Black Belt Mama

Of Bruised Butts and Egos

I've had ER visits for myself while on vacation in the past. I've had ER and Urgent Care visits for one particular daughter as well. I've been stung by jellyfish en masse while trying to windsurf (that was pre-blog). I've hurt my back while playing volleyball on the beach. But until today, I've never made a complete and total idiot out of myself. . .

Wait. . . I used to do karaoke while on vacation.

Ok, let me rephrase. I've never made a complete and total idiot out of myself while also injuring myself on vacation. . . until today.

We went to the aquarium this morning and the girls had a blast. After, we stopped at a restaurant for lunch. Located back on the bay and as part of a condo area, it's not ever busy and the food is always fantastic. We chose a table overlooking a marina and had a rather uneventful lunch. 

Then Lil C started getting antsy. She was out of her chair and back in her chair. The chairs were very flimsy and light and I kept warning her to be careful. One wiggle in the wrong direction and she was going to knock the chair completely over. At one point, Mr. BBM tickled her a bit and she went flying backwards. I caught her by her nose and gave her two scratches on her face with my fingernail. I figured it was better than her landing on her head and knocking everything over. I think she agreed.

While we were waiting for our desserts, Lil C announced to the four occupied tables in the restaurant that she had to go to the bathroom. I took her and left my purse behind, hanging over the back of the chair. We returned to the table and Lil C was bouncing all over the place; and I was worried that she was going to knock her chair over or fall.

"Be careful Lil C. You're going to knock your chair over. Please just sit down. Your dessert is coming."

And then it happened. Apparently I have entirely too much crap in my purse because the weight of it knocked my chair backwards just as I was surrendering to taking a seat. There was no hesitation, not even a "whoops" moment as I had committed to the sit, didn't realize the chair was already on its way over, and I was going to go with it.

Mr. BBM says he looked at Lil C, heard a "woah!" come from me and looked up to find I wasn't there anymore. Instead I had taken a hard sit on the floor landing on my right butt cheek. My lower back had a brief, although painful, encounter with the jagged wooden edge of the seat of the chair on the way down and I landed in a heap of hurt.

A table of women behind me started having a fit, asking me if I was ok and telling me I needed a bag of ice. I gingerly rubbed my back and told them I think I needed a glass of wine instead. No one laughed (at least not at the time) because I think they were more concerned that I was hurt. It caused quite a bit of commotion. Truth be told, my butt was throbbing and my back was killing me. I lifted up the back of my shirt and asked Big I if I was bleeding. She said "yes" and I went off to look at the damage in the bathroom. There was no blood on the surface. It was all underneath, a three inch long by one inch wide mark on my spine that was already painful to touch. We won't even discuss my butt. I'm just glad I landed on one cheek and not my tailbone.

Our waitress delivered my coconut cream pie with a ganache bottom on it just as I was reestablishing myself in my chair.

"Here" she said, "this will make it better."

I came home, fell asleep on the beach in my chair and woke up in a world of pain. My whole spine hurts and my neck is all messed up too. And man does my butt hurt. I can't imagine tomorrow is going to feel good.

I've spent the entire week swearing off tennis, refusing to play in the waves, and being super careful about not walking into a ditch in the sand while on the beach. This just goes to show that if the universe has it out for it, it's going to get you, one way or another.

If you're not afraid to make an idiot out of yourself for public consumption, then consider entering the Summer Serenade contest! It's simple. Lip sync or actually sing a song, record yourself and send the video to me. See details and participants on the Summer Serenade page in the sidebar!

Relief

Last night Big I auditioned for a play. She did one of these productions two summers ago and it was grueling. They practice Monday through Thursday, 6-9 and the director is very serious about the play. Although the kids love her when it's all over, during the actual process of getting ready, even the parents are sometimes on edge. It's a lot of work and it's a lot of stress. 

When Big I did it before, it felt like our summer was gone. After five weeks of non-stop rehearsing and then a weekend of performing, we had a month left before school started. Still, if Big I enjoys acting and singing, then I thought I shouldn't deprive her of the opportunity.

Auditions started at 6 last night and after dancing, singing, and acting portions, she was finally finished at 9 p.m. It was a very long night.

I took her to the audition and they started with dancing. The only thing I could compare this part of the audition to, would be like someone showing you a kata two times and then asking you to do it on your own. The poor kid had trouble following along and I wanted to just whisk her off the stage and erase her memory of it. Fortunately she wasn't the only one having trouble. Dancing like a marionette isn't going to happen after a mere 10 minutes of instruction.

Then came singing. I stayed for half of it and then headed out to the dojo. Mr. BBM said her group of four did well and for that I was relieved. Mr. BBM said she also did well reading her lines for the acting portion. He said she read every word perfectly and you could hear her, but she didn't really "act" it out so much. Keep in mind that the youngest allowed to audition is eight. Big I is eight.

On the way home from auditions, she told Mr. BBM she had a dilemma. She knows that if she does this play, she can forget leisurely evenings at the pool. She can forget doing tennis or swim lessons; and she's going to have to miss a week of ju-jutsu too. She decided that she's not going to do it this summer. Instead she thought she'd audition for the spring play. To say I'm relieved would be the understatement of the century. The month of June is already packed for us; rehearsals every night would just about kill us.

I have to give the kid props though. I doubt I would have had the guts to get up there the way she's done twice, once when she was only 6 years old!

I'm relieved that we'll have our summer back, but now I'm looking for relief of another kind.

Yesterday, I was looking for something in the basement, moved a box without moving the ones in front of it and tweaked my lower back. If I'm standing I'm fine. If I lay down I'm fine; but sitting is a different story.

I walked in to karate last night and told Big I's Danzan Ryu Ju-Jutsu instructor who was teaching downstairs that I was hurting and he disappeared outside to his car. He came back in with a chinese analgesic that you rub on your sore spot and wait to dry. He gave strict instructions for me to pass along to Mr. BBM when putting it on me, "Don't touch your eyes and don't 'adjust' yourself until after you wash your hands."  I woke Mr. BBM up last night when I rolled in from the dojo around 11 p.m. to put it on me.

Today I feel slightly better but not much. Sitting is still killing me. What I love about Big I doing ju-jutsu is that Danzan Ryu practitioners learn how to hurt people, but they also learn the healing arts. It's an interesting combination and one that Big I's Sensei takes very seriously. He told me that if I'm not better soon, he'd work on my back a bit.

In Kyoshi Bill Hayes' book "My Journey with the Grandmaster" he talks about training hard and then going to get fixed back up with long soaks and massage. I can't help feeling like this should be a crucial part of modern day training. Maybe those sore spots wouldn't happen as often and maybe that was the key to longevity in the arts.

If I could just convince Mr. BBM to go get certified in the healing arts. . .

Why You Shouldn't EVER Give Your Little Ones Hard Candy

After a sweaty but productive morning at karate, we went to the country club across the street from our neighborhood today and joined. As we were heading to the car after joining and talking about going home and changing into our swim suits, Lil C put a hard candy in her mouth that the woman had given her inside.

The next thing I knew, she was choking.

At first she was coughing a bit, but I could tell she was having trouble. Then she stopped coughing and there was no sound, only the startled look on her face that was also now on my face. I grabbed her and gave her the heimlich maneuver and she started making sounds again, managing to get out a little cough here and there. But it was like the candy would get lodged in her throat and then come up a bit, and then get lodged back in there again.

I was starting to really panic, and Mr. BBM ran around the car to help. She stopped making sounds again and Mr. BBM grabbed her and gave her the heimlich again. This time she started making choking and coughing sounds accompanied by some gagging. The only thoughts going through my head during this short ordeal that felt like it was hours, was "What if it doesn't work? What if we can't get this candy out?" I started to think that maybe I should grab my cell phone and call 911, but I knew that no ambulance would be able to get there on time. We either got it out on our own, or she was going to choke and die. I was going to become the poster Mom for not giving your kids hard candy.

I picked her up because she was making sounds and I thought that she had swallowed the candy instead of spitting it back up. The next thing I knew, she burped this horrible burp, gagged and threw up the complimentary potato chips and pretzels and along with it came the bright red hard candy that I thought was going to take my little girl.

With the candy glaring at us from the parking lot, I cleaned Lil C up, and then started shaking. My heart was racing and now that she was ok, I felt like I needed to sit down. Instead, I knelt down and hugged her like I never have before. It was truly one of the scariest moments of my life; and I hope I don't ever have to repeat it.

Lil C and I have decided that there will be no more hard candy for her ever again. After spending the rest of the afternoon watching her play at the pool and not letting her out of my sight, and stopping to hug her constantly, I now know there is no such thing as a harmless piece of hard candy. She's had it a few times in the past few months, but she won't be having it anymore.

And Mommy? Mommy needs a martini. Stat.

The Nun and the Bomb Disabler

This week, Big I came home with a big announcement. A couple weeks ago, all the 2nd graders took a writing test. It had something to do with the state tests. The other day, they got their scores. Most of the students scored either "basic"or "proficient" but Big I's test didn't have a score on it. Her teacher made an announcement that there was one student who had a writing test so perfect that it had been shared with all the other teachers. She asked Big I to stand up and told her that she was the only one who had scored "advanced." Apparently, she didn't have a single mistake in the story she wrote. Not one.

To say I'm proud of her is the understatement of the century. I can't for the life of me figure out where she got such awesome writing genes though.

On the same day, Lil C brought me a Mickey Mouse movie she wanted to watch. There was only one problem; she had snapped the DVD in half. Later, when I went to put a different movie on for her, I picked up the DVD remote to find that she had also snapped off the battery cover so that it will no longer stay on. She was definitely in one of her destructive modes; and I was scared to see what would be next.

I didn't have to wait long. I opened up the powder room cabinet to get a box of tissues out and saw that half a box of tampons had been completely unwrapped, and pulled apart into their varying pieces. They fell out of the cabinet in a rush as if there had been a tampon explosion or something.

She is forever taking things apart; and Big I is forever trying to put the pieces back together. When the girls color, Lil C sits there taking the paper off of each crayon, while Big I freaks out and tries to put them back on. Lil C wants all the dolls undressed and rearranged. She likes to take their pony tails out too, which drives Big I to near hysteria. Lil C will take paper, tissues, whatever and shred it until it looks like there's been a ticker tape parade in the house, while Big I has a fit that there is stuff everywhere. Lil C is forever loosening knobs on drawers, and taking pens completely apart so she can examine the springs and guts of the pen. There isn't a remote or toy in the house that hasn't been taken apart and then put back together in some crazy way.

If someone were to ask me what I think the future holds for my girls, I would probably say that I think Big I will either be a nun or a writer/artist or both.

With skills like Lil C has, I'm thinking she will probably have a future disabling bombs.

***Do you have mad lip syncing skills? Even better, can you sing like an American Idol? If so, consider entering the Summer Serenade contest! Entries are due by 7/1 and more details can be found by clicking here.

Leaving the Door Cracked

On Monday, I gave one of Lil C's car seats to a neighbor whose son had barfed all over his seat. We had been outside playing on Sunday and the words, "you can have ours" just blurted out. This may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but for me, it's monumental. I have a basement packed with baby things that I can't seem to part with. I have every onesie, stained or not. I have every toy and every shoe that either of my kids ever wore. I have, on occasion, given things to my cousin, but only to borrow. I've always asked for my baby things back.

