MAMA: Adventures in Martial Arts and Motherhood

This won't take long. I know ya'll are busy brining turkey and creating a seating chart that somehow keeps Aunt Mildred as far away from your dad as possible. I just wanted to take this moment to express my sincere gratitude. For everything. Here is how Thanksgiving goes for us. We go to my parents house. They live in Manhattan so we do not have to go anywhere near an airport or a train station. Matthew's dad often comes too. He thinks Obama is a martian sent to Earth to ruin our health care so we do not talk politics at dinner. We eat a traditional meal of turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts and pumpkin pie. We all drink wine. My dad drinks enough wine to tell us the story about Tony Terici who lived down the street from him and whose mom made the best tomato sauce. He always prefaces the story by saying "Have I told you about Tony Terici?" Then he falls asleep on the couch. So does my husband, who does not even drink wine. Maya,

To all the mommies (and daddies) in the room, I apologize. There have been a lot of posts about training lately. And all you, sleep deprived, wine craving folks who are down in the trenches with Lego pieces embedded between your toes like shrapnel, deserve a blog post too. (You ever step on the two piece, at 5am, on route to the toilet? Yeah, that.) And ya'll might be wondering, as you desperately chug your Mocchachino, how can I relate to these silly jiu-jitsu posts? I don't roll around on a mat in my pajamas. I don't get a thrill out of punching dudes in the ribcage.  Here's how.  This ones for you. Last night Maya was wearing her cranky pants. In other words, she had the sour face and snappy voice of a 14 year old girl on her period. (Don't worry, this is not insensitive. It's ok for me to say this because I once was a 14 year old girl on her period. Isn't that how it works? Like saying the n word?) What this meant is that every interaction we had we

Once every few months or so, a couple of east coast jiu-jitsu ladies organize a women's open mat at my school. It is open to anyone, regardless of rank, experience, or gym affiliation. All you need to bring is your gi, your belt, and a positive attitude.  There were over 30 women in attendance this past Sunday. Thirty ladies, from white belt to black belt, who do jiu-jitsu. The mats were full. The women's changing room was a cornucopia of multi-colored gym bags. It was awesome.  I overheard plenty of conversations while I was there; newbies asking purple belts for tips, girls who had never met each other before talking about how they got into BJJ. There were the usual jokes about our gis falling off, our hair not staying up, about how much we hate knee on belly. But the overall feeling in the room was one of solidarity. Regardless of our many different teachers and gyms, we were all the same, we were all ladies who do jiu-jitsu. In other words, arm bars are arm bars no matt

November is kind of a weird time for me. There is the inevitable promise of winter hovering in the air; a slight chill, the 5pm sunset. As the days grow shorter and the trees outside my window start to shed their leaves, I find myself leaning towards the remaining sunlight like a dog out a car window.  My daughter was born in November and Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, both causes for celebration. But once I have finished the last bite of pie and thrown out that bit of turkey that no one is going to eat, all I am left with is three more months of cold. Yuk. I hate winter. Especially here where all the magic of the season's first snowstorm is overshadowed by mountains of dirty slush and the endless chore of digging your car out over and over again. And then there is November 20th, the anniversary of my teacher's passing.  I don't really do the memorial thing. I mean, the year after Shuseki-Shihan Oliver died was kind of a big deal. And we did a special workout

Imagine you are out to dinner at your favorite restaurant. You order something yummy, like a steak and a baked potato, but when you taste your food something is wrong. Perhaps it was not cooked the way you asked. Or maybe you wanted the sauce on the side. Or salad instead of fries. If you are like me, you might call the waiter over, and very politely explain the situation. After all, you are the customer, right? You should get what you are paying for. And most restaurants will happily fix the problem, hopefully without expelling any bodily fluids into your dinner in the process. So now imagine you are a new martial arts student, who has recently signed up for classes at a very traditional school. You have purchased your plain white uniform and spent a few nervous hours attempting to learn how to tie the belt. You kneel and bow and repeat funny words like "OSU!" every time you come to class. Perhaps you even recite a student creed, or nod your head in appreciation whenever t