Skip to main content

Let Go, Move On, and Watch Out For Flying Rocks

Today my daughter hit a man in the head with a rock. 

She didn't mean to of course. We were out and about in Dumbo, one of our favorite weekend hangouts, just chillin by the river, tossing rocks and watching the waves from the ferry boats crash. It was lovely and serene and all kinds of familial bliss until...

 "OW! She hit me!"
"I'm so so sorry". From my husband who instantly rushed over to see if the man was ok.
"Maya go apologize." From me. 
Maya, still shocked, walked over to the poor dude and said what I thought was a very mature and heartfelt apology. "Sorry."
"I'm really really sorry." 
That's my man again, the karate and jiu-jitsu guy. Who says fighters are jerks?

The wounded guy, to his credit, did not get angry. Instead, he said it was ok and just walked away, rubbing his head and looking completely bewildered. I guess it is not every day that you get hit in the head by a five year old. Unless you have a five year old, in which case you are always protecting your head. And your groin. And your coffee mug.

But I digress. It took Maya about five minutes of stunned silence before the whole thing sunk in and she  burst into tears. She cried for a long time.

On the plus side, here are the valuable parenting lessons you can instill when your child hits a perfect stranger in the head with a big pointy rock:

  1. Sometimes when mommy and daddy say be careful it is not just random nagging. It is because not being careful can lead to people getting hurt. So look before you cross the street, don't torture the dog, and don't throw rocks too close to other people.
  2. It is ok to feel bad when you hurt someone by mistake. In fact, it is a good thing. People who don't care are jerk faces. You feel sad because you are a sensitive, caring human being who doesn't like to see others hurting. And that makes us very very proud of you.
  3. Accidents happen. Bad things happen. Say you are sorry and then move on. Learn to let go. Don't let one bad thing consume everything.
Umm....did I just say that?
Me, the person who can easily obsess for hours about one little mistake. Me, the person who can let a bad day turn into a bad night faster than you can say "where's the wine?". Me who tries to control every little detail of every little thing and then wonders why I lie awake at 3am with a million thought running through my head. 

Something about a pot and a kettle. 

Learn to let go. Don't let one bad thing consume everything.
I swear I actually choked on the words a little. And then laughed at myself. Which, by the way, is a huge step in the right direction.

I guess my daughter and I will work on these skills together.

The moral of this Sunday tale is if you are ever here, in Dumbo Brooklyn, by these rocks...
..please keep your hands up.

I'm just saying.
Really sorry about your head, buddy. I hope you're ok.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Ronda Rousey

I am not into celebrities. If you want to know what Snooki named her baby, or who in Tinseltown got married and divorced this weekend, don't ask me. I do not consider the people prancing around on my television role models for my daughter, representatives for women-kind, or at all relevant to real life in any way. So twerk away Miley, I do not care. But I am a martial artist. I learn arm bars and rear naked chokes. I throw punches and knee kicks. I work on traditional katas and do pushups and try to pass the guard and sweet Jesus, I even occasionally throw low kicks which other people check with their shins. (  http://www.latimes.com/sports/la-sp-ufc-20131229,0,7356884.story#axzz2os6WWXVl ) I am not a professional fighter. But I am a woman who loves to fight. And as such, I was thrilled when Dana White finally allowed female fighters into the Octagon. Seeing you armbar Liz Carmouche was incredible. And I could watch you Judo toss people onto the mat all day long. You are a tr

November 20th

I am going to tell you a secret.  The name of your school does not matter. The patch you wear on your uniform does not matter. The belt you tie around your waist, the color of your gi, the medals on your wall, none of these things matter.  All that matters is the sweat on the floor. Period. I am not saying that you should not be proud of those things. You earned them and they deserve to be celebrated.  I am not saying that all dojos are the same. They aren't. But none of that matters. What matters is that you did one more pushup that night. When you thought you were done, you did one more.  What matters is that you kept fighting, even though he had you pushed up against the wall and for a moment there you were pretty sure he forgot who you were. He certainly forgot how small you were, yet you kept fighting, or at least you kept your hands up and waited for the bell to ring. You didn't quit. What matters is that you went to class. When you would really rather be on

Failure to Progress

This morning I woke up thinking "Hey it has been awhile since I have written a blog post. Lets do that!" (Well to be honest, my first thought was "Cofffeeeeee." But after that it was all about writing.) It is Thursday, which means it is a BJJ day for me. I took class yesterday so my neck is a bit sore (spider guard) but nothing is too banged up. I really like my new school and I am looking forward to going to class today. So its going to be a great training day! Right? As I was weaving my hair into as many braids as possible in the hopes of it surviving rolling today, I had an idea for what I wanted to write about. In December it will be five years of BJJ for me. Yet sometimes I still am not sure why I am doing it. Despite hours and hours on the mats, I am still pretty bad at it. I still get tapped by white belts who are much bigger than me. I still forget every drill within a week of learning it. I am still not sure exactly what the point of all this is. Is it