure our kids didn't go to schools -- even fantastic ones -- that were 80 or 90-percent white and Jewish. She just has friends, period. Despite knowing about adoption, she didn't even realize her good friend was adopted, despite the fact her friend is black and both her parents are white. She said to me one day late last year, "I just thought they didn't match on the outside, the way you and Daddy don't match but still belong together," so I told her, "That's right, we match on the inside."

And that's how we've come to think about race. People may not look like they "belong together." I may always get asked where I "got" my kids from (they all look tremendously alike, but our oldest looks more Filipino, our daughter Polynesian, and our baby Chinese), and they will have friends who ask them sweetly and possibly one day not-so-sweetly, "What are you?" But that's OK, because my daughter has learned, without me even having to really teach her, that it's who you are, who you love, what people you "belong to" on the inside that counts.

New Job, New Budget, New Family Life

Thank you to TurboTax for sponsoring my writing about household finances.Learn more about how TurboTax can help you find every tax deduction you deserve. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.

My husband and I are not financial wizards. Unlike some of our good friends we don't have MBAs from Ivy League business schools, could never take up professional accounting as mid-career shifts, and aren't well-versed in whatever famous financial advisers like Suze Orman or Dave Ramsay or whoever that Rich Dad/Poor Dad guy is suggest. Our parents were no help -- mine being a doctor's widow who was forced to enter the workforce for the first time at 38, and his being Chinese-Vietnamese immigrants who lost their fortunes during the Vietnam War only to find themselves taking clerical jobs at a major insurance company for 30 years.

As a consequence of being firmly humanities-based individuals without financially savvy parents, we've always struggled with figuring out the best way to handle our finances. In our 16-year relationship & 10 year marriage, we've gone from broke undergraduates to well-paid media professionals to nearly broke newlyweds (my husband went to law school while I "supported" us on a $47,000 a-year job) to a very-well-paid attorney and online content editor.

But we're no longer what I would call "very well paid." My husband left his private-firm career for a government job that's an amazing opportunity and a perfect fit for his interests and skills, but a 30%-plus pay cut from BigLaw. To make the new (awesome) opportunity work, we made several decisions about our spending habits to lessen the blow of our new take-home income:

• Cook more/eat out less. As New York City ex-pats to DC, we were used to picking up the phone for food delivery, but since the options are limited here to pizza and Chinese, we -- and by we, I mean *I* -- often bought take out during the week. I have to admit that there were many weeks we ate "bought" food up to four times a week. Now we plan out menus, do a big shop at the grocery store, and eat in every week-night, unless there's some exception, like a birthday or school fundraiser or the like.
• Have Communal Meals on Weekends: Instead of going to restaurants at least three times a weekend, we now go to friends' houses or have people over for dinner or brunch. It feels like eating out, because we're socializing, and our friends cook for us/help us cook, and it's much, much, much more affordable. Since most of our friends have kids, we just feed them separately, let the little ones run around, and have our own grown-up dinner at the table. We've also had bagels & newspapers brunch with close friends, which is a fun throwback to our New York days.
• Borrow, Borrow, Borrow: Instead of spending on new books, we've been visiting the library every week. Instead of buying new stuff for our kids, we ask friends if they have hand-me-downs. Instead of
• Checks & Balances: We now check with each other about making purchases. We used to only check in with each other about big splurges, but now we talk about even small purchases just to make sure we both agree it's something we should get. We don't do this in an oppressive way, but it did take some adjustment from automatically buying every little kitchen gadget or clothing accessory to discussing it beforehand.
• Check THE Balances: It seems obvious, but we now pay a lot more attention to our daily spending, our bank balance, how much we're shuffling to our savings accounts.

It's like on Weight Watchers, when I write down everything I eat. You only know how much you spend when you account for everything you buy! This is our financial "diet," and we're already seeing results.

 

 

 

 

Thankful For...

I'm so late with this, but I think it's important to stop and count blessings. Even though Thanksgiving weekend is long gone, here are five quick reasons I'm thankful right this minute.

