Black Belt Mama

Wanted: Vacation Manager

Position title: Vacation Manager

Job requirements:

• Daily slathering of two slippery children with SPF 50 sunscreen at two hour intervals throughout the day (extra if children are in water).  Daily bonus paid if neither child develops any sunburn.
• Managing the contents of beach bag and diaper bag, as in constantly knowing what is in both bags, where all items are located within bags, and what needs to be replenished. 
• Frequent trips to obtain forgotten camera, "nice fresh fresh juice", towels, sunglasses forgotten in the car from the night before, etc. etc. etc.
• Getting in very cold pool water to catch jumping child.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Oh, and repeat.
• Preparing baby food menu for each day.  Includes obtaining food and finding a way to serve it at a tolerable temperature.
• Building sandcastles which includes chasing away crabs from inhabiting freshly built sandcastles.
• Bathing and dressing slippery, sunscreen covered children each night.
• Running child to the bathroom from the point most far away from bathroom while chanting, "Hold it. Hold it. Hold it." 
• Butt wiping.
• Retrieval of all meals not eaten in a restaurant.
• Carrying all beach materials (umbrella, beach blanket, towels, cover-ups, beach bag, sand toys, cooler, book, beach chair, jogging stroller, tent, etc.) to and from the beach each day.
• Confronting neighboring hotel room occupants who happen to listen to the preview channel for 4 hours straight at the highest volume possible.

Qualifications:

• Endless patience.
• True love for children.
• No allergies to sunscreen ingredients.
• Strength of a pack mule to carry multiple heavy things at a time.

Anyone?  Anyone?  Not that I'm complaining because I'm having a great time; but it sure would be nice. . .

Karate Mama's & Papa's

The great Mommy Blogger Love Fest is going on all over the place.  It started here.  I was flattered to be listed here.  I wasn't sure if I was going to participate or not, because I was in a bad mood so many are participating that I just didn't know if I could write an original post.  I'm a little late getting in on this game to begin with.  But, then I thought about all these cool karate mama's out there who have been stopping by this site, and I thought "Now there's an idea!" 

My first Karate Mama is Junebee.  She was my faithful and loyal commenter over at my syndicated blog site that my hometown newspaper publishes.  My visitor stats over there are really great, but I rarely get a comment (let alone a nice one).  So, Junebee hooked me up with praise on a regular basis, before she decided to come over to this site where I post more.   She is a black belt in hapkido, and studies Tae Kwon Do as well.

Wayward Goddess always stops by and comments (and makes me feel like my work outs are completely inadequate!)  She's got a cool new site with a graphic on it that just makes you want to get up and dance.  She is outranked by her son, or should I say sensei son.  I doubt that will be for long though.

Lost Cheerio found my site recently.  She is a green belt in Tang Soo Do.  She's witty and seems like she'd be a lot of fun to get to know.   Her American Idol commentary alone is worth a visit.

Crouching Mother, Hidden Diva is a purple belt in shaolin kenpo and has an upcoming test for a blue belt.  It should be interesting to see how it goes for her.

And honestly, I know it's supposed to be all about the ladies, but I would be seriously remiss if I didn't mention the karate papa's. . .

"Frogman" of "Taming the Horse Stance" takes karate with his son and works diligently on the things in karate that he likes the least.  He goes to tournaments and competes along side his son, which is just way cool. 

John of "Martial Views" is the Yoda of karate. . . at least that's what I tell him.  He is a 2nd dan black belt in Isshinryu Karate.  If you want to learn a whole lot about martial arts in a short amount of time, his site is the place to go.  His posts are brain food for anyone interested in the martial arts; and he's got three sons too.

Curtis has three kids and is at the beginning of his karate journey. He is very dedicated and is lucky enough to be training with some of his very best friends (instead of with elementary school kids like I do.)

If you are a mama or a papa and take karate, let me know.  I'd love to check out your site and I'm sure others would as well. 

"Vacation, all I ever wanted. . ." (minus the head injury)

If your comments take a while to appear, or if it seems I haven't been a good commenter lately, it's because I'm on vacation, y'all.  Yeah, I said "y'all".  My family and I are vacationing in North Carolina at the beach; and after living in the Northeast for almost my entire life, it always shocks and amazes me how nice the people are down here.  Nice, y'all, really nice.  You may ask why I am blogging while at the beach on this gorgeous afternoon; but it's because I am on hotel room nap duty.  Lil C is out like a light and is enjoying her first uninterrupted nap since Thursday night.  I'm blogging before digging into my pile of books I've been saving for such an occasion.  It all works out. 

So far, we've only had one little problem on our trip. This little problem has brought to my attention yet another difference between men and women.  Let me ask you this. . . when you are driving and you put the car in reverse, do you simply turn your head and use your mirrors to see where you're going?  Or, do you need some help from your arm, as in drape your arm over the back of the passenger seat in order to facilitate your turning around?  When I reverse, I turn my head.  When my husband reverses, he puts his whole body into it. 

Last night, this little physical anomaly caused some serious head trauma.  We were backing out of a restaurant.  My husband was driving.  I turned around and was in the process of retrieving some toys that had been thrown on the floor by Lil C.  The next thing I know, I am being clothes-lined by my husband's arm.  As he flung his arm from my seat, back to where it should be, he hit me with an outside block to the ear and head so hard that all I could hear for a few seconds was, "whop, whop, whop."  When he made contact, my head moved at a very unnatural angle to my neck and sent pain shooting up my neck and into my head.  I felt like the entire left side of my brain was throbbing. 

So, as I'm reeling from the blow and trying to figure out what just happened, he decides to school me on not putting my head there while he's reversing.  Because his response wasn't a resounding, "I'm so sorry.  Are you o.k.?" right away, I was slightly peeved.  So, I decided to accuse him of having a genetic defect that many men seem to have. . . the inability to reverse a vehicle without using their arm to turn their body.  What is up with that???

A few sucker punches to his arm later (and one well deserved apology), I felt a little better about the whole thing; but that didn't stop the raging headache that lasted until this morning.  Ouch.  I am hoping that this will be the last of the vacation injuries. 

I am happy to report that when leaving a grocery store today and reversing, my husband was able to do so without the aid of his arm.  It's progress people.  I'm hoping I can break him of this potentially head-rattling problem by the time our vacation ends.  But let's not talk about that, because this vacation has only just begun. . .

If you can see it, you can do it

It has been very hectic lately around here, what with Lil C suddenly becoming extremely mobile.  It has not allowed very much time for solitary training.  My work out has definitely taken a back burner. Until I can figure out how to contain Lil C without her having an absolute fit or figure out a way to somehow wear her in a baby wrap that won't interfere with kata (not possible), I have to resort to other ways to continue to learn my material for testing.  The other ways don't necessarily have to be physical. 