Since I got married, I always wanted to have three kids. My husband is one of three in his family and I like the slightly bigger family. If one sibling is weird, hey, you still have another right? My family has always done things in two's and I wanted to break out of that trend.

After the way Big I came into this world, violently taking my body apart, one stretch mark and tear at a time, it's amazing I didn't decide to stop right there. But as she grew up, I knew I wanted a baby in the house again. The first time around, you're so busy worrying that you're not doing everything right that you don't truly take the time to relax and enjoy it.

I didn't think Lil C was ever going to happen. Mr. BBM was traveling all the time and it takes two to tango. After over a year of that dreaded word, "trying" I figured it was a lost cause. When I gave up, I got pregnant and I was so excited. I decided to eliminate all the medical drama and have a midwife deliver her at a birth center.

Then, half way through the pregnancy, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. My joyful pregnancy turned into one of worry. I cried all the time and prayed for two things: a healthy baby and that the diabetes would go away when it was all over. My Mom's never went away when she had her second baby. She has an insulin pump and a blood sugar sensor on her person at all times. There have been low blood sugars and subsequent ambulance calls and car accidents. I spent a lot of my childhood terrified because of those few times I came home to find my Mom unconscious. I didn't want that for my kids and I didn't want that for me.

Lil C's birth experience wasn't exactly where I had hoped it would be (the Director of Maternal Fetal Medicine scared me into having a hospital birth), but the experience my midwife made sure I had was an amazing one. She kept the medical business out of the experience for me as much as possible. She left me push in the dark without making my knees touch my ears. I practically delivered Lil C myself. Although during the contractions, I swore (literally) and swore I was done; after that amazing experience I wasn't so sure. I've kept the door cracked all these years, terrified to try and find out I can't. Terrified to get pregnant and then get diabetes again; maybe this time for good.

I've had two good friends of mine lose babies in recent months during varying stages of pregnancy, and the weight of that has been crushing. However, my entire street in our new development is in baby making mode and two neighbors have given birth to healthy baby boys in the past three months. The one baby and I have become particularly good friends.

When he wakes from naps on nice afternoons, he spends some time smiling at me while hanging out on my lap. The other day, as I dropped the car seat off at my neighbor's across the street, his daddy was frustrated that he wouldn't take his bottle or stop crying. I gave his Dad a break, cradled him and got him to take his bottle on the first try, while he patted my back with his little fist and held onto my pinky with his other little hand. For the first time in a long time, I thought to myself, "I could do this again." It's just the getting through the pregnancy in one piece that I doubt I can handle again.

I like the freedom that having older kids gives you. I like being able to go out when I get a babysitter and I'm happy to have my body back to myself. After about four years of combined pregnancy and nursing, that's one part I wouldn't be anxious about going back to again.

Over the weekend, we took the girls to see the movie Up. It was a fantastic movie and it was preceded by a short movie that was absolutely adorable. In it, there are storks delivering human babies and animals. I couldn't help to think to myself how nice it would be if one could get a baby delivered like that, without 9 months of being scared you'll end up with the disease you've watched your Mom deal with for years, and without thousands in adoption costs and worldwide travel.

For now, I'm going to borrow my neighbor's son when I'm feeling the baby itch, and I'm still keeping that door cracked, even if just a bit. After all, if a stork happens to drop a baby on my porch, I need to be ready.

***This summer there are some exciting things going on here at Black Belt Mama. Please consider entering the Summer Serenade contest. Details can be found by clicking here. While you're at it, mark the weekend of June 26th on your calendar. Big announcements and changes are coming soon!

Swimsuit Shopping Never Really Gets Better

One would think, that working out pretty much non-stop for about eight months would make swimsuit shopping easier. However, nothing is easy when you have two little girls who come along for the adventure. Nothing is easy when you're a woman and your eyes are trained to see flaws before all else.

I've spent the last couple months pining after a swimsuit I spotted in the Eddie Bauer catalog. A halterkini with an apron back on it; it's exactly what I wanted. The price was stopping me though until I found it in another store on sale.

The choices in swimwear, if you're looking for a blousey one-piece that covers you from your knees to your neck seem to be endless in my area. I happen to live in a county where the average shopper is a heck of a lot older than I am. Also, people in my county like to eat a lot, and not things like organic fruit. Think bologna, pot pie, mashed potatoes, that kind of stuff. There are also ash trays in the dressing rooms (not used anymore-thank God, but still).

I loaded up on different sizes of only three different swimsuits because there was pretty much nothing to choose from, and went off to find a dressing room with the girls.

I don't know what it is about Lil C, but as soon as we get into a try-on room, she's Lil C amplified. She was busy making faces in the mirror, pushing her sister off the bench and discussing her own body parts quite loudly. I could already hear the old lady in the dressing room beside me clicking her tongue and sighing with disgust when Lil C called her sister a "poopyhead" which seems to be her new favorite. Fortunately, the child lives for pretzels and "flushies" (that would be slushies) at the mall so once I threatened her with living without her treat, she stopped discussing her butt so much.

Instead the girls decided to discuss mine.

Big I was clearly opposed to anything exposing any amount of stomach area skin and Lil C wanted to see as much of it as possible. I tuned the two of them out and made my own decision. I put the swimsuit on hold and moved on to the next store.

Here's some good marketing advice for Victoria Secret: if you want to sell swimsuits in the store in the area where I live, you should try stocking more than one tankini. I've had suits from VS in the past and loved them. When I saw they were carrying some of them in stores, I was ecstatic, but I wasn't after I hit the dressing room.

There were bikinis that were tried on as an ab experiment-to see if that P90X Ab Ripper workout is really all it's cracked up to be and if the months of medicine ball and incline board combinations really did their thing. The bikini's weren't bad if I could zone out the faded stretch marks from carrying Big I and Lil C on my stomach. There was one bikini, marked down to $25 and it was very tempting; but then I started thinking that I would probably be wearing it at the pool this summer beside some 17 year old who got breast implants for her birthday and decided the cost wasn't worth the eventual humiliation.

I moved onto the one tankini VS sells in my local store and the top was awesome. I was contemplating buying the suit when I turned around to get a glimpse at the back and saw the word "hitched" with a little pink heart on my butt. I hadn't noticed that when I grabbed the bottoms out on the floor of the store.

Big I got a look on her face that said, "Oh no you don't" and I ripped that thing off as fast as I could. We have rules in this house about wearing words on our butts. We just don't do it. We discuss our butts enough in this house; we don't need more words drawing attention to them. And yes, if you've ever been wearing pants or shorts that declare your butt is "juicy" or "pink," it's me laughing at you from behind. Sorry, but that stuff is ridiculous.

We moved on to the final store where I tried on a Kenneth Cole swimsuit that I liked the looks of last year but felt like I couldn't pull it off. I was pleasantly surprised to see that I could totally pull it off this year. Lil C voted for getting that one, but Big I convinced me that purple was not my friend and to go back to the first store, so I did.

I'm now the owner of this halterkini with two bottoms: the one Lil C liked that shows more skin and some tribal skirted bottom thing that was Big I approved. Apparently she doesn't want even a hint of a "cheek" embarrassing her at the pool this summer in front of her friends. She didn't say this; I can just tell.

What I've found after working out so hard this year is that even after all the hard work, it's still possible to be critical of your body. Although I certainly can't complain about not having tighter abs, I can still complain about the faded stretch marks and some extra skin post pregnancy. Although there's no denying my leg muscles are better than they've ever been, there's this little band of skin right above where the bottoms stop that could definitely use some tightening.

I've got a week to be pool ready and two weeks to be beach ready; and frankly, at this point, after all the workouts and dojo time in recent months, it's time to say enough. If someone is going to concentrate on that area I think needs tightening, then they're concentrating on me way too much.

According to the girls, I look like a princess in my new swimsuit; and in case you haven't heard, post-pregnancy stretch marks are the sign of a true warrior. You heard it here first.

Raising Opposites

On karate nights, Mr. BBM will often paint with the girls. They use water colors and they really look forward to painting with Daddy. I got home after the girls were in bed and Mr. BBM showed me what they had created tonight.

Mr. BBM: (Shows me Big I's painting) "This is a girl and over here it says something about a garden."

Me: "It looks like 'In the Garden, Oh So Beautiful.' Nice!"

Mr. BBM: "Yeah something like that."

Mr. BBM: "Here is Lil C's."

Me: "Hmm, what's that?"

Mr. BBM: "Um, she said that is a dead girl."

Me: "Great."

This is why you should really be careful when you name your children. Big I's name means "consecrated to God." Lil C's? "Prophetess of Doom."

Yep, I'd say it fits.

Why My Kitchen Should Have a Hose and a Drain in the Floor

This post was originally called "Just Don't Expect Me To Do Stairs." That was before I had to do so much more than stairs.

I worked out with my trainer last night for the first time in many weeks. I had told him a couple weeks ago that I was getting bored with my leg routine and wanted some new challenges. I felt like my knee was up for it. At the time, he talked to me about a workout he had in mind for me, but I needed to be "ready for it." I had no idea about all the new kinds of torture my trainer would be able to dream up for me.

I had no idea how a barfing child could complicate matters even further.

First, my trainer grabbed a step and a 10 lb. medicine ball. I had to start with my right foot on the step while holding the ball off to my left hip. Then I had to step up, pull my left knee up and at the same time bring the medicine ball across my body and above my head. My trainer had been telling me about the importance of compound movements like that and how it would help me with both strength and endurance.

The next set was straight squats with the heels of my feet on these squishy ball things to help with form. I had to hold a 15 lb. kettle ball out straight in front of me while squatting. The second set of these I had to hold for a count of three before coming back up. The last set? I had to hold for a count of five and he always makes me hold the last one of each set for a count of 10.

Killer.

Then it was wall sits for a minute at a time before tackling lunges. These weren't your ordinary lunges though. With a five lb weight in each hand, I had to lunge, go all the way down while lifting my arms straight out to shoulder height. He had me lunging my way across the gym and I was wondering how something that looks so simple can be so difficult. During the last set, I lunged down and didn't stop until my knee had touched the floor. My muscles simply quit on me. It was like they had a mind of their own and were screaming for mercy. I got back up though and finished the set strong. It helps when your trainer stands there and yells at you, "Get up!" on the last one. You kind of don't want to say no to the guy who can have a 30 minute conversation with you while doing non-stop pull-ups.

But the lunges weren't over. The next type of lunge was stationary while holding a 10 lb. medicine ball out in front of me and twisting my upper body in the direction of my front knee. I sucked it up through three sets although I really wanted to just lay down and whimper by this point.

We weren't done though.

Next came calf raises, leg extensions and leg curls. We did high reps for three sets, and then it was on to abs. When I was finished, an hour after the torture had begun, my trainer told me he was impressed. He said he doesn't know that many girls who can get through all of that. We checked my body fat percentage: 18.3% and BMI 19.9 and decided I was definitely on the right track.

I came home last night walking with a stagger, and I knew this morning was going to be rough. I had no idea.