1. Everyone in my family -- nuclear and extended to my siblings and their kids -- has everything they *need.* We love each other unconditionally (not something everyone experiences, sadly) and are always there to lend support or encouragement. I have an amazing husband who loves to cook (score!) and lovely, bright, hilarious children, nieces and nephews. And my siblings. I couldn't function without them. They're my three rocks, keeping me buouyed to my past. Their spouses deserve awards for putting up with the rest of us.


2. I have a sweet tribe of friends here who aren't related to me but feel like an extension of my family. I'm thank for The Commune of Dave, Jen, their kids and neighbors who let us stop by literally whenever we need our spirits lifted; our pre-DC friends Mike and Tori and their boys who whisk us away on daytrips and weeklong vacations; my online-turned-real-life kindred spirit Wife and Mommy and her adorable husband and kids; Our favorite Anglo-American clan headed by Mica and Ben, who just had a baby this Thanksgiving weekend; and my go-to mom pal Kirstin who meets me every week for coffee and a playdate -- to name a few people who make life here in the suburbs livable.


3. I have nutured friendships with my local group of bloggers who amaze and inspire me with their words and deeds every day. They know who they are. I've been to conferences with them (where I've slept with a couple of them, ha ha!), met them at events, movies, lunches, brunches, and pow wows. I feel lucky to be one of The DC-area Moms Who Blog.


4. I have a fun job I never tire of, even when my editor Betsy assigns me a crap movie or I'm six DVD reviews behind or can't think of one more Hollywood red-head, I can't complain. I get paid to write about movies and TV and pop-culture, which was always my dream. So thanks to my friends at Common Sense Media, Moviefone, TV Squad and Variety for throwing work my way.


5.  We finally heard from the "Lottery Commission," and it looks like things are a go. This situation has caused us a lot of grief for the past four months, and it looks (fingers crossed) like it's finally resolved, and for the positive.

 

A Letter to My Mother Two Years After Her Death

Dear Mami,

You died two years ago today. All of us thought you would want to hold on until Louis and I got down to Florida that Saturday, but that Thursday morning you had had enough of the pain and staring in Diana's direction, you quietly bid us all farewell one last time.

Today I remember when you told me that you felt naked without earrings. I thought it was bizarre, and slightly vain, but today I'll wear earrings -- the ones you lent me on my wedding day -- in your memory. I'm not sure platinum and diamond earrings go with what I'm wearing this morning, but later tonight we're going to dinner and a play, and in any case, I wanted to honor you today.

You would have turned 69 ten days ago, and on the 22nd I imagined what a fun year this would have been for you. You would have joked about your friends being 70 already and how "young" you looked for 69, because you always, always looked younger than you were -- a trait only Louis seems to have inherited, despite all of his grey hair.

Speaking of grey hair, I started coloring mine in earnest this year after hearing your voice in my ear about my premature grey (thanks to Papi's genes) making me look older, even if my face does not. I still think it's unfair that Louis and Jorge get to grey gracefully while Diana and I spend a not insignificant amount on dye jobs every couple of months. But seeing as double standards never bothered you much, I think you'd be pleased.

I still don't wear make-up every single day, but your granddaughter insists I at least put on lipgloss. Yes, my nearly six-year-old is invested in whether I put on lipgloss, I imagine, because she hopes I'll let her put some on too after I'm done. She's so much like you that I don't know whether to laugh or cry at the similarities. She's my fierce little beauty -- so opinionated and funny and sweet but also infuriating and ridiculously fascinated with beauty and fashion. She refuses to wear trousers, even jeans, unless I force her to because of the weather. And then she must carefully select every other part of her outfit. Who is this child? I sometimes wonder, and then I answer myself -- she just like you.

My firstborn is still a gentle, caring boy with a loud voice and a magnetic personality. I remember the when he told you, at barely four years old, that she wanted to be a doctor when he grew up so he could take care of you and make you better. I told a friend that story recently, and she said it was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard. I miss the smile he could bring to your face and how happy he would be to see you. He still talks about how "great" you were and how much he misses you. He even took a photo of you into his third-grade class as part of his "me bag" that contained artifacts about his life. He's sensitive, like I was, and when I'm sad, he comes over, hugs me, and says "I miss Abuela too, Mama." He always knows. 