I had a biopsychology class when I was in college.  I passed by the skin of my teeth despite a ton of studying.  One thing I will always remember from that class though, is something my professor said about neural pathways and learning.  If you read something, or study something before bed, while sleeping your brain works on it and makes it easier to remember.  She said it much more scientifically than that, of course; but I've found it to be very true.  In college, if I studied right before bed, the information was easier to remember the next day.  I didn't remember everything; but I remembered enough to make me want to continue the habit.  (I only wish it would have worked a little better with bio-psych.) 

Recently, while trying to fall asleep at night, instead of going through a mental to-do list like I frequently do, I've been working on visualizing my kata's.  You have to know the material well enough first to do this; but visualization is a great tool for committing kata (or anything else for that matter) to memory.  It helps you work out the details.  It also helps with application (bunkai).  If you can visualize yourself doing something, you'll be better prepared if you have to take action.  This is great mental training for self defense.  Lately there's been a lot of talk about this in the karate blogging world. 

John of Martial Views, (or the karate yoda as I affectionately call him) posted about this imagery the other day.  Mat is also a good read for understanding the martial arts journey.  He's really good at seeing the big picture, even though he doesn't always think so himself.   He has devoted so much time to the martial arts that reading about his training regime is really quite inspiring.  I can't keep up with him; but reading about what he's doing makes me at least want to try.  At Taming The Horse Stance, you can also read about this visual imagery.

Everyone has a different reason for taking up the martial arts.  For most though, the journey is as much a mental one as it is a physical one.  Lirian Fae of Karate Talk writes about her inner voice and how important it is in karate.  Karate isn't about physical conquest and domination.  The majority of people studying the martial arts don't derive enjoyment from hurting other people.  Studying the martial arts is about listening to that inner voice and about respect: respect for others, respect for the art, and respect for yourself.  It is evident by the way the majority of people treat each other in a dojo.  Karate is a state of mind, that hopefully one can translate into daily life. 

I have as much respect for the 10-year old brown belt as I do for the 50-year old white belt. Actually I have a TON of respect for that 10-year old brown belt because when I was fumbling with my belt once, she approached me and went step by step to show me how to tie it properly.  She wasn't intimidated that I was an adult; and I wasn't bothered by the fact that a 10-year old could correct me on something.  I often joke about being one of the oldest ones in my class, but stature aside we're all really in the same boat and working towards a common goal. 

Trouble

At karate class this week, I'm going to ask what to do if someone is pulling your hair with both hands in two separate locations and two separate directions.  I need an action plan for this scenario. I'm also going to ask how to deal with someone who is biting you with two extremely jagged and sharp little teeth.  Ouch.   And now I reveal to you the perpetrator. . .

They don't look like much, those two little nubs; but I can not even begin to tell you how bad it hurts to have your shoulder used as a teether on a somewhat constant basis.  Also, your leg, arm, finger, face. . . yeah, that one was really good.

Lil C has gone from this cuddly little baby to what Big I refers to as "The Baby Monster."  She can have about 1000 toys out on the floor that are her own, but she will find a way to get to: cords, remote controls, phones, Big I's toys, books that don't belong to her, etc. etc. etc.  Today, she crawled over my stomach and across the living room.  She finally ended up here. . .

Despite her face in that picture, she was actually quite thrilled with herself.  She then decided that she wanted to stand up underneath the exersaucer. . .

Followed by deciding to work her way out from underneath the equipment. . .

And then, then people, she went from her belly to a sitting position (which is old news here).  I wasn't that concerned, until I saw her reaching up for the exersaucer.  Seconds later. . . you guessed it. . . she was standing holding onto the saucer.  No, I don't have a picture of this little feat because I was busy holding both of my arms out in an attempt to catch her when she finally let go.  I am so in trouble people.  I need to baby proof NOW!  I kept thinking I'd have more time.  I thought she wouldn't be on her feet or attempting to be on her feet for a while now.  Boy, was I wrong.  I have now officially begun my full time 24/7 job of being Lil C's constant shadow.  I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

I fought the law. . .

We are going on vacation very soon, and my husband mentioned the other day that our one car needs to be inspected during the month of May.  He then shrugged it off and said, "Well, it can wait until we get back (in June).  It's not like we're driving that car on vacation."  My eyes popped wide open and I yelled, "NO.  That car must be inspected before we leave."  The memory of what happened a few years ago is still very fresh in my memory. 

Fade to four years ago. . .

We bought our car back when Big I was a baby.  We bought it new and had it for a few months at the time of the incident.  We had two months left before our registration had to be renewed.  We were under the wrong assumption that the registration and inspection due dates were one and the same.  I was on the way to the store with Big I, heading east on a windy back road.  I was going the speed limit.  A police car passed me heading west on the road.  Several minutes later, the police car is behind me, lights flashing.  Because a van had just pulled out in front of me and was speeding by a playground going at least 40 in a 25 mph zone, I promptly pulled off the road to allow him to go around me and go get the guy.  To my shock and horror, he pulled up behind me. 

The officer walked up to my car window and asked for my registration and license.  I was fumbling around trying to find everything to hand to him, wishing I could just work up some tears.   I had heard that tears work wonders.  Unfortunately for me, tears don't come on demand.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?" he asked. 

"No. I know it wasn't because I was speeding though, because I wasn't." 

"No, you weren't," he responded.  "Your inspection sticker is expired." 

"My what?"  I looked at him baffled. 

He tapped the window and repeated himself.  I remember saying something about how I didn't know and that it wasn't yet time for our inspection because I was falsely thinking that both the registration and inspection were due at the same time.  I may have said, "My husband takes care of these things."  He wasn't impressed. 

He walked back to his car with my license and called it in.  I sat there shaking.  I had never once been pulled over in my life.  Not when I was a stupid teenager driving way too fast so I would make it home by curfew (Don't fret now Mom.  I'm grown and I'm alive and well).  I wasn't even cited in the one car accident I was in where I accidentally rear-ended a car when it slammed on its brakes to avoid hitting a cop who was in the middle of the street, at night, painting lines on the road.  Idiot.  So, I wasn't familiar with how this drill went down.  I was getting more upset by the second. 

The officer walked back to me, handed me back my license and registration and then handed me a ticket for $90. 

"$90???  You can't just give me a warning?  I have never been pulled over in my life.  I am driving a BRAND NEW CAR.   I'll go get the car inspected TODAY. It's not like I was putting anyone in danger or anything." 

"I can't do that," he said smugly.  He walked back to his car.  I wasn't shaking anymore because I was upset.  Now I was fuming mad.  I'm not the type to cry; I get ticked off instead.  Unfortunately, that's not good for the whole "getting a warning" thing. 

I drove home, and then went straight to a Jiffy Lube to have the car inspected immediately.  I ranted to my parents, husband and anyone else who would listen about it.  Sure, I was in the wrong; but did he have to be such a jerk?  I was driving a brand new car. . . a stay at home Mom with a baby in the backseat.  I mean, weren't there some criminals more worthy of his time?  I decided to fight the ticket.  I figured that my pre-law major for the first year of college would get me through it.  I spent the weeks before the trial getting ready.

