MAMA: Adventures in Martial Arts and Motherhood

Ah, the Olympics. That wonderful time of the year where it is ok to leave the TV on all day, just there in the background like the cars outside or the clouds blowing across the sky. Now it is swimming. Now it is archery. Now it is table tennis. Now a nap. When I wake up, it is volleyball. I clean the house, do some laundry. Now it is diving. What a glorious waste of time! I hate the commercialism of the Olympics. (I do not care what they say I do not believe any athlete eats at Mc Donalds, or Subway.) I hate how at the end of the race, instead of interviewing the swimmer who won the gold, they only interview the American who came in third. Yes I am from the USA, but I would rather hear what the guy who actually won the race has to say. Still I love the spirit of the Olympics. I love the idea of a place where the best athletes from all over the world compete together. I love the superhuman effort involved in winning a gold medal. I love the drama of athletes achieving their dreams.

Anyone who has known me for awhile knows that I have a somewhat aggressive personality. I do not mean that I randomly punch people (although I often wish I could) or that I frequently pick fights with my spouse. (Actually Matthew and I hardly ever argue, perhaps because we often get to kick each other. Sparring is fantastic for a marriage.) No, when I say I am aggressive I mean that I go after things full throttle and do not stop until I am satisfied. If something is wrong in my life I do my damnedest to fix it. If something is wrong in someone else's life I'll fix that too! I hate being sick or injured or anything else that slows me down and I am that annoying patient who will not let the doctor put anything near me without first explaining what it is for and why I need it. For the most part I am a perfectly polite, friendly, non judgmental person. But if someone is bothering me I ask them to stop. If you cut me in line I politely remind you to get your ass to the back. I

For those of you who actively follow my blog (how I LOVE you all!) I have to apologize. For these next two weeks we have summer camp at the dojo. This means on most days I am with children from 9am to 5:30pm or even later. I am well aware that most of you work this schedule every day and then go home and continue to be productive members of society, doing things like cooking dinner, putting the kids to bed, going to the gym, and even writing blog posts. You rock! Me? I love doing dojo camp but it leaves me a bleary eyed, numb brained, sweaty mess. At the end of the day I still manage to make dinner, walk the dog, clean up and put Maya to bed, I just don't do any of these things very well. Trust me, you do not want me to write anything is this condition. Once Maya is asleep all I have the focus for is the latest episode of Dance Moms. (Damn that evil Abby!) So I am sorry for the lack of blogging. Just give me a week and a half and I am back on track, I promise. Something else othe

Maya had three new experiences this week. The first was an ice cream headache, while eating a chocolate icy in the backseat of the car. The look on her face was priceless. What is this scrunchy head feeling?   Why has my delicious dessert betrayed me so? A few days later her foot fell asleep. Or at least that is what we assumed was going on when she got out of the car, collapsed to the floor and looked at us with a confused and horrified look on her face. There is something wrong with my foot , that look said. And it is your fault, mommy! Yesterday, while rolling around in a grassy field, Maya got her very first bee sting.  Maya is both fascinated and terrified of bugs. She will often stop playing to point out a cute ant or an odd looking beetle. (One of these times she was standing by a tree and called me over to point out a couple of ants that were carrying a crumb. She then proceeded to have a closer look, upon which she realized that she was actually standing in a pile of about

I have been a bit preoccupied this week. My dad recently had hip replacement surgery and has been slowly recovering in the hospital. There have been some annoying ups and downs that have had nothing to do with his hip (mostly stomach related) but now he seems to be back on track with everything and is working on walking. He really hasn't walked in years. Prior to the surgery he could just manage to hobble around at a snails pace, using a cane and often help from one of us. Walking was  very very painful and difficult. It still is. The difference now is that this current struggle is ultimately leading him to a better place. He is getting better, slowly, day by day, as opposed to his previous immobility which had no finish line . In a month or two he will be walking! In six, he will be a new man! I am terrible, positively terrible at waiting. I have zero patience for things that move slowly. It was my least favorite part of being pregnant, that endless crawl towards finally giving

It is 8am and I am sitting in a sidewalk cafe in Venice, drinking a cappuccino. Nearby, the dark waters of the Grand Canal flow sluggishly along. Occasionally a boat goes by. The sky is blue, the buildings sparkling. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair, carrying with it the musky smell of Venice summer. Somewhere close a brother and sister are giggling and conversing in rapid Italian. Even here, in the land of wine and late afternoon napping, the children are up early. As I write my blog, I am daydreaming about a romantic gondola ride, about a long walk that eventually gets me lost in the labyrinth of Venice streets and bridges, about wine that flows like water. Ok, I lie. I am not in Venice, Italy. I am in a coffee shop in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, enjoying my Tuesday bagel. There is no canal nearby, although there are a few tourists in here (in hipster Williamsburg only tourists and moms are up this early), they do have kids, and they are speaking Italian. It is vacation season. Eve