And then there's the baby. He is such a mellow and kind toddler. It's impossible to be at upset at him. He is so devoted to all of us, and we all feel so blessed that he was born against all the odds. He's the apple of our eye, making each of us a better parent or sibling. We adore him, and we know you would have too. I pass your pictures and say, "That's Abuela, she was my Mami" and lately he has begun to say, "Your Mami, Mommy" when I point at your face. 

And those are just my three. You wouldn't believe how big and beautiful and talented the older grandkids all are, or how hilariously entertaining little Bella is. Whenever one of the kids does something noteworthy, Diana and I commiserate at how proud you would have been, how happy you always were with your grandbabies.

Missing you can be an inconvenient burden, I'll admit. I'll see a grandmother ushering around her grandchildren in a mall, and I'll all of a sudden feel overwhelmed, paralyzed with grief. I could barely stand to be at my mother-in-law's 70th birthday dinner this past March, because I was so angry and hurt you'd never see yours. The unfairness of it all struck me like a hot arrow, poisoning me with those unpleasant twin feelings of jealousy and sorrow. I'm jealous of my husband, who has two septuagenarian, healthy parents, when I have none. I'm sad that my mother-in-law gets to enjoy the children, when you no longer can't.

But I also feel remarkably lucky. Not everyone has such a close relationship with their mother. You knew all four of us, you could see into our hearts, see what made us special, see who we really were, when so many others put on acts to please their parents. You were real to us too. You weren't some saintly, flawless martyr. You had your flaws and they made you human. I learned from your failures as much as I learned from your strengths. I marvel at your ability to have meaningful, life-long friendships, and I pray I can be as good of a sister, friend, and mother as you were to the very end.

I miss you every day, but that's a good thing, right? It means you're a part of me, no matter how long it's been since you died.

Grief Is an Ever Present But Welcome Burden

I still think of Mami every day. Most of the time I hear her voice in my head, prompting me to wear earrings, put on make up (por favor, Sandra Patricia!), cut the kids some slack. I usually sigh and smile a secret smile even my husband can't decipher. But sometimes I miss my mother so much it hurts -- literally. I feel my chest constrict and my hands begin to shake. My eyes blur over instantly with tears I didn't even know I was forming.

I needed information about her to fill out an important document. I couldn't remember, nor could any of my siblings, the exact date she became an American citizen. I couldn't recall the exact year when we had the party, with all the little American flags strewn about the house. Anyone else I could've asked is dead, I told my older sister, who was wracking her brain trying to narrow down the year for me. Our grandmother. Our two beloved aunts. Gone.

I wish I could ring you, Mami, on that ridiculously old and overused black cell phone. You'd know. You'd laugh your infectious laugh, and talk about that day and why you finally decided to become a citizen. You'd marvel at the reason why I need the information. You'd tell me how proud you are of us, making choices that aren't easy but are nonetheless right.

I miss you, Mami. Your two oldest grandsons turned 14 and 13 this week. They're funny and handsome and smart and good to their mamas. I wish so much you could have called Nicholas today. I still remember he was the last grandchild you gave a birthday call to -- just two months and change before you died. We all called him from Diana's house, and you made a point of talking to him alone, even though you were exhausted. And I knew then. You weren't long for this life, but dammit you were going to suck it up and wish your grandson a happy 12th birthday!

Grief is like carrying a stone-filled pack. Every day you get rid of one, and your burden becomes lighter. There's an infinite number of stones, though, and you feel them, even when there are fewer and fewer weighing you down. It's heavy, and at first it's debilitating. But the truth is that even just one pebble can overwhelm you, stop you mid-thought, mid-step and leave you a crumbled mess on the floor.

All I can do is keep walking. All I know is that deep down, I never want to stop feeling it in some way.

Eight-Year-Old Boys

My son turned 8 years old Feb. 3rd, and I'm still getting my head around it. In a couple of years he'll be a tween. He's closer to adolescence than infancy. He's a sweet child who loves his baby brother, tolerates his younger sister much more than we expected, and still likes to cuddle with his parents.

The week of his birthday, E and I went to see "Percy Jackson" in our continuing effort to "read it, then see it." As we left the parking lot and walked toward the theater, he held my hand, looked up at me, and said "I love you Mama."