When my trial date came, I had a babysitter and showed up for court.  For some reason, they had to reschedule me for the following week.  I couldn't get a babysitter this time, so Big I had to come with me.  She was only a little over a year old at the time.  I was already ticked off that my I had to bring my child along because they were too stupid to be prepared on the day of my court date. 

So, I showed up for court armed with my Jiffy Lube inspection receipt and my clean driving record thinking that I would have absolutely no problem getting rid of this $90 charge.  I had to wait a good hour to get called in and by then, Big I had fallen asleep on my shoulder.  The court clerk finally called my name. 

The Judge began the proceedings and my friendly non-warning-friendly cop was there.  He took the stand first.  Armed with his police report he stated that I had been driving east on the road and that he had pulled me over, blah, blah, blah.  He finished his testimony and started to get down from the stand.  The Judge took a cursory glance at me and asked if I'd like to cross examine the witness.  I think he was a little shocked when I said yes.  So was the officer as he sat back down.

Me:  "Officer, can you tell me which direction I was driving in when you saw my expired inspection ticket?"

Officer:  consults notes, says smugly "East." 

Me:  "In which direction were you traveling?"

Officer: rolls eyes "West."

Me:  "Was I going the speed limit when you saw me?"

Officer: "I think so. Yes."

Me:  "Well to clarify, yes, I was.  After you saw my expired sticker, how much farther did you have to drive in order to turn around to head back east in my direction?"

Officer:  getting flustered "I'm not sure."

Me:  "Well, judging from where I was when I saw you, you had to at least travel a distance of about three blocks, before pulling off and turning back around, pulling out and heading east after me.  Would you say that's a fair estimate?"

Officer:  "Yes."

Me:  "So, in order for you to catch up to me, you would have had to go above the speed limit.  You would have had to speed.  Is that correct?"

Officer: stumbles around his words, "Well, um... "

Me:  "Yes or no, officer.  It's a simple question.  In order to catch up with me, would you have had to speed?"

Officer: ears flaming red "Well, yes."

At this point, the judge clears his throat because he is trying not to laugh. The cop is looking at me with complete and utter disbelief.  He so did not see this coming. 

Me:  "When you pulled me over, were you aware of the van that had pulled out in front of me?  The van that was speeding by a playground?"

Officer: "No."

Me:  "Well, for the record, there was a van that was speeding in front of me.  In fact, I pulled off the road so quickly because I thought you were going to go after the van.  Officer, my question for you is this: In your professional opinion, who is more likely to cause harm to society, a van speeding by a playground or a stay-at-home-mom driving the speed limit in a brand new car who forgot to get her car inspected?"

Officer:  extremely flustered "Well, it depends. . . "

Me:  "Officer, let's be honest here.  Who truly is likely to cause more harm: someone speeding by a playground or someone driving a new car whose inspection sticker is expired by a week?  Who can potentially cause more harm?  It's a simple question that requires a simple answer."

Officer:  grumbles "The person speeding."

Me:  "Really, Officer?  So, in other words, you and the van in front of me were more likely to cause harm than I was on that day?"

Officer: "Well, it depends.  If you're driving an unsafe car. . . "

Me:  "But the car was brand new, was it not?"

Officer: "It was."  hangs head

Me:  "So, it's not like I was driving a lemon or anything right?  It's not like my car was likely to lose a wheel or fall apart and cause harm?"

Officer:  Face now matches ears in their fiery redness.  Sighs tiredly.

Me:  "I have one last question for you officer.  What type of ticket brings more revenue into your township: an expired inspection ticket or a speeding ticket?"

Officer:  stutters, sputters, grasps at straws, "That doesn't matter. . . "

Me:  "But it does.  Answer the question please.  What ticket brings in more revenue?"

Officer: grumbles quietly "Inspection ticket."

Me:  "So, in other words, bringing revenue in to the township is more important than catching people who might do harm to people?"

Officer: defeated, sighs.

Me:  "I have no further questions."

I then presented my evidence: my Jiffy Lube receipt and asked the judge for a warning.  I testified to my extremely clean driving record.  I was holding my baby in my arms, sleeping on my shoulder during this whole ordeal.  I mean, For God's sake, have a heart already.  I need $90 worth of diapers, not stupid tickets. 

The officer called me to the stand and only asked me one question.  He asked me whether or not my inspection sticker was indeed expired.  Well, duh. 

The judge thought an entire 10 seconds before he handed down the verdict of Guilty.  Apparently, beating up the officer verbally had been the only reprieve I was going to get. 

My jaw dropped and I stood up and started yelling.  I told the officer and the judge that I didn't even know why I bothered to come fight it.  I told them they were pathetic for not giving someone with a perfectly clean driving record a warning.  I then left the court room, and told the entire waiting room to not bother wasting their time and to go the hell home instead.  I told them they'd have better luck telling their argument to a wall.  I wrote my check for $90 and stormed out of there. 

Needless to say, the car will be inspected in May.

You HAVE to see this. . .

Love him or hate him, you have to admit that this is hysterical.  He is one good sport, who definitely knows how to have some fun!

http://www.stevebridges.com/video/qt/bush/Bush256k_WHCA_dinner.html

You must have quicktime installed on your computer in order to view this.  If you don't, when you click on the link it will automatically send you to the webpage to quickly download the program.  It only takes a minute or two.  Enjoy!

Thanks to Christina for sending me this link!

Five Things

I saw this over at Thinking About and thought I would give it a go. 

In my fridge:

• Sprout bread.  It sounds gross, I know.  But my husband brought it home and it grew on me.  It's especially good as toast, with a little butter and cinnamon.
• Lots of containers of half eaten baby food.
• A teether toy or two.
• Diet Rite-I can't live without it.
• Paul Newman Family Italian dressing-I can't be without it either.

In my car:

• My bo and my tunfa weapons.
• Two strollers: one for rough terrain, one for shopping (neither of which Lil C will tolerate for more than five minutes).
• Two Shakira CD's.
• A pen for writing down Litter Butts info.
• About four gazillion toys that have been thrown in a fit of giggles by Lil C.

In my purse:

• Entirely too many pictures of my kids.  I still have pictures of Big I when she was a baby (and when I say pictures, I mean every single one she's ever had taken since she was born).
• As if the pictures in the wallet weren't enough, I also have two mini photo albums of my kids.
• A wallet with entirely too much junk in it, yet little or no money.  My husband calls it a "Costanza" wallet.  Ever see that Seinfeld episode?
• Tissues, because I finally got with it and decided to be a good Mom.
• Tweezers, because somehow the light outside in the car is always so much better than inside.

