MAMA: Adventures in Martial Arts and Motherhood

To the cop who felt it was necessary to give me a $135 ticket for SLOWLY biking through a red light after STOPPING FOR THE PEDESTRIANS who were crossing, on CPW where there is NO SIDE STREET TRAFFIC. ..fuck you buddy! There is construction in every bike lane, the Williamsburg Bridge is a daily parking lot, the L train costs $2.75 and is always broken and there is a traffic jam on every highway. But yeah I'm the criminal for trying to do something healthy and enjoyable with my commute. When I was in college, I used to get on the 2 train at 96th street in Manhattan and ride all the way to Flatbush Avenue (Brooklyn College), a trip that could easily take over an hour. Since I often had early morning classes, it was not unusual for me to take my seat on the train, close my eyes, and immediately fall dead asleep. I would wake up somewhere way out in Brooklyn. I could never do this now. Forget the fact that I am much older and wiser, therefore, I keep my eyes wide open at all times i

To the Parents of the Small Child in My Karate Class: Which small child? The one who, on her first day, burst into tears at the very thought of stepping on the floor. The one who is now one of the leaders in my class of 3 year olds. The one who could not, for the life of him, stand in one place for more than 5 seconds. Look at him, he is about to get his blue belt. The one who has been in our dojo since he was four and is now one of the sharpest brown belts I have ever seen. The one who is peeking wide eyed through the window when she thinks no one is paying attention. I see you, little one. Come join us. It will be ok. In fact, it will be better than ok, you will love it.  I get it. To most of you, our dojo is just some after school class you are signing your kid up for. Something to do while you are waiting for the snow to melt, for soccer season to start up again, for your vacation time to accumulate. I know how it goes. I signed my child up for gymnastics in January. She loved g

Every year, on Mothers Day, Facebook is flooded with posts from grateful sons and daughters, bragging about all the amazing qualities of their respective moms. Thank god for social media. It used to be that you had to actually call your mother on the second Sunday in May, or even worse, meet her for an overpriced brunch somewhere. Now you can post a heartwarming photo and a few choice words and you have fulfilled your obligation. Not that I have any problem with Mothers Day, or my mom, for that matter. In fact, I am one of the lucky ones. I adore my mother; we get along perfectly. She lives close by. Most importantly, she is still alive. For many people, this particular holiday is nothing but a terrible reminder of what they have lost. If you are one of them, know that I am thinking of you. Of course, there are also the blog posts from the childless women, the ones who feel compelled to defend their decision to not become mothers. And I understand the impulse, after all, if there i