I managed to get Big I up for school and out the door, but it was only thanks to a railing on either side of my stairwell that I was able to make it down the stairs without having to sit, scoot, boom, the way little kids do. I had plans to clean the house today but scrubbing the kitchen floor was not on my list of things to do. My mop broke, and since I can't kneel on my knees, mopping the floor is now a half hour of squatting and pain, and that's without having done the most intense leg workout ever the day before.

At 11:30, I got a call from Big I's school. She was in the nurse's office with a terrible stomach ache, nausea and a sore throat. I had to come get her immediately. You see, swine flu is in the next school district over from us. Four confirmed cases already, and an additional two pending but probable.

I had her home and resting comfortably within 15 minutes, with a warning from the school nurse that if she spiked a high fever, I had to take her to the doctor immediately. I was busy catching up on the phone with a friend who had called while Big I napped on the sofa. All of a sudden, there was this terrible noise, like a burp from the deep dark depths of hell and Big I came tearing out into the kitchen moaning. I started screaming for her to run as fast as she could when she stopped on a dime and let loose.

Barf on my kitchen island. Barf on my stools. Barf on my wall. Barf all over my tile floor. Barf under the table where Lil C was sitting peacefully eating her lunch.

"Oh my God! Don't move!" I screamed and hung up the phone. I should have known that barfing episodes like this don't come with just one round. I didn't want her to have to walk through the vomit to get to the bathroom, but when she started hurling again, I just told her to jump over it and get in the bathroom.

It was as I stood surveying the damage to my wall and floor (a good 10 ft trail of barf to the bathroom) that I strongly wished I would have remained working full time and let Mr. BBM stay at home with the girls full time. They usually barf at night and I am on kid duty while Mr. BBM cleans up the stuff. I can't stand cleaning up the stuff.

Meanwhile, Lil C continued to eat her lunch. How on Earth she managed that, I will never know. My stomach still threatens to reject my lunch if I even think about the puddle that was my kitchen floor two hours ago. I'll probably forgo eating the rest of the week thanks to that image and subsequent clean up.

As I cleaned up the puddles, I started dry heaving (excellent for already abused ab muscles); and my legs screamed out in pain from having to squat down.

It's now after 2:00. Big I says she's feeling a little better and is passed out on the sofa. I just finished bleaching the bathroom, and hand scrubbing the kitchen floor and have surrounded her with plastic bag lined buckets.

It took me over two hours to clean up two rooms and although I'm feeling horrible that she's so sick, I have to say that she looks rather peaceful right now, compared to the horrible burning feeling in my thighs and calves that is anything but peaceful.

Not the Only Girl With a Trainer Problem

This morning I got a message from my regular trainer. He wanted to know why I was "cheating" on him and had an appointment scheduled with the guy who bear hugged me on Tuesday.

I never scheduled an appointment with him, but apparently the guy put me in his book for 10:30 a.m.

Um, no.

When I agreed to let him show me some exercises, it was casual, like if I'm here, cool. If not, whatever. I was planning on not being around. I didn't want to be bothered again.

I immediately left a message for my trainer, the bear hugger's boss, and told him to cancel my appointment. It wasn't until this evening, on the way home from the dojo, that we were finally able to talk.

I went through the blow by blow with him and when I got to the part where he grabbed me from behind? First there was silence and then there was a staccato "What? He did WHAT?" I reiterated how it had gone down and my trainer was very upset. Apparently this isn't the first time that a woman has complained about this particular trainer being pushy and "overly sexual."

I told my trainer I didn't want to make a huge deal about it. I don't want to feel uncomfortable coming to the gym and being around that trainer. I told him I was letting him know because if that guy does what he did to me to someone else, they might have a sexual harassment case on their hands. I just wanted to make him aware.

He cut me off. "Girl, you just keep coming and doing your thing. You have nothing to feel uncomfortable about! You let ME handle him. I'm going to handle him."

I asked him if he could put a note beside my name in the computer that says, "All trainers-Leave her the hell alone." He said he would take care of it. Knowing him, I know he will.

I'm getting a free work-out out of it with my trainer; and I trust that I won't be having any more awkward martial arts conversations at the gym.

I'm tempted to arrive with my nunchaku so if he gets anywhere near me, I can just start swinging to create my safe zone. Then again, he'd probably think they are cool and tell me he's a 9th degree black belt in "brass knuckles" or something. On second thought, I think I'll leave the nunchaku at home.

What All the Martial Artists Warned Me About

The gym gods were all aligning against me today. I should have skipped; but instead I got Lil C ready and got on my way. I only had an hour before the Kid Zone was closing so I had to hurry. The first main road I turned onto has a speed limit of 35. Big I's school is located along this road and during certain times of the day, it's a school zone with a 15 mph speed limit.

I was following another car. They were going faster than I was going, but the cop pulled out of the school parking lot pointing meanly at me with his lights flashing. Fantastic.

Meanwhile I'm sure all my neighbors are driving by. The only people who use that street are people who live in my neighborhood. The officer approaches the car and he's an older man. I take off my sunglasses, turn the radio off and hope that Lil C is pouting. He lets me off with a warning for going 25 on a road where the speed limit is usually 35, but the school zone lights had just turned on. I did not see them flashing and swear they had turned on right after I entered the school zone. As I'm getting finished up, a police SUV pulls up behind the cop car with his lights on too. What? He thought he needed back-up or something? Maybe they planned on busting me for not registering my hands as deadly weapons or something.

I directly attribute the warning without a ticket to Lil C looking adorable in the backseat with her little lamb stuffed animal sitting on her lap, and to me wisely deciding to turn off the T.I. I was listening to when he approached.

I should have known right then and there that my workout was doomed.

I arrived at the gym with about 40 minutes to squeeze my workout into and got started. I did higher reps and less sets and tried to blow through the sets as quickly as possible. I kept noticing one of the new trainers sort of following me around. He seemed to be trying to get my attention but I had my headphones in and I was doing my best to appear invisible.

It was when I got on the dip machine that he came over and started talking right in my face, ignoring my headphones. I couldn't just ignore him so I pulled one out. He was critiquing my form. Apparently, I needed to adjust the machine a little better. Normally I would have, but I was in a rush. I had 15 minutes left and I still had two arm exercises and abs to do.

I thanked him for his help but he didn't stop there. He wanted to show me how to do it properly. I began thinking about another guy from my dojo who joined the same gym. No one ever bothers him, he says. Why do all the trainers bother me all the time? Why did all the crazy people always want to talk to me on the bus when I lived in Pittsburgh? I'm guessing the answer is one and the same.

Then I was distracted from these thoughts as we got into the conversation that every martial artist dreads, the one I've been warned about, similar to when you say you're an English teacher and people ramble off some Shakespearean quote and ask you to name the exact play, Act, line and character. . .

"I haven't really seen you here before" he said. (My God, I'm thinking, I finally know what super power I would choose if I could have one. I'd be invisible!) 

"Yeah, well, I've been on a two week break from the gym and you look brand new. That's probably why. I've been coming since October."

"Oh, well what do you normally do for your fitness routine?"

Here we go, the hard sell for a training contract. Been there-done that.

"Well, I go to karate a couple times a week, and come to the gym mainly to rehab my knee."

"No way, you do karate!" he says excitedly.

"Yeah," I say looking at my watch.

"How long have you been doing karate?"

"About five years now," I said. (I should have said, "I started yesterday.")

"I LOVE the martial arts," he said. "I'm like an 8th degree black belt in wrestling" (I'm assuming there is added emphasis on the "like").

"Really? I didn't know they had black belts in wrestling" I say.

"Wow, that's so cool that you're a girl and you do martial arts," he chatters on.

"Uh-huh." 

"So what would you do if I threw a punch at you like this?"

He throws a slow punch that stops about 12 inches from my face.

"Nothing," I said, "that punch is of no threat to me."

"Well what if I would do this," he says, throwing two punches that both land about 12 inches from my face.

"Nothing," I said, "your punch is still like a foot away from me."

I check my watch and tell him how I'm trying to squeeze in a quick workout, but he doesn't get the hint. He walks behind me and grabs me in the middle of the gym in a bear hug from behind. I'm sort of shocked that he would just wrap his arms around some girl he doesn't know, but I just stand there knowing what's coming next.

"What would you do if I did this?"

"Well, you are doing that, so if I thought you were going to hurt me and you weren't just screwing around, I would drop into a solid stance and first distract you by stomping hard on your foot. I'd probably start trying to loosen up your grip by getting my elbows moving. Then, I'd probably use a heel-butt kick to your groin. I'm guessing by then you would probably let go. You're shorter than I am and I have long legs so it would probably work. Then, as you're doubling over in pain, I'd elbow you in the face as hard as I could trying to hit you in the eye, nose, or chin. Or, depending on how you're gripping me, I might just drop down and elbow you in the groin on the way down."

"Well, I'd try to take you down" he said, "before you could do that."

He was inches shorter than I was and he wiggled around a bit, apparently trying to take me down, but I continued to just stand there. He finally let go. I was mentally heel-butt kicking myself for even mentioning karate.

"So you said you were rehabbing your knee. What's wrong with it?"

"I had ACL reconstruction" I said.

"Want to come in on Thursday and I'll show you some good exercises for it?"  he asked me.

"As long as you promise you're not going to try to sign me up on a training contract and you're planning on showing me something I don't already know."

"Nah, I won't do that (he is so lying), but hey, can you teach me some karate stuff some time?"

Why an "8th degree black belt in wrestling" would want me to teach him some karate is beyond me.

What I should have said? "Sure, but that will require a $149 enrollment fee, plus $40 per 20-30 minute session. Can I sign you up now? Let's sit down and talk about it. It will change your life, the way you workout. It will change your body."

Instead, I told him I had to get back to my workout.

Invisible spray-someone invent it and send me some pronto.

A Cautionary Tale of a Date Gone Wrong

I am frequently asked if I've ever had to use my martial arts training in a real life situation. The truth is that since I began training, I haven't had to use my physical training once. I'd like to think though, that my training has steered people away from engaging me in conflict, kind of like the Jedi.

Another common question I'm asked is why I decided to start training in the martial arts. There are many reasons. I had always had an interest from the time that bully punched me in the back when I was in junior high. I always wanted to know how to defend myself, but I was a little intimidated of learning a martial art. Big I wanting to start classes is how I got my start.

But this doesn't mean I've never had to defend myself. There was a date gone wrong a long time ago, and it's one of the things that drives me to continue training; and it's also why I want my daughters to train in some form of self defense. What happened to me was no joke.

It was the summer after my freshman year in college and some friends and I went to a dance club. One of my friends instantly found a guy for the evening and they hit it off. His friend liked me, but I wasn't interested. I was having much more fun hanging out with my guy friend and ignoring him. At the end of the night, my friend and her guy exchanged phone numbers and I got into the car as quickly as possible, wanting to avoid giving my number to his friend.

About two weeks later, my friend called me and told me she was going out on a date with the guy she met. They wanted to make it a double date and asked me to go along with his friend. I didn't want to go. At first, I said "no" but I was talked into it over a series of days. Normally, I probably would have said "yes" earlier to appease my friend. This, after all, is what women do; but I had a funny feeling about this guy and I wasn't at all interested in dating him.

My friend arranged everything and a few nights later, we met the two guys in the parking lot of the hotel where I worked as a lifeguard. I didn't want to leave my car behind and go with them. My gut was telling me not to, but my friend insisted, and so I got in their car and off we went.