I don't know how much longer boys (or kids in general) do that -- hold hands with their moms and proclaim their love in public -- so I consciously savored the moment and decided 8 was off to a great, great start.

Surviving A Solo Roadtrip With Kids

Every now and then I like to surprise people by doing something completely uncharacteristic. Before I started at Columbia, I went on a pre-orientation program that involved backpacking in the Catskills. I had never so much as climbed a wheelchair ramp before that, but I did it (not that it was easy). Over the holiday break, I did something similar when I decided that I would drive back home to Maryland from my sister's in Plant City, Florida.

See, my husband and I both drove down with the kids, but he had to return the day after we arrived to prepare for an important case. He wasn't sure he could come back down to drive back with me, so I either had to suck it up and do it myself or wait until he or my brother or brother-in-law could drive with me. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I could do it, but only if I broke up the nearly 15 hour drive into more manageable chunks.

After a nauseating number of conversations with my husband (who has done 90% of the driving on all our previous roadtrips) and siblings (brother Jorge and brother-in-law Larry are experts, having driven long stretches since they were 16, my sister Diana has had to do her share driving with Larry from Texas to the East Coast when they lived in Fort Worth, and oldest brother Louis complains about driving anywhere out of the borough of Queens, but he was in on the planning nonetheless), we (and yes, I do mean it was a decision by committee -- I have never felt more like a baby sister) all agreed I should drive five hours a day for three days. Here's what it took for me to do the 1,000-mile trip, on my own, with three kids (ages nearly 8, newly 5, and 21 months) in tow:

1. Cleaning Up: My 2008 Honda Odyssey minivan was basically a pit after our drive TO Florida, so I knew I had to clean it out before attempting my trip FROM Florida. I found a local full-service car wash and pampered the minivan to a thorough wash, wax and vacuum. Sure, I knew the kids were going to muck it up again the moment they had their first snack in the car, but the wash (and more importantly, the interior job) created a blank slate of sorts for my trip.

2. Gearing Up: My Odyssey, thank heavens, has a built-in DVD player with two wireless headphones. I also own an after-market Garmin GPS, not that I really needed one, since it's basically I-95 North all the way home. It was mighty useful, though, since I stopped off to see a couple of friends along the way. In order to have hands-free conversations, I needed to buy a Bluetooth headset. After reading way too many reviews from fellow iPhone users, I settled on the Jawbone Prime. It's a good thing, too, because I had 23 cell conversations, most of them pep talks and check-ins with my husband, siblings and best friends. Who else was I going to talk to, with the two older kids blissed out on DVDs and the baby asleep?

3. Listening Up: I also bought several CDs, since I had to use the outlet to charge either my GPS or my iPhone. I figured when the iPhone wasn't charged, I would just go old school and listen to actual CDs. Since two-thirds of my six-CD changer was filled with children's music, I replaced them with the Glee soundtrack, Peter Gabriel's two-disc Hit, and The Best of Chaka Khan. The other two discs were Kings of Leon's Only By the Night, and an upbeat compilation "Vamos" my friend Dave made for a relay marathon he ran last fall. Nothing helps you stay awake like singing "Somebody to Love," "Sex is On Fire," "Tell Me Something Good," and "Don't Give Up" quite loudly again and again and again. On the plus side, I finally figured out what the chorus of "Games Without Frontiers" is (Jorge), and it's definitely not "She's so popular"; it's "Jeux sans frontieres" (the title in French). Cool, huh?

4. Fueling Up: My brother Jorge advised me not to drink anything while I was driving. That sounded good in theory (less drinking, less stopping to pee), BUT, this mama needs her caffeine. Trying to be "green," I bought a reusable coffee mug from Starbucks, but it had to be the worst designed travel mug I've ever owned. Unfortunately, it was the only style at the drive-through Starbucks in Plant City, so I had no choice, and I had no idea what a pain the arse it would be to use. The twist-top model required two hands to open, which is quite difficult when you're driving 70 miles-per-hour on I-95. I could NOT get it to open with one hand and ended up comically squeezing the mug with my thighs to add the leverage needed to open it. Needless to say, it's not ideal for solo drivers. At least the old friends I stopped to see both had fancy coffee makers, so the near-useless travel mug ended up worth the trouble.