In my closet:

• A collection of bridesmaid dresses that I'm keeping around so my girls can play dress up.
• A ton of clothes that I don't wear but have some sort of sentimental connection to for some odd reason, so in the closet they will stay.
• Some maternity clothes that I forgot to pack up with the rest of it.
• A ton of pointy-toed-backless heels in a wide variety of cool colors.
• Depending on the moment, possibly my daughter pretending to be a scary monster.

In my head:

• Why is it that we've called an end to Mommy Wars, no problem (thank goodness); but political name-calling is perfectly acceptable?
• Why can some completely incompetent people pop out kid after kid, but one of my best friends (who is a fabulous Mother) can't seem to after 17 months of heart-breaking trying? 
• How will I possibly keep my sanity while packing for vacation for not one, but two kids this year (one who requires an awful lot of extra equipment)?
• How annoying is it that EVERYWHERE you go there seem to be cliques: kindergarten orientation, neighborhoods, playgroups, even in the blogging world strangely enough?
• Pain, because I've had a headache on and off all week long which is making me feel especially grumpy and miserable, which probably explains all this other stuff in my head. 

I won't tag anyone for this one.  If you want to, go for it. I've got too much of a headache to be an enforcer this week.  Also, I don't know who I'd tag since I already pulled my tag-a-famous-blogger stunt with smashing results.  So, if you want to, go for it and let me know you did.

A Lesson in Restraint

In karate, everyone is always talking about control.  [Mat] recently learned what happens when the person you are sparring with lacks control.  His opponent also lacked decorum and respect. Lirian Fae has also found out about control, or the lack thereof, recently.  Higher ranks are supposed to have control over their punches and kicks during sparring or bag work.  In other words, you don't have to knock someone on to the ground to prove you're effective.  The people who have the most control over their moves are the ones who know their distance and timing as well. 

I've got a lesson for you in control.  Tonight at karate class, we did bag work.  We haven't done bag work in a while because our classes have been pretty small.  Tonight, our class was filled with little people.  (I felt so old it wasn't even funny.)  The closest person in age to me?  He's in high school.  Most of the students tonight were closer to Big I's age then to mine.  So, when we were told to get in pairs, I was hoping that Big I would want to pair up with someone more her size and rank.  Not a chance.  "I want to be your partner, o.k.? O.k.? O.k?"  There were two brown belts in class, one green (me), one yellow and then five little white belts.  I was hoping for some brown belt action, but it wasn't to be. 

So, I held the bag for her first.  We started with snap kicks.  Instead of holding her fists up in front of her and using them to balance (I don't expect her to actually move them around yet to block while kicking), she swings her arms up and down with each kick.  Each kick ends up looking sort of like an out of control pendulum swinging up and maybe making contact with the bag before it goes crashing down to the floor usually along with the rest of her body.  Tonight she made some decent contact with the bag; her kicking technique is another story.  She does seem to take a special kind of joy in kicking Mommy though.  That can be a little disturbing.  So, after Big I gave Mommy (and her own butt) a beating, it was my turn.

After being in a bear of a mood all day long, I was hoping to be able to really nail the bag, maybe do some thrust kicks or something.  With Big I, I'm lucky if she'll hold the bag upright instead of sitting on it and pretending it's a raft.  (Yes, bo's are 'horsies'; bags are rafts.  We'll get there people, eventually). 

When Big I holds the bag, it goes from her ankles to just under her chin.  Instead of holding the handles on the sides of the bag like I do, she loops her one arm through the handles on the back of the bag.  Instead of getting into a side ways nai hanchi or a front facing seisan stance for support, she usually teeters on her heels, grinning ear to ear and trying to just hold the bag up.  Honestly, all I really hoped for is that she would just hold the bag still. 

While partnering with her over the past year or so, I have snap kicked the bag right up into her chin on numerous occasions.  This shouldn't happen if you're holding the bag correctly.  Big I doesn't seem to mind though.  She usually cracks up, and stumbles around the dojo with the heavy bag, her arm firmly looped through the back handles.  Sometimes, she thinks that when she has the heavy bag, it's time for a good old-fashioned game of tag.  It can get a little frustrating at times, but her laugh is so intoxicating and funny that it's hard not to be at least a little bit amused. 

So, Big I held the bag like she always does, stumbling around from side to side and back to front, forcing me to constantly reevaluate where I would place my kick and how far away I needed to be from her in order to not send her flying.  Each kick, I grazed the bag, moving it enough to let her know I hit it, but not enough to throw her for a loop.  I was frustrated in the beginning, but then I started looking at it as a learning experience.  When, after all, will a sparring partner or a bad person on the street for that matter, stand still so I can kick them? 

They won't. 

So, just as I was adjusting to the constant resetting for snap kicks, my instructor decided to change it up with round house kicks.  When doing round house kicks with a partner, the partner turns sideways and holds the bag in front of them.  You stand facing the opposite direction, draw you foot up, lean away from the kicking leg, and extend your leg out the side to make contact with the bag with the top of your foot.

Round house kicks are challenging.  You must maintain good balance.  You must land your kick and then place your foot back down and reset.  I've found them to be the most challenging kick, even more so than the back or side kick.  I didn't realize how challenging they would be though, until I had a squirmy kid holding the bag who just didn't get it.  She kept turning and facing me, forcing me to kick the side of the bag, a rather small target of only a few inches, compared to the front of the bag.  I had to constantly readjust my position in order to make contact with the bag.  It was sort of like a karate merry-go-round. 

If there is one thing that Big I just doesn't get, it's positioning.  After working with the bags for a while, we were divided up into groups.  The white and yellow belts went to work on some of the lower kata's and the brown belt and I went to work on our material with our instructor.  I stole a couple glances across the dojo at Big I and instead of facing the mirror while doing kata, she firmly plants herself directly in front of someone who is doing the kata.  She does this sort of dance the entire time.  My instructor just figured it out a few weeks ago.  She learns best if you mirror her.  You have to be facing her; standing beside her doesn't work. I guess this could explain why her positioning with the bags is so off too.  She just doesn't see how the system is supposed to work yet.  I have faith though, that eventually she will. 

In another few weeks, I am going to start staying for the later class which is all brown belts, mostly ones who will be testing for black belt in the summer.  I am hoping for some good bag work then where I can focus on my technique more than on crazy distancing (I'll save those lessons for sparring.)  In the meantime, I've got my heavy bag downstairs; and apparently learning better technique is going to have to be a solitary venture. 

Bug off

The day after Big I's third birthday, we discovered something horrible.  Apparently, Big I had taken home a  souvenir from our little walk through nature on the previous day.  She woke up in the morning looking sickly and pale.  She was complaining that her shoulder hurt.  I lifted up her pajama top and gasped.  There was a tick embedded in her shoulder.  I picked her up and ran her up the stairs to my husband, grabbing the phone on the way so I could call my Mom who happens to be a nurse. 