When we arrived at the one guy's house, I was uneasy. It was in the middle of nowhere. I thought we were going to go to a movie or miniature golf or something, but instead we were at a house with no one home. My friend and her guy quickly disappeared into the wooded backyard to find the pool. I was not at all interested in swimming. I had spent the entire day life guarding and I wasn't going to approach water with this guy. My friend had also made it clear she wanted to be alone.  My date asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. It was either watch a movie, or stand in the driveway waiting for my friend so I reluctantly agreed to go inside.

When I went inside, we were in a small living room. The sofa bed was pulled out. He started the movie and sat down in the middle. I sat on the very edge. I didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

I don't remember what the movie was, probably because I was too paranoid to watch any of it. He kept gradually moving closer to me and he was making me feel uncomfortable. He tried to hold my hand and I fixed my hair with it. I was not interested. I wanted to make it clear.

Apparently, I wasn't clear enough.

It all happened so quickly, but before I knew it he had grabbed me and pulled me down and into the center of the sofa bed. He climbed on top of me quickly. He was kneeling on my thighs and holding my wrists down with my hand while he worked on the button on my shorts. Thank God for button fly jean shorts because they gave me the second or two I needed to realize what was going on.

I immediately told him to stop it, firmly. I started yelling, loudly. I told him to get off of me. I screamed for him to knock it off, but he was not listening. He was in this terrifying zone and I had to do something quick. I squirmed a little bit and was unable to move him.

Then something snapped in me and I got completely FURIOUS that he was trying to do this to me. He WAS NOT going to succeed.

What came after this was fast and furious. I managed to get my legs out from underneath his knees, pulled my knees up to my chest, planted my feet on his chest and launched him. I remember watching him literally fly across the room as he slammed into the wall. This is the adrenalin people talk about when Mom's remove cars from on top of their kids.

He hit the wall and sort of bounced off it. After the initial shock of what I had done to him was realized, he charged me. But I was ready. As soon as I had sent him flying, I was on my feet, crouched down and ready. He charged at me, but was met with fists flying at him. I hit him in the eyes, nose, mouth, neck. I just didn't stop. I went at him without stopping, because I knew I had to. He was going to keep coming at me, and I needed to make him understand that it wasn't going to happen.

After hitting him multiple times in the face, as hard as I could, he staggered backwards and I saw my opportunity to run. I darted out the door as fast as I could and then quickly turned to face the door. I didn't want him surprising me again. I began SCREAMING at the top of my lungs for my friend.

My lovely date appeared at the screen door looking horribly disheveled. He didn't dare venture outside. I told him to stay away from me. I told him he hadn't seen anything yet and if he came anywhere near me, I would wreck him beyond what I had already done. From the safety of the screen door, he yelled "So you don't want to have sex?"

"What do you think, you idiot? I said NO!" I screamed at him. I was shaking something terrible and so was my voice, but my volume was as loud as possible. I wanted anyone within the area to hear what was going on.

It was then that my friend and her date appeared. "What is going on?" she asked as she surveyed the scene.

I told her we needed to leave right away and that my date was not coming with us. The problem was that it was his car. He came outside, and tossed the keys to his friend and asked him to drive. I was absolutely sick about having to get in the car with this guy and his friend again. I don't think my friend understood the severity of the situation, despite the fact that I told her straight out, "He tried to rape me!"

Her date got in the driver seat and she sat in the front passenger seat. At the last second, she allowed my date to climb in behind her and sit in the back beside me. I was furious, but I figured at least in the car, I had witnesses and he wouldn't try anything.

By now though, I think he was afraid of who I would tell and what would happen to him. He kept getting in my personal space and begging me to forgive him. Believe it or not, he was trying to kiss me. Every time he crossed the center line of that car, I grabbed his face and slammed it back against the window on his side of the car. His face was already swollen and bruised in areas where I had pummeled him during the initial incident. I had no problem adding to his injuries and continually told him to back off.

My friend seemed upset that her date was cut short, but I was never so happy to see my car. The car had barely stopped and I was climbing out behind the driver's seat. My date still wouldn't stop. He kept trying to talk to me and grab at me. It was like he thought we had a minor lover's quarrel or something. It had been nothing of the sort.

I got in my car and told my friend she better get in or I would leave without her. She was saying her goodbyes to her date. As I went to close my car door, my date stuck his hand in the frame and told me he wanted to talk. I told him he had two seconds to remove his hand or else I'd be taking it with me as I drove away. He removed his hand and walked away.

On the drive home, I told my friend what had happened and broke down. What if I hadn't reacted the way I did? What if I hadn't been able to move him? It had been the worst date ever and I was so angry at myself for not trusting my gut about this guy. I knew he was bad news and yet I allowed a sense of obligation to my friend to lure me into a date with him. I would never make that mistake again.

When I got home that night, my dad was up and asked me what was wrong. I was still shaking and my hands hurt from punching him as much as I did. I had sore spots that would turn into bruises on my thighs from where his knees had been digging into my legs. My Dad listened to what had happened before retrieving his baseball bat and demanding to know where he lived. I told him I honestly couldn't get him back there. He lived in the middle of nowhere. I also told him that the bat wasn't necessary and that I had given him plenty of abuse with my fists and legs already.

A few weeks later, my friends and I were at a different dance club. My jerk of a date showed up. My best guy friend saw him and started slowly rolling up his sleeves. Another friend alerted a friend of ours who was the bouncer and he was promptly removed from the club. My date backed away from my friend, was grabbed by the bouncer, and that's the very last time I saw him.

I had no martial arts training when I gave him a tie-dyed face.  After five years of martial arts training, I can't even imagine what I would have done to that jerk with the training I have now. I hope I never have to find out.

One of the greatest things I've learned during my martial arts training is that you should always trust your gut. If I had done that from the beginning, I never would have ended up in that terrible situation. I was stupid to get into a car with people I didn't know well. I should have said we'd follow them in my car. I was dumb to agree to go out with someone who gave me a bad feeling to begin with.  And you know what? I really should have just stayed in the driveway at the house, and paid closer attention to exactly where we were going. However, I was 18 years old, thought I was invincible, and was suffering from a severe case of "it can't ever happen to me." Many teenagers currently have the same attitude and I serve as proof that it can happen to you if you're not careful.

Not everyone reacts the way that I did. Some women completely freeze and are incapable of doing anything to defend themselves. The unfortunate thing is that no woman ever knows how they'll react until truly tested. I'm glad to know that I don't freeze. While working at Sexual Assault Services at the University of Pittsburgh, I know there were many girls being counseled because they had been sexually assaulted. So many of them suffered from troubles related to the fact that they did freeze and bad things happened.

Personally, I think that martial arts training can help to eliminate a lot of that freezing up that can happen in bad situations. As I learned the other night during our class in the dark, muscle memory kicks in, and if practiced enough, your reactions just become second nature. They take over, and they keep you safe and alive.

As this school year comes to a close and many young girls get ready to head off to college for the first time, it would be a great time to check into picking up a self defense class or two before heading off. It's also important to remember that your instincts are usually right and you should always listen to them and trust them.

Help a Girl Out

I never, in a million years, thought that I'd be praying that the only thing my best friend has to go through is a D&C to remove what her body thought was a baby that was never meant to be. This week, I've had a hard time thinking about anything but her.

On Friday, I saw Renovation Girl for the first time in many months. We had a girls night and went to dinner by ourselves. We ate and talked for hours. I sipped wine; she sipped ginger ale because she was newly pregnant and nauseated. Having gone through a miscarriage only months ago, and many years of disappointing failed fertility treatments, she remained cautious in her expectations.

As her HCG numbers continued to rise though, so did my hopes, that this pregnancy was going to work for her. I told her to remain cautious. I told her I would invest in this pregnancy for her and believe that this time, it was for real and meant to be.

When I got her phone call on Tuesday, I was devastated for her. To be told that not only is there no baby, but that there is a possibility that there's something more sinister, to be told that the "c" word is a possibility after everything she's already been through. . .

It's all too much.

I will never understand why such horrible things happen to such good people. Please visit my best friend today and give her some love. And if you're so inclined, please say a prayer that the only thing she's going to have to deal with is getting over yet another miscarriage.

Make Me Invisible Before My 3-year old Gets Us Both Killed

I don't remember Big I ever having embarrassed me the way that Lil C does on a near daily basis. It's getting to the point where public outings are a big risk. I recall one time when Big I said something that made me want to disappear instantly. She commented about a very heavy woman and asked me why she was so fat? I gave her a look and later we discussed that it's not polite to say things like that. That was the very last time she said anything.

Lil C frequently calls people out. One time we were at the hair salon and Big I was getting her hair cut. An older man was putting his coat on by the door and about to leave. He had obviously just had his hair cut. He was smiling at her and saying "hi" when she turned to me and said, "That man has funny hair. Why is his hair so funny mommy?" Needless to say, he went out the door quickly and I was never so happy to see someone leave.

I told Lil C that it's not nice to say things like that and that it can hurt people's feelings. Her comment back to me? "Well his hair was funny though!" almost like "Well, with silly hair like that you're asking for it."

A couple weeks ago, in a clothing store, Lil C told me to "Yook at that yittle old yady. Yook at her Mommy. She's a yittle old yady." She would not stop! I wanted to run out of the store. The lady was indeed old and little, but she wasn't taking too kindly to being called "yittle" and "old." Thank goodness looks don't kill.

Yesterday, we went to the grocery store. The first incident occurred back by the deli. An older woman was looking at the cheeses and Lil C yelled out loudly to her, "What are YOU DOING YADY?" (In case you haven't figured it out yet, "L's are in fact "Y's" in Lil C's world. The woman swung around quickly and I apologized with a "Sorry, she's three." The woman laughed and told me about her grandchildren while Lil C smiled devilishly at her.

The next encounter didn't go quite as smoothly.

Lil C was helping me load the groceries onto the checkout belt when a man pulled into the checkout lane behind us. He was an older black man and he had dreadlocks that just passed his shoulders. He also had a bit of a beard. Always looking for interaction ways to embarrass me, Lil C noticed there was someone behind us so she turned around to see who was there.

Sensing there was definitely going to be some commentary, I tried to get her attention back to the front, but it wasn't happening. She stared at him for a little while and then asked him, in a crystal clear voice, "Are you a girl or a boy?" I wanted to die, right then and there.

I didn't allow him to answer. "Lil C, that is a boy. Sometimes boys have longer hair and that's perfectly ok. Ethan's daddy has long hair. . . " I grasped to find the names of men who have long hair. "Mr. Matt has hair that's a little longer. . . " She stared at me with an irritated look. She had obviously wanted the dread-locked man to answer her question. She finished listening to me and turned back around at the man who was temporarily smiling a bit to himself and said, "Well he looks like a girl with that yong hair." Needless to say, the man stopped smiling and I wanted to disappear on the spot.

In many ways, Lil C reminds me of my grandmother. My grandmother is the type of gal who puts it all out there. She is 92 years old and she's never been afraid of speaking her mind. Once, when I was younger, we were walking into the mall and there was a girl walking in front of us whose butt was hanging out of her jeans (from rips-not the style,as is now). My grandmother pointed at her and exclaimed, "Well, look at that! Her entire a$$ is hanging out of her jeans! Look at that! What is WRONG with her?"

