MAMA: Adventures in Martial Arts and Motherhood

To the teenaged boy with the scooter who called me ugly this afternoon while I was waiting for my Chinese food to be ready: I don't care that you called me ugly. You did not hurt my feelings, if that was what you were going for. I am not ugly. I know that I am not ugly because I have fairly good self esteem, and with the exception of the occasional midmonth bloatfest I like what I see when I look in the mirror. I also have a husband who seems to like what he sees and a five year old who happens to think I am the bees knees. Your immature comment, meant to impress your buddies and make you feel important, did not actually affect me because I am a grownup and yes your biggest fear is true, grownups do not give a rats ass what you have to say. So I laughed and commented on how very young you are and then went upstairs to enjoy my cold sesame noodles. But I will give you credit for one thing, poor sad teenager who thinks he knows so much, you did make me think. I mean, after I playe

First of all, do not worry, I have not quit blogging, despite the long time between posts. (I know ya'll have been feeling a bit panicky) I have just been too messed up to write. First I got a nasty sinus infection which totally wiped me out. Then I completely screwed up my shoulder. Then I went on a week long beach vacation with a messed up shoulder. (I won't get into that, much. Lets just say that lying on the living room floor with an ice pack on your face while numerous family members walk in and out and shoot you sad, pity faces is not the best way to spend a vacation.)  Of course, it wasn't all misery. The beach was beautiful, the company delightful. Maya had the time of her life; splashing in the ocean for hours, running around with her two cousins. There were times when we would look up from whatever book we were reading (or level of Candy Crush Saga we were struggling with) and wonder "Where did our child go?" Inevitably we would find her playing cards

Yesterday I broke the cardinal rule of parenting. I have officially become "that mom." You know the one. The one who doesn't care about her child's safety. The one who didn't hear the curse word. The one who is missing angelic smiles and musical laughter and precious moments I will never get back. The one playing Candy Crush Saga on her cellphone in the indoor playspace. What's remarkable is not that I have become that mom. In truth, I have already been that mom a few times at the playground. No, what's remarkable is that I still feel guilty about it. That I want to hide the screen when another parent sits down behind me, even though she immediately pulls out her own phone. And the one other parent in the room who is not carrying a newborn (a dad!) is on his IPad.  Why is it that we are so ashamed to enjoy a moment of beautiful, mindless entertainment if it is before our child's bedtime, even if they are perfectly happy playing by themselves? D