After talking with my Mom and with the nurse from the pediatrician's office, my husband had a go with the tweezers at her poor little shoulder.  She screamed in pain and that tick held onto her so tightly.  It made me sick.  I wished it would be me instead.  There was nothing I could do except hold her and tell her it would be over soon.  If only I had known how long the ordeal was going to be. 

My husband finally pulled the tick out of her, but its head remained behind.  The pediatrician told me to cover it with neosporin and a band aid.  They said the head would work its way out as Big I's body rejected it and pushed it out. 

They were wrong.

Three days later, the shoulder was not looking any better and I could still see the tick's head, firmly embedded in her shoulder.  I took her to the doctor.  I saw a new pediatrician at the office who said it was no big deal.  She said I should keep doing what I was doing.  So I did, for another two days.

Two days later, Big I woke up with redness and swelling in her arm.  I took her back to the pediatrician.  This time, we saw a different doctor, who said that Big I had a staph infection in her arm and that he was going to try to get the head out.  He had to lance and drain the wound.  She screamed; I held her and felt like screaming myself.  He didn't get the head out.  They gave me a prescription for some strong antibiotics.  After all of that trauma, he handed me a sheet for blood work.  Blood WORK on a 3 year old!  I really wanted to scream. 

We took her for the blood work and she was so brave.  She was fine until the needle punctured the skin, and then she screamed.  The blood work came back normal.  About two weeks later, she was scratching her arm and the tick head came out.  Nasty. She still has a scar. 

Until this week, Big I has been terrified of every bug.  Ants on the sidewalk?  Let's play inside instead.  Bee buzzing around some flowers?  Scream and head for cover!  Fly got in the house?  Must kill fly now or else child will have a nervous breakdown.  It has gotten to the point that my husband and I have been worried about the possibility of a bug-related obsessive compulsive disorder.  Or, maybe she's suffering from PTTD (post-traumatic tick disorder)?

And then Aunt E came out of the blue with a bug catcher.  Over the weekend, my sister decided that Big I must get over her fear of bugs.  So, they spent the afternoon searching for bugs in the yard.  Together, they caught two worms, a salamander, and a spider.  She proudly carried around her little bug cage and showed everyone her latest catches.  After about an hour or so, she'd tell everyone to "Say goodbye to the 'lizard'" and we would.  She would then release her new friends back to the wild. 

So, you can understand my amazement with what happened yesterday.  Big I declared that there was a scary black spider approaching her toys.  I was busy feeding Lil C and told her it would have to wait a minute or two.  Instead of waiting and whining, which would have been the norm pre-bug catcher, she grabbed a tissue, one tissue, (not 14 like I would have,) and approached the black spider with confidence. She knelt down, opened that tissue and squished it good.  She then brought it to me to show me her conquest.  I have to say, I was pretty impressed. 

I think we're over the bug fear.

I do remember

The other night I was at my parent's house; and we got on the subject of when I was growing up.  I told my dad how I remembered this one night when he and I were watching TV together.  He said, "You want some popcorn?"  I was shocked that he asked me and was offering to get us both a snack.  I said, "Sure!  Sounds good."  At this point in my relaying the story, my Mom interrupted and said, "See, you remember all these good things about your dad; but you and your sister probably don't remember anything good about me."  I told her that she didn't let me finish the story.  My dad responded to my affirmative answer with a, "Then get off your butt and go make some for us."  (My dad is sometimes annoying like that.) 

I then started thinking of all the good things about my Mom and was telling her a few of my best memories of growing up. . .

• Every Valentine's Day, whether my sister and I had a boyfriend or not (usually not), my Mom would prepare a candlelight dinner for the whole family.  She'd also make a cake with pink icing and give us each a present.  Even if I had to endure an entire school day filled with girls squealing with excitement at the flowers or chocolates their boyfriend gave them, I knew I had a special dinner and gift coming when I got home from school. 
• I remember when my high school boyfriend and I had a major fight. She spent what must have been hours just listening to me cry and giving me hugs while my dad stood in the doorway, shaking his head and probably imagining a baseball bat meets boyfriend scenario.  My Mom knew the perfect things to say to me; my dad was always better at the violent imagery.
• In the summers, she would get up early and spend the morning cleaning and doing laundry and getting done whatever she needed to get done so that she could take us to the pool for the afternoon, even when she didn't feel like going. 
• She took me to buy a new outfit for each and every school dance from 7th grade on, so that I would feel special, even if all the boys were dancing with other girls. 
• One time, my dad insisted I eat ALL my food from dinner and said that I wasn't allowed to leave the table until I was done. I ended up falling asleep at the table.  My Mom woke me up and I went up to bed.  She came up to my room a few minutes later with cookies and milk.

And I also thought of a couple of great memories of her from more recent months and years. . .

• When I gave birth to Big I, my Mom was there holding one leg and breathing along with me.  She had a natural labor and I wanted the same; so her just being there served as such an inspiration.
• When Lil C was going through this projectile vomiting stage, my Mom jumped in the car and arrived at my house after one of the incidents so that she could help me clean up and calm down since my husband was traveling. 

Though every Mother and daughter inevitably have at least one I-hate-your-boyfriend-so-get-rid-of-that-lousy-good-for-nothing. . . rough patch during the teenage years, I can now say that I consider my mom one of my very best friends.  She always sends me these Mother's Day cards about how proud she is of me, and what a joy it's been to watch me become such a great Mom.  I think it's been pretty amazing watching her become an incredible grandmother.  Happy Mother's Day, Mom (if you can figure out how to get on the internet and find your way to my blog).

The Ultimate Work Out Recipe

Ingredients:

• One afternoon of shopping
• One 7-month old who hates her stroller with a passion
• One 5-year old who loves the stroller with a passion
• One baby wrap to hold non-conforming-to-stroller baby

Instructions:

Place 17 lb. baby in wrap.  Allow persistent 5-year old to sit in the stroller that is now unoccupied.  Proceed to push stroller containing 43 lb. 5-year old around the mall for about three hours.  Only allow her out to try on clothing.  When trying on clothing commences, do deep squats with baby still attached snugly in wrap.  Hold out arms parallel to the ground as you hold up shorts that 5-year old is taking her good ole time getting in.  Feel arms start to burn, similar to the feeling obtained when hanging a new shower curtain.  Practice resistance training as 5-year old balances all of her weight with her hands on your shoulders while you're still in the process of squatting and holding arms parallel to the ground. . . still waiting for the child to put her feet in the HOLES ALREADY MOMMY'S ARMS ARE KILLING HER.  Pull shorts up as child squirms and complains.  Repeat try on process three more times.  Proceed to cashier; continue holding arms straight out in an attempt to keep 7-month old from obtaining money which would be prompty devoured.  Deep squat to put new purchase in the cargo bag of stroller.  Proceed to walk down the mall corridor, occasionally doing the deep squat to obtain baby sock that has been removed, sucked on, and thrown in an attempt to free her feet and also make sure that Mommy gets her exercise. 