I remember my Mom being horrified, but I actually thought it was kind of funny at the time. I thought there was something seriously wrong with her too. Lil C definitely has a streak of my grandmother in her, which is probably why she cracks my grandmother up so very easily.

The next time I go to the grocery store, I think I'm going to bring some of those chewy granola bars along to shove in her mouth whenever necessary. And if someone could tell me where to buy an internal filter for a 3-year old, I would really appreciate it.

Taking Guilt Off the Table (In at Least One Area)

Guilt is something that all of us feel at one time or another, especially if you're a Mom. Training guilt is something that happens to the best of us too. Ikigai wrote about it this week. I read his post. I felt guilty.

But not for the reasons you would think I'd feel guilty. You see, my time off has been legitimate. As my physical therapist has continued to tell me since my injury, if my knee isn't feeling right, then listen to the knee. I've listened.

What I felt guilty about was the flossing business, or actually the not flossing business. I absolutely hate to floss my teeth too. It's uncomfortable, and my gums bleed. But in an effort to take better care of myself, I started making appointments a few weeks ago. First, I made an appointment to see the allergist. Check. Done. Good.

Next I made a dental appointment. I haven't had one since I had my wisdom teeth taken out when Big I was a baby. Do the math. She just turned eight. I know. It's awful. It's amazing how "I'll call tomorrow" becomes eight years in an instant.

Over the past few years, I have continued to make excuses. I'm too busy. I'll call next week. I'm nursing. I can't manage it. I don't have a babysitter. etc. etc. etc. There's no end to the excuses I've made, and it's not even like dental people and I have a bad relationship.

I have never had a cavity, not one.

So when Ikigai's post came up, I thought it was timely since I had just made an appointment with a new dentist. Yesterday morning I woke up and decided that I really should try to floss before my dental appointment, so that when they ask me, I can at least say "sometimes" instead of "never" which is much closer to the truth.

I started flossing and remembered why I don't. Immediately, the gum between my front two teeth started to bleed. Also, I got a giant piece of floss stuck in between two of my molars. It took tweezers to pull it out and even then, I could tell some of it was stuck in there. I went to teach yesterday morning feeling like a had a piece of corn string stuck in my teeth. It was driving me insane.

I was a nervous wreck. I wanted to be able to leave there saying I've still never had a cavity. When I told the hygenist how long it has been, she looked worried. But when the hygenist took x-rays, examined my teeth, and announced that my teeth were no worse than most people after only a 6-month hiatus, and that I had not a single cavity, relieved doesn't even begin to describe how I felt.

Lil C also had her first appointment today. It only took them telling her that they had a princess toothbrush for her to decide that she liked the dentist just fine. And her teeth? Perfect.

Here's one piece of guilt I can finally let go. I got Lil C there while she is still three and I'm back on the dental wagon with another appointment already scheduled in six months.

(Insert big sigh of relief here.)

A Parking Lot Tantrum

Yesterday, I completely forgot about Big I's hair cut appointment. It's the second time I've done that in the past six months. To say I'm a bit scattered lately would be a huge understatement. I just can't seem to get my act together.

I think part of my problem is a lack of sleep. Lil C has been making nightly appearances in my bedroom to go to the bathroom and then she complains that she can't go back to sleep. Usually Mr. BBM wakes up with her because I am unconscious to the world, but when I'm lacking allergy meds and I have to wake up every 10 minutes or so to scratch my tongue with my teeth, well, not much sleep happens.

Plus, Mr. BBM was completely out of it himself last night, so much so that he was talking in his sleep. He sounded as if someone had shoved a giant wad of cotton in his mouth as he yelled loudly and then even louder, "Hey, hey" and then "hey," brief pause, "HEY!" and then some garbled business that sounded like "So do you wanna bleckity bloger blugen." At first I thought it was funny, and then I looked at the clock and realized I"d been in bed over two hours and hadn't yet slept.

It makes dealing with stuff like this especially challenging. . .

  

This would be during the middle of Lil C's freak out in the Party City parking lot today. 

  

I only wish I knew how to take video. She was getting some serious air during those temper tantrum induced jumps and fits. Also, she could totally be an Irish dancer. And the tantrum back arch, featured below? Perfect in its form and effectiveness.

  

At this point, you're probably asking yourself what type of mother pulls out the camera and starts snapping pictures of her daughter having a total fit in a public parking area, and I'll tell you what kind. . . a seriously exhausted, frustrated one. . . with a freaking itchy tongue.

  

At one point, during the five-minute ordeal, a man noticed me taking pictures of her, pulled his car up beside us, and nodded approvingly in my direction. I could tell he had two carseats in the back of his car. He totally gets me. 

As I'm sitting here inserting these pictures, Lil C asked me why I had pictures of "sad 'Lil C'" and I told her I'm collecting them for a dating portfolio in the future. I think she understands, because she completely quit whining, at least for now. 

Is it any wonder I forgot Big I's appointment and can't seem to keep my life together right now? Is it any wonder that I'm actually looking forward to getting stuck with a needle at least 30 plus times tomorrow for allergy testing, because I'll be without the little one during those hours of needle pricking hell?

Tantrums kill Mommy brain cells. Spread the word.    

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In a Perfect World. . .

• Three-year olds who are taken to Chuckie Cheese for an afternoon with a good friend would reward you with an afternoon of peace, not screaming and tantrums reminiscent of something out of The Exorcist.
  

• A landscaping and yard care company would show up at my door and offer to re-seed my yard for free, just because my yard looks that bad and they feel sorry for me. (Plus, I will totally review your services online. No seriously, email me. For real.)

• A patio company would also show up and offer to install a beautiful paver patio complete with a fire pit and water features, also for free. See the statement above. Email me. Seriously. Free advertising people.

• I wouldn't have to stop taking my allergy meds for five days before being tested, therefore rendering myself almost as miserable as a certain 3-year old. You know you have some serious allergy issues when your tongue itches so badly that you have to scratch it with your teeth.

• Tile floors would clean themselves.

• I would have someone who could come to my house on a daily basis to blow dry the back of my hair to make it look the way my arms just can't.

• My kids would realize that I am not a short order chef and would just gratefully eat what's put in front of them.

• The three brownies I shoved down my throat to help me cope with the whining and screaming kid would be eaten by stress and not on their way to become butt fat.
• People would pay their damn bills and the phone company would stop giving me the leftover phone numbers from people who are wanted by creditors. For the final time, Luis Ramos does NOT live here and I really wish you would stop calling me at all hours of the day despite the fact that I've told you 5000 times that no one lives here by that name, and take my name off your list already, etc. etc. etc. (I think I need another brownie).  And here I thought I was rid of this problem when I ditched my last phone number.
  
• Grumpy, moody three-year-olds would wake up happy after a two hour nap.
  
• I would have started karate when I was a lot younger.
  
• I would have gotten to Shodan at least, before injuring myself with a confidence shattering injury that continues to stack the challenges in front of me and make them seem even more insurmountable.
  
• Students would turn their assignments in on time and not try to make me feel guilty for not accepting their assignments.
  
• Children would close the exterior door when they come inside instead of leaving it wide open for like two hours. It's good polar bears aren't native to this area; however, I fully expect a squirrel to run across my bed tonight while I'm trying to sleep.
  
• My grass would stand up and fight instead of admitting defeat and laying down to die.
  
• Mom's wouldn't be the only ones who have to remember that their kid had a hair appointment today. . . two hours after it was supposed to happen. This is the second time this has happened. My brain is obviously too full of crap to keep track of everything.
  
• When you start Monday off on the wrong foot, you'd be able to recover by Tuesday instead of having to declare the week a total fail already.

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From Complete Crap to Above and Beyond

Last week was one of those weeks that you don't ever want to repeat. My students were all out of sorts last week, sick and late with their speeches. On Wednesday, I said my final goodbye to Lisa and that was hard, really hard. I spent the rest of the week feeling miserable about it.  On Thursday, Big I walked in the door from school, told me some kid had hit her in the face, and then quit karate that night. Friday night, Lisa passed away. I spent much of Saturday breaking into tears and feeling miserable. Sunday I woke up with eyes that were obviously having serious allergy problems. The crying from Saturday didn't help much either. Big I also woke up and promptly puked. . . again.

I decided to clean and organize. Cleaning and organizing always makes me feel better when it's done.

While I was in the middle of cleaning and organizing Big I's room, the doorbell rang. On the way down the hall and stairs, I was psyching myself up for what I thought was going to be an encounter with the hitter from Thursday. Instead, I opened the door to find Big I's teacher standing on my porch.

I was shocked to see her, but invited her in.

Last week, she was out sick on Thursday and Friday, when everything was going down between Big I and 'J.' She had gone into school to take care of their classroom hamster and decided to check her email. When she saw my email about the incident at school, she was livid, so livid that she ripped 'J's' desk away from the other kids and put her back in a corner by herself.

Big I's teacher adores her and she is the type of teacher every parent hopes for when it comes to their child. She is super knowledgeable about many different content areas, and she runs a tight ship in the classroom. She's also developed a great relationship with Big I, one where I know she goes off to school to spend time with someone who truly cares about her.

She sat in our family room for a good 30 minutes. She wanted to get Big I's side of the story without other little ears hearing her. Apparently this kid has been a real problem all year long and this is not the first time she's been physically aggressive toward another student.

Big I's teacher said that for the foreseeable future, 'J' now has her own isolated location in the classroom. She also has a personal escort from Big I's teacher down to the bus line each day, where she'll be separated from the other kids and prevented from getting on the bus until last.

She also said she's going to talk to some of the other kids in class about sticking up for others when something bad happens to a classmate. She'd like to employ some positive peer pressure to get 'J' to straighten up. It shouldn't be a problem since the other kids in Big I's class fight over playing with her on a regular basis.

She decided, also, that if Big I has a non-serious problem, she wants her to wait until she gets home and tell me, so I can email Miss W. That way Big I doesn't appear to be tattling. Miss W. assured me that she will not allow a student to create a bullying atmosphere in her classroom and in the school. She said she's going to take care of it and will keep me informed of how it's going.

Frankly, I was shocked. Miss W. had no idea where we lived, but she knew our address and set out to find it. Seeking us out and assuring us that she's on the job went completely above and beyond the call of duty.

I'm going to take this as a sign that things will start looking up this week.

For those who have commented or emailed and asked about ways to help Lisa's family, there is now a donate button on her site where people can contribute. I know her family has serious medical bills from a 5-year cancer battle in addition to other future needs like the schooling of her daughters. If you're interested, you can go here to donate.

Also, stay tuned because Admired Martial Artists Month kicks off soon!

Heaven Just Got a New Angel

It's a sad day in the blogging world.

Lisa is gone.

I got the chance to say goodbye to her on Wednesday afternoon, and even though I knew this was coming, it doesn't make it any less upsetting. If there is one positive thing, it's that Lisa is no longer suffering.

If you're the praying kind, please say a prayer for her husband and two little girls. Something tells me they're really going to need them.

Something also tells me, they all have a very special angel looking over them from here on out.

Rest in peace, Lisa. The blogging world won't be the same without you.

