[DC Metro Moms closed up shop July 1, 2010 – this is the introduction post I wrote for them.]
Writing my bio for DC Metro Moms was an interesting exercise since I have been struggling with certain aspects of my identity for a while now. And this particular forum hits all of them.
When I first heard about this site, I thought, “that’s me!” I grew up in DC, I’ve lived in the Metro area AND I’m a mom. I thought that I was more than qualified… But when it came time to write that bio, I was a bit stumped.
This wasn’t that much of a surprise, as I’ve never been good at summing things up in a few lines. For me, every fact must be qualified with relevant history, metaphorical comparison and a tangent or two for good measure. Bottom line, I tend to ramble. And the subject of “what makes me a DC Metro Mom” has been an invitation to agonize over those same identity issues that come up again and again.
First, there is the whole DC thing. Having grown up in the city, I really do think of myself as a city person. We first lived in Kalorama, walking distance from Dupont Circle. I would ride my bike past embassies and roller skate across
Then we moved to Capitol Hill when I was a teenager. I would walk to the National Gallery when I was feeling particularly moody and angsty, and most weekend mornings we would wander over to Eastern Market, which was also the closest Metro stop. I learned to drive around Lincoln Park and once came outside to find a brick and shattered class on the passenger seat of my car, having been so foolish as to have left my backpack there. I could parallel park in spaces SMALLER than my little Renault Alliance, and was terrified by the idea of crossing a bridge into Virginia and never finding my way back.
I even chose a city college in New York and never once considered that I would live anywhere without the soundtrack of street traffic, passing pedestrian conversation and popping noises that could either be a car backfiring or gunshots.
But at some point my roommates suggested Arlington, and thus began my slow exodus into the suburbs. Arlington was fine. I could walk to Georgetown, and Adams Morgan was just a five minute cab ride away. But then came McLean and then Reston, and then suddenly I realized that I was surrounded by unlimited street parking and big box stores on every corner.
And you know what? I like it.
I don’t even know myself anymore…
So what am I? A city person or a suburbs person? And more importantly – what does this mean for my children? Will they attend a huge public high school and fear public transportation? Will they not know how to tell if a panhandler deserves coins or paper? Will they think that cars are necessary for any outing beyond our immediate neighborhood? I actually worry about this.
While my expectations for my children’s own sense of identity are pretty flexible – no big dreams for team captains, homecoming queens or valedictorians – they have always been somewhat metropolitan, with diversity, indie boutiques and adequate “street smarts.” So what on earth am I doing raising them 20 minutes outside of civilization as I once knew it?
The answer is simple. It’s more affordable. DC is far too expensive for us right now, and possibly ever. So there is no looking back at this point. At least superficially, I will have to be a suburbs person. And while it is different, I’m finding that I fit in just fine.
And as if to seal the deal on my inevitable Freaky Friday, Claire Huxtable meets June Cleaver destiny, I will be leaving work to be a stay at home mom within the month!
Don’t get me wrong – I’m not in the least bit insecure about this decision since it was based on taking a more active roll in early intervention for my special needs son. But it’s just not at all what I had expected for myself.
I didn’t love my job or even my career path, but I took a lot of pride in the theoretical independence of earning a paycheck. I was proud to be the mom who does it all (even if she doesn’t do any of it very well). Or more accurately, I didn’t have a choice about going back to work after my first child was born, so I embraced the situation and made it a strong part of my identity. I became a working mom.
My own mother was a working mom (at least most of the time I was growing up), and I identify with her quite a bit. Though she was a interior decorator while I somehow ended up at a boring desk job. But in spite of my dry surroundings I’ve enjoyed the civilized business lunches and the sophisticated dry clean only clothes. And the occasion to wear really nice shoes didn’t hurt either. Ultimately, I found that when you have infant twins waiting for you at home, there is a lot to be said for a day without spit up.
But now I have a new role to embrace, and I’ll have to put aside my silk for a more practical cotton. And this shift will add yet another layer to my bio’s back story. Yet another paragraph for my already exhausted readers to skim.
So my goal will be to make it as interesting as possible. And maybe even incorporate some culture and style into my new role. Because I could so easily go the other way without the incentive of office dress code and performance reviews.
I will not treat every day like Sunday by staying in my jammies. I will get dressed and make the bed – and I will even put a little thought into my appearance.
I will not let the kids watch TV all day. The whole point of being more involved in my son’s early intervention is to actively work with him and have a schedule for consistency. And I do love a schedule…possibly one on a spreadsheet…
I will not eat everything in the refrigerator out of boredom. If I can’t stand it anymore, I will throw everyone in the car for an outing. Even if it’s just to the grocery store.
I can be a mom at home and still feel like I’m more than just a caretaker. I can be a mom at home in the suburbs and still look like I have an interesting identity. We all have a compelling story to tell, and we can all project that for everyone else to see. And while it may sound a bit superficial, this caring how I appear to others – just remember that being seen is part of the close quarters culture of city living.
We all have multi-faceted identities, and mine is rooted cement. Regardless of the metaphorical mom jeans, I am a city girl at heart. And no matter what my current zip code, I always will be. At least in my case, you can take the girl out of the DC but you can’t take DC out of the girl. And I think we can all say the same thing about being a mom.