At completion of shopping excursion, load both children into car.  Because your back wasn't completely thrown out after carrying 17 lb. baby for three hours on your stomach/chest, fold the SUV of strollers and lift into trunk.  While driving, reach for baby toys that are being flung onto the car floor at regular intervals and return them to baby in a futile effort to keep her entertained (this also serves as post work out stretching). 

I'd write more. . . but I need to hit the showers. 

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times

I think I'm a bad person.  The guy who has been doing my hair for the past four years told me that he is moving far, far away.  They are moving there because his wife's family is there and they've always wanted to live there.  My first thought was, "MY GOD!  What am I going to DO?"  My second thought was, "How can I sabotage their plans to move?"  He is a damn good stylist.  I LOVE the way he does my hair.  I started imagining myself picketing on his front lawn as prospective buyers drive by.  "This house has rats," my sign could say, or "Termite infestation: Don't be fooled!" 

I seriously asked him if he'd come back up to visit and cut my hair.  He said I could come down and visit and he'd cut my hair there.  It is a LONG drive away.  I don't think I can justify a 10 hour drive to get my hair cut to my husband.  $100 for a cut and highlights is already pushing it.  I seriously think I am going to have a good cry over this when he actually goes.  He said that as long as appointments are scheduled, he'll honor those appointments.  I think I'm going to ask if I can schedule through 2010.

The reason why I'm so upset is because I highly prefer going to male stylists, and there aren't that many of them around.  My reasoning is this: why would a woman want another attractive woman in the world?  It's competition for them.  Men like to see beautiful women, whether they are married or not.  Male stylists literally want to make the world a more beautiful place.  There is a serious shortage of male stylists in this area; and I am afriad to subject my head of hair to someone I don't know.  I honestly feel like someone just dumped me.  I know it's silly, but I REALLY like the way he cuts and highlights my hair.  Let me reiterate. . . I really, really like the way he does my hair.  And don't even get me started on how well he does my eyebrows. . .

I know most of you probably think this is stupid, but ladies, you'll understand why.  When this man cuts my hair, no curling irons are necessary.  The cut dries so nicely and lays so nicely that it cuts my hair primping time by about 90%.  It's incredible and I know of not another person who can accomplish such a feat.  He must have sold his soul to have such skills. 

The other reason it's a bad day?  (I swore to myself I would NOT discuss American Idol on this blog, but with what happened this week, how can I NOT?)   Who are the crazy lunatics out there who didn't give Chris Daughtry enough votes to make it through? I am seriously in shock.  I had picked him as the winner from the very beginning; and I am floored that he is done.  Of course, I watched American Idol on Tivo and got occupied with other things and forgot to vote.  It's probably all my fault.  I feel terrible about it.  What's the point of even watching the rest of the season?  I'm done.

Another reason it's a bad day?  (Oh, you thought I was going to get to the good thing, didn't you? Not yet.  I like to get my complaining out of the way first.)  If you've ever been to a funeral, you know how it emotionally drains you for days.  It feels exhausting just to think or even deal with life after such an emotional ordeal.  I honestly had that feeling after Kindergarten orientation.  It is only now starting to diminish from the beginning of the week.  It has been slowed in it's regression by the fact that Big I asks me every single night if she has to go to school tomorrow.  I told her tonight that I will give her some warning.  I won't just wake her up one day and make her go.  I told her she'll probably love it once she's there.  Tonight she said to me, "I'll go to school Mommy, but maybe just one or two days a week, o.k.? o.k.? o.k.?"  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  I think I'll cry considering the week I've been having. 

Talking about enough to make you want to cry.  My lovely sister sent not one, but two, "I'm not a chain letter" chain letters: one to me and one to Big I.  It's this flip-flop one.  The very same flip-flop one that when asked if I'd like to participate by a good friend, I told her I'd rather not.  I always get screwed by these not-a-chain-letter chain letters.  I sent out a book and was supposed to get like 30 back.  I didn't see one.  I won't even bring up the other crazy requests I got in the mail.  I'll only say that Victoria's Secret is probably behind at least one of them.  People have flip-flop fever apparently, but I don't even like wearing them that much.  My husband told me I should close the loop, so to speak, and send out the not-a-chain-letter chain letter back to my sister and the other girl listed on the letter, six letters for each.  I mean seriously, what do people need 36 pairs of flip-flops for anyway?  Actually, the whole letter is bogus because even if everyone fulfills their flip-flop obligation, you can only receive a maximum of 6 pairs.  And, how are Big I and I supposed to come up with 12 people to send these letters out to?  12 people who won't hate us for it?  Talk about a Mission Impossible. 

So, onto the good things before the flood gates open up and wash me away.  At karate, I feel I'm making great progress on my kata.  I feel like it's really coming together and I'm getting the rhythm of it down.  I am feeling like I have my karate flow back again and that is a good thing.  After my summer vacation, I'm going to up the number of times I go each week, which should make a huge difference.  I wanted to do this before, but with Lil C it's been too hard.  I'm looking forward to learning by leaps and bounds.  And onto the last good thing. . .

I've been awarded a Mix-Pix award. 

This lovely lady reviewed my site and wrote up a little something about me and my blog; and I am just thrilled.  You'll notice the little Eeyore on my side bar and I am quite proud of it.  So, in honor of this award and my horrible week, I'd like to invite any lurkers to come forward, show yourselves, leave a comment and say "hello," or something.  I know you're out there.  I see my visitor stats.  I see my little map on the side bar so I know where you're coming from, but who the heck are you?  Won't you come out and say hello? (And be nice, I'm feeling fragile this week.) 

McNuggets equals Motivation?

Big I is much more interested in her acting class than her karate class lately.  In fact, she's so interested in her acting class, that her karate class is paling in comparison, as in "NOOOOO!  I don't want to go to karate today."  My husband made a deal with her; one that I wasn't particularly crazy about.  In fact, I'm still kind of wondering what we should do about this whole anti-karate attitude she's got going lately.  His deal is simple: quit karate-no more McDonald's.  Continue with karate-go to McDonald's.  For the child that walks around this house singing "Ba, Ba, Ba, Ba Bah. . . I'm lovin' it," this has been quite a conundrum. 

Today she asked me about the details of this little arrangement, as in "What do I have to do so I can quit karate and still go to McDonald's?"  I told her the solution is simple: become a black belt, Sensei Big I, and then you can do whatever you want.  If you want to quit, quit.  You can still go to McDonald's.  Her eyes lit up.  She said, "REALLY, MOMMY???? REALLY?  You mean IT?"  I said, "Yep, all you have to do is get a black belt.  The fastest way to do that is to go to class and learn as much as you can, and practice."  She was so excited about the idea of not going to karate and still being able to go to McDonald's that she kissed me, hugged me and squealed "THANK YOU MOMMY!" 