Another Incredible Hulk Moment

Yesterday Big I walked in the door from school and I could tell she was upset. Immediately the tears started.

"What happened?" I asked her.

"'J' hit me hard in the face and my ear when we were in the bus line."

"What?" I asked incredulously. "How? Show me? Hit me on the stomach the way she hit you in the face."

So she did, and it was hard. She hit her with a closed fist, a hook punch to the face and ear, her newly pierced ear. Thankfully the kid doesn't really know the proper way to punch. Still though, it was hard enough. Her cheek and ear were still red, even after the bus ride home.

"Why did she do that?" I asked her.

"I don't know. I was just talking to her about what we were doing in computer class that day and she hit me and ran away."

No teachers saw this because it was the end of the day. The bus kids were all in the gym waiting to be called outside. Right after it happened, her bus was called, so she never got the chance to tell anyone. This isn't the first time something like this has happened to Big I.

This isn't out of character for this kid. All year she's been a big behavior problem in and out of class. This particular child lives only a few doors away from us. Her family is super nice, but I'm not thrilled when she frequently comes here to play. She's loud, obnoxious, treats Lil C like crap and isn't even particularly nice to Big I. The past few times she's shown up, I've sent her home.

I felt like I was going to turn into the incredible hulk. I wanted to storm out of the house and down the street and go completely ballistic. Instead, I composed a very to the point email to the principal and to Big I's teacher. As of this morning, they're already on the job and taking appropriate actions. Because it happened at school, I think it's probably best that the school people deal with it, but it doesn't make me feel any less like going all green hulk and beastlike on that kid.

After the tears stopped, I asked Big I why she didn't defend herself. "You've had four years of karate classes! Why didn't you block the punch or at the very least get out of the way?"

"It happened so fast Mommy," she said.

"Punches don't happen slow Big I! They never do."

I understand that she was just talking to someone who hauled off and hit her, but still! We spent the next 20 minutes trading punches and working on simple things like getting out of the way all the way up to blocking that punching arm and restraining the person.

I really don't understand kids these days, especially girls. My kids would never dream of hitting someone, especially not Big I. Girls are incredibly catty at this age. Big I is always coming home and telling me how certain girls are trying to "steal her" away from other friends and how someone is always telling secrets and hurting feelings. Sometimes I feel like I am the only parent out there teaching my kids not to be like this. Why are some kids such jerks at such young ages?

I know what the casual reader is thinking too, that as a parent I probably see my child through rose-colored glasses, but this is simply not the case. Big I really is that sweet. She practically has a halo on her head. I would never claim the same thing for Lil C, so that's how you know I'm telling it like it is.

I gave Big I specific instructions for the day as she was getting on the bus.

"Play with the boys today. Stay away from the drama. If the girls start telling secrets and acting stupid, walk away."

She nodded in agreement; but I know she is extremely outnumbered when it comes to catty vs. non-catty kids.

The ironic part of this whole thing happening yesterday. . . last night was Big I's last night at karate. She's taking a break for a while. It made last night that much harder for me.

The Trouble with Getting Involved

In my Composition class last semester, we spent a couple weeks debating and writing position papers about issues. Some of them were touchy. Students were asked to read two essays each featuring an opposing viewpoint. Then, they were divided up into groups. Depending on how students felt about the issue, some students were forced to take a look at and create arguments to support something they felt the opposite about. It was a great exercise in critical thinking skills and students learned that the best way to make their argument stronger was to study the opposition.

One of the issues that the students wanted to tackle was altruism. Do people help other people out of the goodness of their hearts or do they do it for selfish reasons, to feel good about themselves for helping someone else?

This was the hottest debate of all the issues in class. I had several EMTs in the class and they were extremely vocal about their own personal experiences. They didn't do what they do, sometimes putting themselves in sticky situations, for themselves. They did it to help others. A selfless act. Period.

To introduce this issue, I told the students a personal story that I'd like to share with you too.

When I was a freshman in college, a scary thing happened on campus one day. I was returning to my dorm at the University of Pittsburgh and I noticed a large crowd of people standing around the lobby and the entrance to the cafeteria. In order to get to my dorm, I had to walk through the crowd of people. I figured it was just an exciting menu that day (as if that was possible), but I was very wrong.

When I got closer to the crowd, I realized that the people were gathered around a fight. There were at least 50 people standing in a circle around the fight, maybe more. I got a good look at what was going on inside the circle and it wasn't pretty. A group of guys, who clearly didn't belong on campus, and who definitely were not students at Pitt were beating the living daylights out of a freshman student. There were three guys beating up this one kid and he was not looking good.

He staggered around barely able to stand. Blood was coming out of his nose and mouth. His eyes were already swollen. His face had been beaten to a pulp. I don't know what happened before I got there, but the three guys doing the damage were taking their time with it, enjoying this kids inability to do anything but stagger around, and enjoying every drop of blood that was landing on the floor. The kid clearly needed help.

I quickly scanned the circle. I noticed some of my friends, big guys, who were standing there watching. No one was enjoying what was happening, with the exception of the three guys delivering the beating, but no one was doing anything to help.

I didn't make a conscious decision to do what I did. I just did what my body made me do. Before I knew it, I was charging into the middle of the circle, grabbing the kids arm, pulling it around my shoulder as he could barely walk, and quickly removing him from the circle. I walked him out of the circle as the group of people parted. I remember the three guys saying something, but I shot them a look and kept moving. I just had to keep moving. . . quickly. I remember screaming for people to get out of my way and looking at them incredulously. How could someone stand there and watch someone be beaten like that?

I made my way to the office where they kept the vacuum cleaners. I knew that door locked. I yelled at the woman who was working there at the window that day to "Open the door NOW!". She buzzed me in and I got the kid in the office and behind a locked door.

Moments later, the campus police and the Pittsburgh City Police arrived and began chasing the guys who were beating the kid up. A few moments after that, the ambulance arrived. They strapped that kid onto a stretcher. He didn't even know where he was as they wheeled him out to the waiting ambulance.

When it was all over, my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. It had been terrifying, but none of that hit me until after it was over. I told the campus police what I had witnessed and then found my friends.

None of them could believe I had just walked into that circle and grabbed the kid. Personally, I couldn't believe I was the only person who did walk into that circle! When someone is in trouble, I was raised to help them. I heard it through the campus gossip that the kid spent days in the hospital and had suffered a major concussion among other injuries. He had been targeted by a bunch of thugs for no apparent reason. A bunch of jerks decided to walk onto campus and find an easy target.

I used this example to bring up the issue of altruism. I let the students ask me questions about it. I had absolutely nothing to gain by walking into that circle, but what if I hadn't? I would be haunted by the fact that I didn't help. What if one more hit to the head would have done him in completely? What if I would have allowed that to happen instead of stepping in? Did they think I had done it out of the goodness of my heart or had I done it to feel good about myself?

I told them the answer was really neither. To decide to do something for someone whether out of the goodness of your heart or for selfish reasons takes thought. There was no thought in my actions. There was just action. I never thought about the possible consequences until much later. It was just the right thing to do, and it was a complete gut reaction. From the moment I realized what was happening until the moment I entered that circle, it was only seconds.

Why do I bring this up? The Nigel Haskell McDonald's thing has me really worked up.

When I stepped into that circle, bad things could have happened. Those thugs could have targeted me. I could have been hit. I took a major risk by walking into that circle, but here's the thing, I didn't consciously make that decision. I didn't decide to move into that circle and help the kid. I just did. I know that I did the right thing.

What if one of those guys had a gun or a knife? What then? What if I had been stabbed or shot? Would people be saying I'm stupid? That I escalated the situation? That I should have waited for the cops? I'm sure they would. But when it was happening there was no choice. There was someone who needed my help and I gave it.

I'm quite certain that Nigel Haskell reacted the same way, not logically and not thinking about the possible consequences, but rather, "this is wrong" and "I need to do something." Or maybe, like me entering that circle, there wasn't even a thought until it was all over. Maybe it was his gut that moved him to come to the woman's aid like my gut moved me to help that poor guy.

In instances like this, it's very easy for those who observe to pass judgement about how a person reacted. Hindsight though, is almost always 20/20. The heat of the moment isn't quite so simple and lucid.

Given that, what would you have done if you had witnessed what Nigel Haskell did? Would you have intervened? Called the police from your cell without intervening? Ignored it altogether? What would you have done if the man continued to hit the woman? Could you have stood by doing nothing? Would you have intervened then? What's the right thing to do in a situation like this for an ordinary citizen? What's the right thing to do from a martial arts perspective?

What would you have done given the situation as it was? What would you have done if the man had continued his beating on the woman? What then? I'm all ears. I think this is an important discussion for society and especially for martial artists.

Ripping Open a Raw Wound

Two years ago this June, our friend Sheree passed away at the age of 29 after a year long battle with a terrible cancer.  After getting a devastating phone call from her husband telling us she had only days left, we packed our car and kids and headed out on a 3.5 hour drive to do whatever we could to help. The day we arrived, I spent the entire day in the kitchen. I made whatever I could think of to make and had stacks of disposable food containers full of meals by the end of the day. My plan was to finish cooking and then go see her at the hospital one last time to say goodbye.

I never got my chance.

During the afternoon, we got the call from her husband that Sheree was gone. We extended our trip and stayed through three days of viewings and the funeral. We watched her two young children while her husband spent night after night at the funeral home. It was a gut-wrenching week and I won't soon forget it.

Lisa and her battle with cancer is ripping open all of these wounds once again. I met Lisa online for the first time. We were both bloggers for our local newspaper's online website. She left me a comment or two and I returned the favor. The hometown crowd could be brutal to the newspaper's bloggers so I found a supporter in her and she found one in me. When I read what her blog was about, her on-going battle with cancer, it made me heartsick. Like me, she had two young daughters too.

Last year, I met Lisa at Tequila Con 2008 in Philly. She was actually one of the very first bloggers I met in person and she lit up the room. Everyone there knew that she was battling cancer (for the 3rd time), yet you never would have known it. Lisa and her husband were an absolute joy to talk to, and I wish I would have had more time to talk to her as the night went on. As you can imagine though, Lisa was a popular girl that night. That's Lisa with the glasses.

 

After TC '08 we exchanged some emails. I offered my husband's services since he works in clinical research. I sent her an email full of medical studies that I thought might be of interest. I couldn't bear to watch another young mother die. I tried to think of anything I could that might help. 

When she wrote about pain, I emailed her about some natural things I had heard about. I prayed nightly for a miracle-still do. 

I have cautiously popped over to her blog during the past few months. A few months ago, Lisa decided it was time to accept what was happening and she entered at home hospice care. It was amazing how she expressed herself and accepted something that made me so upset and angry. It's simply not fair and it makes me mad at the world, what's happening to her and to her family. 

Today, I read an update from Karl on her blog, and like I usually do when I read her blog, I cried, because it is happening again. My heart is breaking for Lisa and her family right now. I absolutely hate when my prayers aren't answered. I have tried to make myself feel better about Lisa and about Sheree by thinking that heaven must need some great moms up there. That this is why it's now her time.

