We're not in Georgia anymore

When we were planning our move to D.C., I had no idea what to expect. In fact, in my pregnancy-induced hormonal state of mind, I envisioned long days trapped inside a small, two-bedroom apartment with an antsy Benjy, both of us feeling cramped and out of sorts, while we waited for Chris to come home from work and Jacob to come home from school. Thank God, that has not been the case.

Instead, Benjy and I have become quite the cultural connoisseurs. With so many things to do, and so many willing participants to do them with, there is not a day that goes by that we're not experiencing this great city, mostly in toddler style. It amazes me the number of toddler friendly activities that are planned for every day of the week, including story time 3 days a week at the library, gym time at the community center, and play time at the activities center, not to mention the accessibility of the many museums of The Smithsonian. The local coffee house has a "happy hour" once a week where Mr. Skip sings kid friendly songs, as well. And most all of these events are free!

Our most interesting experience was the toddler hour at a local Lebanese restaurant. Maybe I'm showing my country raising, but the very idea of taking my two-year-old to music time and then feeding him Lebanese food afterward is surreal to me. Benjy and I never went to such "concerts" in Georgia or Illinois, and we definitely had never eaten Lebanese food. I felt like a country bumpkin trying to convince Benjy to join in with the dancing and singing and especially to try the cuisine. Since Benjy's diet consists primarily of hot dogs and chicken noodle soup, imagine my success in persuading him to eat m'saka, falafel, and baba ghannouge. Luckily chicken fingers were also on the menu.

With so much to do, my dilemma has been to find time to squeeze in the laundry, the grocery shopping and the cooking. Amazingly enough, my family still expects these things to be done in a timely manner, and no matter how much I try to convince them that I am having too much fun to be bothered with such ordinary chores, they still insist on eating and wearing clean clothes.

Both the shopping and the laundry present new challenges in a big city, especially since we live on the fourth floor of a seven-story apartment building. In Georgia, I could buy a week's worth of groceries without worrying about the 20 feet I would have to lug the 30+ bags from my trunk to the kitchen. In D.C., my biggest grocery shopping fear is that Benjy will fall asleep in the car, and not only will I have to haul all the groceries up to the fourth floor, but a sleeping, 35-pound little boy. My new grocery shopping strategy is to bring in the cold items and to leave everything else for Chris. He is overjoyed by this new arrangement. And yes, I do play the pregnancy card.

The laundry challenge comes from not having my own personal in house washer and dryer. In Georgia, I did at least one load a day, rotating it at my leisure. Here, there are laundry facilities on the even floors, which luckily means that there is one two doors down from our apartment. This, however, does not mean that I am always able to use it. In fact, on most laundry days, I roam the building in search of an empty dryer, all with my entourage in tow. I can't exactly leave Benjy by himself while I go to different floors, and even when Jacob is home as well, he's not quite up for the keep-Benjy-in-the-apartment challenge. The one time I tried this, I found Benjy waiting for me in the hall while an oblivious Jacob watched cartoons.

With that said, since our apartment locks automatically upon exit, I must also constantly be in possession of my keys, while remembering which load of laundry is currently in which machine on which floor, and keeping my kids from running all over the building. This is a lot for a pregnant mind to remember, and thus, I have locked us all out of the apartment twice so far. When this happens, we must walk across the apartment complex to the clubhouse to get a temporary key. And of course, this only happens when we are not wearing coats. I have dubbed this experience "the walk of shame."

So living in the D.C. area has been exciting, as we, like a bunch of country bumpkins, try to adapt to life in the big city. Thank God for the Georgia license plates to excuse my driving.