Does she think they just hand out black belts; or does she not realize the work involved?  I think it's definitely the latter.  Once she does realize what she's agreed to, I can just see her taking a black permanent marker to that milky white belt of hers.   She is quite the little artist. 

I know that Big I doesn't get the big picture yet.  I know that she doesn't understand or appreciate the Martial Arts the way that I do.  She started when she was 3.5 years old though and she's only now 5.  Right now, all I want is for her to go and let it sink in slowly.  I'm hoping the appreciation part will follow. 

For me, I've had a respect for it from the beginning.  I like the challenge of a new kata and feel empowered when I learn new self defense techniques.  Learning karate and kobudo has done wonders for my confidence.  I'm in it for the long haul and see the black belt as the first of many promotions I hope to one day attain.  I want that black belt, not for the color or for the bragging rights.  I want that black belt because I want the knowledge and confidence that (I think) comes along with it.  I enjoy going to class when there are students who outrank me.  I feel that I really learn from them.  Most students are more than happy to help you out regardless of age or rank.

The annoying part about the Martial Arts is that there are definitely people who are only at the dojo for the bragging rights.  They are there, not for a personal journey and accomplishment, but for the belt itself.  These are the students who memorize the moves but have no power behind their punches, no purpose in their learning.  These are the students who get frustrated when going over the first kata for a new student who has joined the class, or for someone who needs or wants to review.  They don't see the value in review. They want to learn their kata, their material.  Just like students who cram for tests and quickly forget the material afterwards, these martial arts students are the same.  They don't take each kata and make it their own. They don't see the bunkai (application) in the kata or care to learn it.  They only want to do the bare minimum that it takes to move on, get the next stripe, get the next belt. 

Kindergarten orientation proved that karate has had some benefits for Big I.  A child who lacked self-confidence would not have dealt so well with a little adversity.  My husband and I agree that she should stick it out, at least for now.  I sincerely hope that our little McDonald's deal with Big I doesn't backfire and make her into one of the types of students that annoy me.  I am hoping that she'll see the meaning in it, that eventually she'll be intrinsically motivated to learn and want to continue to learn.  But for right now, it's all about the Happy Meals.

A Challenge for Mommy

One would think that a "tough" Mommy who takes karate would be able to handle a little Kindergarten orientation without being reduced to tears.  For a stay at home Mom who has been with her daughter almost every single day since the day she arrived on this Earth, orientation is rough.  In fact, I know it was harder on me than it was on Big I. 

Orientation started out just fine.  Big I sat with me in the auditorium and we listened to the principal talk for a while.  I happened to take a look at the schedule for the morning and noticed that the kids would be going off to meet the other kids and teachers.  I whispered to Big I what the plan was and she looked at me with apprehensive eyes.  I told her it would be o.k. and that I wasn't leaving the building and would be there to get her in just a little while.  She settled in beside me again.  I thought she'd be with me for a bit longer, but all of a sudden they called for the kids. 

Most kids willingly ran off to line up for the trek to the classroom.   There were a few stragglers who seemed to suddenly develop a gravitational pull to their mothers legs.  There were a few tears and some whining.  None of that came from Big I.  When it was time, she stood up, took a deep breath, and then killed me.  She leaned towards me, gave me a hug, kissed me on the cheek and said simply, "Bye Mommy."  I instantly teared up and found myself choking back the tears.  My eyes were flooded and I sat there swallowing profusely to keep them at bay.  My mantra became, "She can NOT see ME cry."  I repeated it at least 20 times.  My eyes welled, but they did not spill.  As the kids finished lining up, most of them faced forward.  But Big I turned around, smiled at me and waved. 

I don't think I've ever been so proud of Big I and of myself.  Since the day I brought this little girl into the world, there were people who judged the way I was raising her.  Family bed?  Bad idea.  Guess what?  It worked for us and she's a fabulous sleeper.  "No pre-school?  Is she crazy?  Her child will be socially behind."  My Big I is one of the most socially mature 5-year olds I know.  Today proved that.  Today was like an affirmation that I've done a good job with her. 

Back in the classroom, Big I approached a little girl who was playing with some blocks.  She started to play with her.  The little girl said something about how she was playing with them.  Instead of getting upset with the girl who was lacking sharing skills, Big I ignored her and instead took the high road.  She introduced herself and asked the girl what her name was.  She then started playing with her. 

At another point during the orientation, the kids were listening to a story.  Two little boys were moving around and getting in her way.  So, she moved away from them, but into the space of two little girls who didn't feel like sharing their space.  They told her so.  She explained to them that she was moving over because she didn't have any room.  Had it been me?  At her age?  I would have been sobbing in a corner. 

At this age?  I spent most of the refreshment time fidgeting and counting the minutes until I could go get my daughter.  I felt like an outcast, not knowing any of the other parents who were already pretty familiar with each other.  I counted minutes, and hoped that she was having a better experience than I was. 

When I went to the classroom to pick her up after 45 minutes (that felt like an absolute eternity), she was sitting at a desk coloring and writing her name by herself.  She was thrilled with her drawing, and I was thrilled to see that she wasn't crying.  She then told me about the two little girls who told her to "go away."  "WHERE ARE THEY?" I whispered to her as I scanned the room for the little brats.  She didn't even remember what they looked like. 

As we were leaving she said, "I think it was kind of fun."  She quickly made sure after that statement that she didn't have to go back for a while.  I assured her.  She then said, "I don't think the kids liked me."   Can I just tell you the million ways my heart broke when she said that?

People can spit on me.  They can call me names.  They can throw things at me or tell me to "go away."  They can even send me hate mail or write rude comments meant to hurt my feelings.  I learned today, that nothing anyone can do to me can even begin to compare to the physical pain that I experienced when I saw that my daughter's feelings were hurt.  It was so visceral, so deep and sharp that it made me feel physically sick.  I felt emotionally spent the entire day. 

After we got home and Lil C was napping, I held Big I on my lap, rocked her, and told her that everyone deals with new situations differently.  Not everyone can walk up to someone they don't know and introduce themselves the way that she did.  I told her that some kids will put up a wall, so to speak, and act mean before they act nice.  I told her that some of the kids will already know each other and therefore think they only need that one friend.  I told her that anyone who chooses not to be friends with her is missing out BIG TIME on spending time with a great, sweet, bright, fun, wonderful person that she has become. 

Tonight my husband asked her if the girls hurt her feelings, and do you know what she said?  "Actually Daddy, it made me a little mad.  They weren't very nice."  When my husband asked her why she didn't tell the boys to move, she said "I didn't want to hurt their feelings." 

I think that Big I is going to be just fine at school.  For me, it's going to take some serious time to get used to it (and a whole boat load of tissues).