5. Meeting Up: If you're really in a rush, there's no need to go out of your way to visit people on a roadtrip, but if you're like me and wanted a distraction or an excuse for a break, call, email, text, Tweet or Facebook-mail any friends you have along the way. I saw two of my oldest, dearest friends (both were among my wedding attendants), and it was a lovely way to start off the new year. The conversation and good coffee alone were reasons to stop, but they also provided a spot of fun for the kids, who in my opinion needed something to do rather than watch movies.

When I finally arrived in my driveway, I was on the phone with my brother Jorge. I squealed triumphantly, said "I did it!" and then promptly realized my house keys were not attached to my key-chain anymore. As Homer Simpson so eloquently says, "D'oh!" Thank God for neighbors with spare keys.

Necessary Improvements

I don't have New Year's Resolutions for 2010. There are necessary changes I need to make in order to be healthy (period) and happier (I'm already happy with so much in my life). All the rest of it -- reading X number of books, posting in this blog at least twice a week, cultivating sstronger local friendships instead of continuously pouting about not living in New York anymore (it has been nearly three years since we moved!), generating more freelance work, going to more plays and concerts with my husband, etc. etc. etc. -- is good to think about and focus on and attempt, but none of it will matter if I allow myself to keep gaining more and more weight without even acknowledging it.

Three weeks ago I took a first step -- I joined Weight Watchers Online and began to keep track of everything I ate via my iPhone. I lost four pounds in 2.5 weeks, and even if it was all water, I was incredibly pumped. I hadn't even started working out yet, so the losses could only get better. Then this past week, while away visiting my family over the kids' Christmas break, I fell off the points wagon.

My older brother, Jorge, suggested I not fret about it and instead join him and enlist my sister to lose a combined total of 100 pounds between us this year. Realistically, I need to lose 45 pounds, my sister 35, and my brother 20. It sounds much tougher for my sister and me than for him, since he was once renowned in college for doing 3,000 sit-ups in one night (or something like that, I was 11 and not in the audience), but he's confident we can do it. So do it we shall, not because it's a "resolution," but because it's necessary.

You Know What I Did Last Summer

Last year, my immediate family didn't go on a summer vacation. Instead, faithful readers of this blog know my husband and I crazily drove from D.C. to Tampa with a four-month-old, 3.5-year-old and 6-year-old, so I could spend three weeks visitingMami at my sister's house. My siblings and I knew the end was near, so my sister Diana and brother-in-law Larry generously allowed all of us to crash at their house for 20 days.

This exact weekend marks the penultimate visit I had with my mother, and the final time my husband and older two children ever saw her. I'm so thankful, looking back, that my sister and I have the kind of relationship that made that trip a possibility. Even though it was difficult to be away from my husband for 15 days (he drove us down, took a flight back to DC, and then flew down to drive us back home), those three weeks provided me with some beautiful final memories ofMami with my children and me.

It was, after all, an Olympic summer, so Michael Phelps' glorious gold streak shall forever be strangely linked with my last summer withMami. It was a summer of buying her Pollo Tropical and Colombian take out, because neither my sister nor I could adequately prepare a proper a Latin-flavored meal -- at least not toMami 's rigorous standards. It was a heartbreaking summer, when I began to do my anticipatory grief work, preparing my heart as best I could for the eventuality ofMami's death.

But it was also a joyful summer, with young cousins flapping in the pool, camping out every night in the playroom, making mini-movies on my Flip camera, and playing Rock Band over and over again. Every day, the kids spent time with theirAbuela -- bringing her ice in the Bubba Keg, talking to her briefly, and giving her hugs, kisses, and coos. The kids would have a decade of more traditional family vacations, but last summer, that trip toAbuela's was absolutely the best thing we could've done.

This year, we are going on a summer trip. We're headed to Ocracoke Island in the Outer Banks for a week, and we're all looking forward to unplugging (a bit) and relaxing on the beach. As we make our way down, I can't help but remember, with tears and a smile, how last summer's vacation began with a similar road trip. And I wish, more than anything, that we could take that trip again -- just to seeMami one more summer.