Like with Sheree, I have done a heck of a lot of cooking today and am driving out to her house tomorrow. I don't expect to be able to say goodbye to her tomorrow. I imagine that she's not really feeling up to having visitors.  I just hope that I can make things a bit easier on her and her family in some small way. If any of you are local and would like to make a freezer friendly meal, please shoot me an email. I'd be happy to take yours as well.

Family Plagues and Tissue Lint

You can tell when this family has been through a plague. Tissues follow Lil C around like a dusty dirt cloud that just won't quit. Medicine cups are constantly being ground up in the garbage disposal. My personal favorite? I've been washing and drying a lot of tissues lately. Tissue lint is always good for making a fashion statement.

Yesterday I went to campus and when I began talking to my class, they looked at me strangely. "I know," I told them, "from now until the foreseeable future you're just going to have to deal with the fact that your teacher now has a man voice." I seriously could pass for Barry White right about now. It's not a comparison I ever hoped for.

I've been on a healthy cycle of Nyquil at night followed by coffee to help it wear off in the morning. Also, inhaling said coffee steam to help with the congestion. While Mr. BBM and Big I have moved on from the sickness, Lil C and I have the head and chest cold that just won't quit. We're sick of canceling playdates, but we know it's not polite to share our germs. I wanted to be back in the dojo by now. It's going to have to wait until I can breathe a little better.

Every year, within a few weeks of my birthday, I start getting sick. By the time I'm better, my allergies have kicked it into high gear and I'm miserable until June and beyond. My Mom is an RN and works at an Allergy/Asthma office. She's been pesting me to get tested for years. Getting tested though, involves needles, lots and lots of needles, and the one time I made the appointment, I chickened out and canceled.

This year though, I think I'm just going to have to go through with it. My clothes can't take being covered in tissues anymore. I'd like to be able to breathe through my nose before June.

Head over to The BBM Review before Monday. Leave a comment and get entered to win one of three gift bags from Yo-Plus! Head there now for details. Check back because we have another giveaway coming soon.

Stimulate This

The entire BBM family is oozing germs in some way shape or form this weekend. My head hurts every time I look or bend down; and my spine feels like it has been a heavy bag for Ikigai or something. Mr. BBM broke out with the flu this week too and is currently sporting a straight up in the air hair-do. Giving a hoot about how we look isn't at the top of the priority list right now.

Getting more ibuprofen. That's #1. Not letting our kids, who now have coughs and runny noses, breathe on us is priority #2.

Instead of being at my father-in-law's wedding today, we're at home, sporting pj's and sweatpants.  I've spent a lot of time in bed over the past few days. I even had to cancel my class on Thursday morning because there was no way I could make it to campus. I felt like a Gremlin as in "Bright lights, bright lights!" Yes, that's pretty much what I look like right now.

 

My head was rocking the entire week pretty much. While in bed, I've watched a lot of cooking shows and a lot of political shows.

It could be due to the flu, but I'm particularly grumpy about this so called "stimulus" bill that is about to be passed.

Bankrupting future generations. . . check.

Stimulating our economy? I find it hard to believe given some of the nonsense in the over 1000 pages of political garble.

While the politicians certainly think they know best, I have news for them. Flu-inflicted citizens can come up with better ways to stimulate the economy. Here are just two of mine. . .

1. Instead of taking approximately 45% of my income that I make as an independent contractor/recruiter which gives me little to no incentive to want to work when I get my check and have to turn around and send almost half of it to the government, why not slash how much the government is taking from me by a good 20%? With that 20% that is back in my bank account I can afford to hire someone to build me a patio this spring, landscape my barren new yard, or finish off my basement. All of those things would stimulate the economy. I hire someone, they hire helpers, and buy supplies from a company to create my housing projects. . . see how this works? Instead, my 45% will be going for things like studying honey bees and STD awareness. Stimulating things, these are not. The $13/week tax cut for families written into this bill isn't exactly going to help me build that patio.

(Let me preface #2 by saying that I understand that these are tough financial times. I understand that there are people who legitimately need help and through no fault of their own are in economic ruins right now. #2 is not about these people.)

2. How about rewarding citizens who pay their mortgages and bills on time instead of bailing out those who don't? What incentive is there to pay your bills on time when the government now plans on lowering the rates of those who can't pay the mortgages on the houses they couldn't afford in the first place? I'd like my rate lowered too. Maybe I'll just stop paying my mortgage for a couple months. . . oh wait, see there are these things called self-responsibility and pride. I take those two things to heart. But seriously, why are we rewarding those who got themselves into financial trouble? AND, if we want to help them out, great, but maybe there should be some incentives for those of us who always follow the rules, pay our bills, etc. It's simply not fair.  This isn't Robin Hood, you know. My hard earned money shouldn't be going to support those who got themselves in over their heads.  I should be able to keep my money, and then maybe I could hire someone whose business is hurting. See #1. See how this works?  Also, there are plenty of people who are not financially hurting right now who choose to help others, either through donations to charities, donations to soup kitchens, or volunteering with Habitat for Humanity or other organizations who help others. Private citizens should be able to decide who to help and choose where their money goes within local communities. How is Washington able to determine how best to use money in my hometown? Do you trust your Governor to distribute a blank check however he/she pleases? I don't trust mine. Something tells me a certain governor will have a new car and chauffeur, minimum, before too long.

There are other ideas too. The school district where I live has some of the lowest school taxes around. Why? Because they don't raise taxes every time they need to expand or hire more teachers. Instead, they decided to seek private money in the form of sponsorships for football stadiums and gymnasiums, etc. They thought outside of the box and made it work with no government intervention. If every school did this, can you imagine how much less we'd all be paying in school taxes? Can you imagine what you'd do with that extra money?  I know what I'd do with mine.

Patio.

Landscaping.

Finished basement.

Oh, and a much-wanted-by-the-girls Disney vacation.

All of these things stimulate the economy. And that's just one family! Multiply that by all the families across the country and it's at least food for thought.

Then again, getting the politicians to read these ideas would probably be even more difficult than getting them to read that 1000+ page stimulus bill (which you can't tell me any of them did before voting on it). This non-reading of the single biggest spending bill ever in history absolutely blows my mind and should disturb everyone no matter what your political affiliation. It is completely irresponsible. Don't believe me about the non-reading, watch this. . .

(If you can't see this, go here to view.)

GRR. . . My head hurts.

I know these are hot polticial times, but unless you want me to breathe my hot miserable flu on you, keep your comments respectful. Have flu, not afraid to use it. Got it? Good.

Sick, More Sick, and Impromptu Weddings

There's nothing like a coming back from a great weekend to enter a week full of sick. Lil C spent the weekend with a fever. Monday brought a visit to the doctor for an ear infection that just won't quit. After a week of antibiotics, her ears look the same, possibly worse. So, now she's on another antibiotic, a stronger one that combines two antibiotics into one.

As the PA was writing out the prescription, she said to herself, but loud enough for me to hear, "I'm not going to worry yet."

I don't like the "yet" part of that at all.

I thought I'd only be taking Lil C to the doctor, but Big I woke up Monday morning looking like death. She was sporting a fever of over 102 and it got worse throughout the day. A strep test came back negative, so they've decided she most definitely has the flu. They warned me that this flu is especially awful, terribly contagious, and that it's taking a good 5-7 days to run its course.

Last night, before bed, her fever spiked to 104.9 so I spent the early hours of the evening piggy-backing ibuprofen and Tylenol to keep it at a more reasonable 102.5. She woke up with a fever of 103.2 and is feeling dizzy and miserable.

I woke up this morning with a scratchy throat and chills. I was determined to make it to campus but I spent much of the class teaching from a seated position on a table in the front of the room. I felt shaky and dizzy and just yuck. Thank goodness I had planned to show them two videos of speeches today.

Upon arriving home today, I was told that my father-in-law and his fiance are getting married this weekend. That's right, this weekend. The wedding is about five hours away. My mother-in-law gave us only a couple days notice (two actually, I think) and we were unable to make it out for hers. It took me 11 months to plan my wedding. How this stuff happens so quickly just blows my mind, my very sore headachy mind. For now though, I just need to worry about getting through each day, one day at a time. I'll worry about how to get my sick family out to a surprise wedding once we feel better.

Sour Grapes and Epi Pens

Today I arrived on campus and actually had mail in my mailbox. My evaluations from last semester finally arrived. I wasn't sure if I should look at them before class or save them for after. I'm the girl who lets one negative comment bother her for all eternity. I decided to wait until after.

My students did their first speeches today and I was impressed. We have some things to work on but overall, I think I have a good group of students who are oozing with creativity. I think this semester, like last one, will be enjoyable.

After class, one of my students who only showed up today for the first time, approached me in order to get everything she needed and get caught up. First, though, she had some information for me about her medical condition(s).

She began by telling me she has severe asthma. I thought this was leading up to, "sometimes I'll need to leave the room to use my inhaler" or something, but before I knew it she was pulling out an epi pen and giving me directions on how to use it and a directive to call 911 if I need to use the pen on her.

You should know that my Mom is a type 1 diabetic and for years gave herself several shots of insulin daily. I could never watch. If I happened to see it, I'd usually end up with my head between my knees, trying not to pass out.

During the summer before I was heading off to college, I had to get a hepatitis vaccine at the pediatricians office and ended up passing out as my Mom paid for it. I woke up with a heap of animal crackers all over me (the billing lady thought it would be cute and funny to give me a little treat in the form of a cup of animal crackers), and a bunch of toddlers standing over my head staring at me with curiosity.

My student continued to tell me to just "jam the epi pen into her thigh" and "try to keep the classroom calm." I started wondering how I would keep the classroom calm when I would probably be freaking out myself.

Then she told me she sometimes has seizures and that if she has one, I'll need to call 911 and dig through her purse to find her glucose monitor to test her blood. I'll also need to make sure she doesn't "hurt herself." I've tested my own blood plenty of times. I was a gestational diabetic for many months of my pregnancy with Lil C, but testing someone else's blood?

"Are you diabetic?" I asked her.

"They're not sure yet," she said.

I questioned her more about what I'm supposed to do and when, and she told me that she sometimes just coughs a little and the next thing you know, she needs an epi pen injection.

I should note that none of this explanation came with a doctors excuse or written directions. She also told me she may frequently miss class and assignments and that she's "always behind."

We moved on to my portion of the talking where I told her what she needs to do to get caught up. She started to cough a bit and I quickly wrapped up our conversation. I'm an adjunct instructor, not a medic; and I am obviously not prepared or equipped to handle these types of things, especially not without some written instructions.  

Delivering lesson plans with enthusiasm and creativity. . . check.
Handing assignments back in a timely matter. . . check.
Teaching students responsibility. . . check.
Helping my students become better speakers. . . check.
Administering emergency medical care in the middle of class and keeping my class calm as the ambulance arrives. . . not so much!

We finished our conversation with me telling her I need a written flow chart, if you will, of what I'm supposed to do and when. I'm really hoping I never need to use it. One encouraging thing is that I do have an army medic in my classroom. He hasn't missed a class yet, and I plan to rely on him heavily if something does happen. I'm going to have a hard time using an epi pen on my student while I have my head between my knees as I try not to hyperventilate.

When I got home, my mind needed a break from all the terrible scenarios I was envisioning in the weeks to come so I broke out the evaluations and had a quick read. I had really favorable reviews, and great comments throughout.