Habits: Start one, Break one (or something)

I've told you about my work out motivated husband.  Often, he'll head off towards the basement and ask Big I if she'd like to go "work out" with him.  Their work out consists of sit-ups (or in Big I's case "lay downs" which look like she's been glued to the floor as she tries to sort of lift the back of her head maybe a half inch off the mat), push-ups (also known as stationary horsey ride on Daddy's back), a nice game of leap frog (or squats according to my husband), and pull ups for my husband (hang from the beams for Big I).  My husband defends this "work out" as a good one for both of them. 

Today, my husband when to the gym.  Lil C was sleeping and after reading all of your comments and emails saying how motivating I am. . . I figured I better fit the part and go work out or something.  So, I told Big I that she was welcome to join me and she did.  She suggested warming up with some jumping jacks.  We did some spirited jumping jacks, followed by punches and double punches in Nai Hanchi, followed by snap kicks: obi level (belt or stomach area) and to the head on my heavy bag of course (Big I used her Scooby Doo punching bag.)  That was just the warm up. 

We then moved on to Kata one and push-ups.  At this point, Big I decided to quit and requested we play a nice game of Memory instead.  She even volunteered to get the game from the closet herself.  I told her that I was working out, and that I wanted her to work out with me.  Her response?  "No Mommy.  You're work out is way harder than Daddy's." 

Can I tell you how many ways she made my day by saying that?  My warm up is a harder work out than Daddy's?  Oh yeah, you hear that darling husband?  That was all the motivation I needed to continue with my work out.  I'm an extremely competitive person; and there's no one I'm more competitive with than my husband.   I sailed through the rest of my kata's and waza's.  I churned out my push-ups and pushed past the pain that is still haunting my arms and chest.  I did the sit-ups and even did the pilates 100 instead of plain sit-ups.  I did the squats and got to 10 without even a thought about which treat I would reward myself with afterwards. 

After I was finished, I was sweating.  I hadn't showered yet so it wasn't a problem.  Big I and I decided our post work out cool down would be a nice game of Scrabble Junior.  No cookie today. 

Despite the fact that Big I told me mine is the harder work out, deep down I know that it's because mine involves karate.  She saw me doing kata and mentally shut down.  When I was talking about her coordination the other day, I stated that I really think it's more of a paying attention issue.  Tonight, my theory proved true. 

We went to visit some college friends at their house.  These are the type of friends who make you wish arranged marriages were an option for the common folks (and I'm not just saying that because I know they read my blog religiously).  They have two awesome kids who are so incredibly sweet and fun.  Their son, a year younger than Big I, is a doll.  Our kids have never had a disagreement.  They always get along.  They usually cry or complain profusely when our little visits are over.  Their son calls Big I his "girlfriend," and we can only hope that it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Back in college, we used to party with our mutual friends and shoot the you-know-what. About what, I'm not really sure.  It was college after all.  These days, we have dinner and the conversation at the "adult table" usually revolves around poop and other various bodily functions and mishaps involving our kids and pets.  After all, that is what parents talk about.  We're thinking that a wedding reception would bring back the college days if only for one glorious night.

Our friends have a large yard and enough animal friends to fill a small zoo.  Big I immediately went off with her "boyfriend" to play in the yard, visit their pet horses, and play on the new swing set.  Within five minutes, the child was screaming that she hurt herself.  I checked out the latest injury (yet another knee boo-boo) and asked her how it happened.  "Were you running?"  She says, "No, just walking."  So, I cleaned up her knee and sent her on her way. 

Fifteen minutes later, she enters the kitchen sniffling.  She'd been hit in the nose with a wiffle ball.  That issue was resolved and off she went again.  So, it was time to eat dinner and she came inside to get her plate.  My husband told her to go wash her hands in the bathroom.  Big I walks over to the pantry closet door and grabs the handle.  We all start telling her she's at the wrong door, but she continues to open the door, staring out in our direction.  We continue telling her she's at the wrong door, and she actually backs into the pantry closet and starts to close the door.  Had she not had an encounter with some instant tea and canned soups, I fully believe she would have shut the door and stood in there wondering where she'd gone wrong. 

She is a smart little girl.  She knows everything there is to know about fossils, dinosaurs, and the rotation of the Earth.  She just does not pay attention to her surroundings at all.  I'm going to continue to ask her to work out with me, in the hopes that she'll become more focused on the task at hand.  And maybe, just maybe that will translate to other things in life like avoiding close encounters with canned goods when all she's looking for is a sink and some soap.

Revenge (of the work out and other stuff)

It is amazing that I am even attempting to write a post today.  Why?  Well, writing a post requires me to lift my lap top up, and move my arms.  Both of these activities are causing some serious pain today.  You know that work out?  The one that I did for about 15 minutes?  The one that involved push-ups?  Well, if I didn't know any better, I would think I was in having a heart attack because my chest is KILLING me today, along with the arms. 

Doing that work out didn't feel like a big deal when I was in the process.  The encouraging thing is that the work out didn't really feel like anything and I'm sore, which means it was doing something it was supposed to be doing and I didn't have to feel the pain. . . at least not immediately.   Lil C is taunting me because deep down she KNOWS I hurt.  She is even more determined than usual to stand on my lap and jump, jump, jump, jump, oh, and jump.  It is causing some serious discomfort today and I'm dreading tomorrow, because the second day is ALWAYS worse than the first day after a work out. 

Despite the fact that I can hardly move my upper body, I was tempted to use my martial arts for revenge today.  My family and I were taking a walk.  As Lil C and I were crossing the street, a car driven by a teenager came around a 20 mph corner at about 60 mph.  He had to skid to a stop.  He would have hit us had I not stopped in my tracks and pulled the stroller backwards.  And then, my daughters got a lesson in profanity like no other.  My husband, who had already crossed the street, started.  After my heart moved down from the nice little nook in my throat, I joined in as well.  Their car windows were open.  I know they heard every word.  They also heard the landscaper a half block down the street from where we were who also gave them an earful. 

Had the boys retorted in any way, shape or form, I seriously think I would have dragged the driver out of his window and practiced some kata.  I was SO upset.  Fortunately, I think the driver was a little shaken himself; and I sincerely hope that our little incident and subsequent name-calling extravaganza made him think a little about slowing down.  I came home from the walk and fired off an exasperated email to our township police department who I'm hoping will do something about this very dangerous street. 

I have never wanted to use what I've learned at karate for anything other than to protect myself and my children.  I'm not the type of person to walk around and say things like, "I could kick your you-know-what."  I am not an instigator in the physical sense; Never have been-never will be.  But, in my (what seems to be to teenagers) old age, I have often fantasized about teaching a teenager (or anybody acting like one) a lesson or two, especially the ones who drive across store parking lots like the lines are there as merely a suggestion.  Becoming a Mother opens and enlarges your heart; but it also enrages your temper against those who might do potential harm to your off-spring.