MAMA: Adventures in Martial Arts and Motherhood

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

One afternoon, way back when my daughter was in kindergarten, I found myself at the playground discussing homework with two other moms. At one point in the conversation, one of them, the mother of one of Maya's close friends, made this comment :"I don't care if my child does well in school. I don't care what grades she gets. She learns different from other kids. She has different strengths and I am fine with that." At the time I remember thinking "Well that is fine for you but I have higher expectations for my child. I want her to try her hardest in school. If she does her best and gets B's that is fine. But I want her to try for A's." It is not the actual grades that matter. In fact, I would support a system that did away with letter and number grades in favor of more individual assessments. But numbers on report cards are what we have now. They are what teachers are currently using to tell both me and my child's future teachers how well

Yesterday, while I was putting on my uniform for my 11am BJJ class, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. After admiring my nice blue gi and making sure my hair was going to stay in place for at least half of class, this thought popped into my head: "What am I doing here?"  Don't get me wrong, I was not unhappy to be at jiu-jitsu. I was not feeling sick, or tired. My neck wasn't sore. In a burst of motivation,  I had even made myself a note that morning about what I was going to work on, which is something I almost never do.  So I was ready to go. Only, the thought was still there. "What am I doing here?" I do not compete in BJJ and do not plan to. I do not care much about belts, and even if I did, promotions at my school are usually a surprise so using them as a goal can be tricky. I have no immediate plans to start teaching jiu-jitsu, so, despite what my tax return might say, my time on the mat cannot really be considered "profes

Yesterday was my daughter's seventh birthday. It also happened to be Election Day which meant instead of going to school, Maya was free to spend the day however she chose.  Here she is around 11am, playing one of the guys in Washington Square Park:  (She took his queen early but then he fought his way back and they settled on a draw.) She ate a park hot dog for lunch. Then she went off to Barnes & Noble with my mom and my aunt, who told her she could pick out anything she wanted. Her evening ended eating cupcakes and watching TV at the grandparents house. It was a great day. Everywhere Maya went yesterday, she brought Julie with her. Julie watched as she studied the chess board, looking for the perfect move. Julie followed her to the store where she ultimately picked out a new book and a nail painting kit. Julie sat on the sofa between grandpa and Maya while she watched Peppa Pig . Here she is. Julie is the American Girl doll that Maya has been a