"She is very lively and grabs your attention."    Cool.
"She is a great teacher and I really enjoyed her class."  Fantastic.
"She always had a creative way of demonstrating new things."  Why yes I did. Thank you!
"Thank you. I learned a lot."  You're very welcome!
"The whole class was good. It really taught me how to write better."  Sweet.
"Mrs. BBM was an awesome teacher."  Great, glad you think so!
"Mrs. BBM made us think and made the course fun."  Really cool.
"Mrs. BBM was always available for extra help. She always had helpful comments for you if you were struggling. She explained everything nicely so you weren't confused."  I tried.
"This class was awesome!"  Yeah! Thank you!
"She is a caring teacher." Aww.
"I learned a lot and had fun at the same time." Good! That was the goal!

And then one person gave me a "disagree" for being "available for questions and additional assistance." That, my friends, is all I can think about. I've been going over and over again my students and those who asked me for help. I can't think of a time I didn't make myself available. I can't think of a time I didn't offer to come to campus on days I didn't even teach! I know it's probably just someone with sour grapes about something, but it's one sour grape that sticks in my head.

That and the epi pen.

No Crazies Allowed

There are only a handful of lots left in our housing development. One is right beside us and it's a fabulous lot. The same size as ours, it backs directly to the park. It's going to have a perfectly flat back yard and I was puzzled as to why it wasn't selling.

It could just be that the guys don't have anything better to do than transfer dirt from one lot to another today, but they are completely clearing it today and taking the dirt and rocks elsewhere.

While I'm excited about having an actual house beside us instead of a dirt pile, getting new neighbors is always a bit nerve-wracking. Maybe it's because I used to live next to the local Britney Spears, but I know that one bad neighbor can really wreck things for you.

I started thinking about how weird it's been living here, with no crazy neighbor to speak of and I started to reminisce. Everyone around here is very normal and extremely nice. They also read my blog (Hi neighbors!), so I wouldn't tell you if it were otherwise. 

If you haven't read it before, it's new to you. Plus, everyone can appreciate a good story about a crazy neighbor wearing fuzzy slippers who stares into your windows while drinking a glass of wine at 10 a.m. right?

Hammer Head

Someone has released an army of little men with hammers in my head and when I find out who did it. . . it's not going to be pretty. In addition to the pulsing and pounding head, my throat feels like a swollen mess and let's not even talk about how bad my spine hurts right now.

After being kissed, hugged and breathed on by "Typhoid Mary" (aka Lil C) for a week, I knew it was only a matter of time. Plus, you know, Mr. BBM spent the weekend doing nothing but being miserable and daring to breathe his germs in the house too.

When I realized I was getting sick yesterday, I quickly cleaned the entire house. I washed sheets and clothes. I put away all the clean clothes. I vacuumed the entire house and then mopped all the tile floors. I can't stand to be sick in a dirty house.

Because I was having Mommy guilt, I also took Lil C outside for some sledding and snowman building.

This snowman looks the way I feel right now. . .

Here's hoping tomorrow is a better day for both of us. 

Who Designs This Stuff Anyway?

The girls are at a playdate today and I've had hours to myself. I spent part of my day shopping. I went to Gymboree and spent my Gymbucks with perfection-only $1.74 over my target amount. I was going to stop by KB toys to pick up a toy for a birthday party we have this coming weekend, but they are going out of business and I didn't really think a 1-year old would appreciate store shelves. Yes, everything must go.

When I realized that was futile, I thought I'd try to find a new pair of jeans. I got some kind of oil stain on my current favorites that just won't come out. Plus, they're becoming less and less of a favorite thanks to my hard work at the gym so it was time for a new pair.

I first went in Gap. Because sizes are completely different from store to store, I took back everything from a 4 Regular to an 8 Long. Not a single pair was purchase worthy unless I feel like being a plumber. I don't get why clothing designers can't get that little hip to waist ratio right. Girls are not straight from top to bottom. I tried on about 10 pairs and decided it wasn't my day.

Then I remembered The Limited. In the past I've been able to find pants there and they're always long enough. I walked to that end of the mall and did a scan of the general area. My beloved Limited is now a car showroom.

As I did a scan of the surrounding stores, I realized I was in teeny bopper hell. And not just teeny bopper hell, but rather teens trying to look like they work the streets hell. What the hell?

I figured I'd try one more store and went into Express. I know the economy is bad, but there were two employees for the entire store and not a one was about to help me find a suitable size. I was about to throw in the towel. I was stupid to wear a fleece zip-up pullover and a heavy down coat to the mall. I was breaking out in a serious sweat.

I took three pairs back to the dressing room and tried them on. I quickly realized that designers aren't worried about the hip to waist ratio because apparently they think that all girls have really fat ankles. What is up with these flare jeans that are wide enough to fit a tire? Sorry, but this hug the heiney, show the crack, squeeze your thighs in and then let your ankles breathe business is ridiculous.

So I ended up in my favorite store, Ann Taylor Loft (not at the mall). I tried on a couple pairs of jeans, but I know they are going to be half an inch too short as soon as I wash them. I need to order online.In addition to jeans I was looking for some kind of "going out" top to wear for my birthday party. Ann Taylor Loft didn't really have anything, so I was out of luck.

Were you aware that the new going out shirt styles are completely incompatible with any and every type of bra ever manufactured? I swear clothing designers are creating clothing for women with fake ones exclusively. Real ones need a bra. If you don't want the "support your own boobs" look, then your only other choice is this baggy business and seriously, I couldn't figure out where my head was supposed to go. When the sleeve openings are as wide and baggy as the neck opening, it's time to call the fashion police. That stuff doesn't flatter anyone. Don't kid yourself if you think it does.

It occurred to me as I was driving home that maybe I'm getting old. But then I decided I am not going to accept that. Most teenagers who walk around wearing that stuff look ridiculous and that's not just old people talk. I don't start every sentence with "When I was a youngin'" and T.I.'s Paper Trail is currently my favorite album download. I'm not old!

Nope. I refuse to accept it. I like to dress nice and stylish when I go out and there has got to be a place that makes clothes for women like me. Where are you??? Any ideas people? This girl is desperate.

In My Next Life, I'm Coming Back with a . . .

I was completely beat and my leg was really bothering me yesterday afternoon. I had just started making dinner when Mr. BBM called to tell me he was feeling awful. Headache, body aches, fever, nausea. I guess he wasn't going to be able to go to the grocery store for me after all.

He came home, went immediately to our room, changed into comfortable clothes and took up residence on the sofa. Within minutes, he was asleep.

While I certainly have an appreciation for a good stomach virus, I was about to burst into tears. My leg was throbbing and I needed to sit. Now I had to serve dinner, clean it up, get the kids ready for bed, put them to bed, and go to the store, when all I really wanted on my agenda was to sit down and ice my knee.

I cleaned up dinner, even made some quick dessert for the girls (and me-hell, I deserved it), and then headed out the door for the grocery store. I picked up the staples I'd need to get through the weekend. You know, beer, wine, vodka, milk, juice, tissues, lots and lots of tissues with lotion in them because Lil C is starting to look like a chapped Hitler from using up about eight boxes of tissues per day. I really hope child services doesn't get their undies in a bunch over her chapped lip or I'm in big trouble.

I was talking to my fantastic friend, Renovation Girl, on the way home from the store and I told her that in my next life I'm coming back with some enhanced anatomy. That's right people, I'm coming back with a penis.

It doesn't matter how nauseous I am, how high my fever is, or whether or not I have a serious case of peeing out the heiney. Life goes on as normal for me. I still have to get up and get Big I off to school. I still have to play the part of a short order cook for Lil C all day long. I still have to help Big I with homework, tend to the laundry and keep the household moving. There are no sick days when you're a Mom.

Even last year, when I was in agony after ACL surgery, I would sit in my bathroom while drying my hair and wipe the counter down. I can barely get people in this household to rinse their toothpaste down the sink when they're healthy. It's frustrating to say the least.

This morning, Big I and Lil C were up by 7:30. I was trying to keep my eyes closed for as long as possible when Lil C tossed two hard backed books at my face and demanded I read them to her. She struck my nose and made it bleed a little. It hurt enough that I teared up, and then, while standing in the bathroom, I just started to cry.

Later, as I was sipping some coffee, Mr. BBM told me how lousy he's still feeling. "Great," I said, "I'll probably get it just in time to start the new semester this week."

"Well if you do," he said, "just lay down and go to sleep it off," he said.

I started to laugh. "Mom's don't get to lie down and go to sleep. That will never happen."

I'm telling you. In my next life, there will be some new equipment to learn how to use.

There are some great new reviews up at The BBM Review, including Wii Fit and some other fitness equipment, the new Incubus CD, plus a website that helps you organize your life. Check them out!

Mixed Messages

You know you're in for it when the nurse who's about to take your stitches out, takes one look at your leg and says, "Oh, you have one of those. . . I'll be back." My surgeon does this running loop stitch thing and it mimizes scarring but stings a bit more than normal stitches when it comes out. When it comes out, it's one piece and you can feel it tugging underneath your skin.

She came back a few minutes later and peeled up the steri-strips. "Oh" she said, "I'm going to need to go get him. It's still open." My surgeon came in, took a look, and told her to go ahead with taking them out. It looked so disgusting that I wasn't sure if I wanted to gag, throw up, or pass out. With all the mixed signals, my body just decided to ramp up the heat as it began to feel like I was in a sauna and I broke out in a serious sweat. The bonus of having an incision that isn't completely closed yet is that the stitches don't pull as much coming out. Still, I couldn't watch.

Instead of watching the nurse pull out the stitches and put more steri-strips on the incision, I concentrated on my surgeon's face. He said that he removed part of the sheath, and all the scar tissue that had built up all around it. He said there was a lot of fluid in there too and that I should be good to go now.

Of course, there are limitations. I'm supposed to take it easy for the next 7-10 days and avoid doing any type of activity or stretching that would widen the incision and subsequent scar.

When all was said and done, he told me that in a few weeks I can get back to normal. We talked about pivoting, twisting, kicking and sparring and he made it quite clear what he thinks about me sparring again.

"Three step sparring is o.k. but if I were you, I wouldn't do anything beyond that. Revision surgeries do not have a good success rate, and we're talking about your leg and the rest of your life here."

Truly he's right. It's just not worth it.

As I was leaving he smiled and said, "I'll see you around, just hopefully not here." I should have invited him to my birthday party.

On the way home, I stopped at the gym to ask them if they could put a medical hold on my account. In total it will probably be about three weeks that I'm out of commission. At first, they seemed really willing to help. Then she said she would need 20 days prior notice to put it on hold. "I don't think I even had 20 days notice that I was having surgery," I told her.

I asked for the guy who signed me up and he saw me coming as I walked back to his desk. "Remember that free month you promised me when I signed up? I never got it. I've been paying every month since I signed up. I'd like you to put that free month through now. I threw my leg up on the chair and pulled my pant leg up.

He wrote down my membership number and said he'd take care of it. I figured that flashing a little leg would work, just for different reasons than one would think. 

Apparently, the 20 days prior notice business is somewhere on my contract, in microscopic print, on the backside of the paper, written in Arabic code, and requiring a decoder pen from a cereal box. I would just like to know when helping people became secondary to screwing people.