MAMA: Adventures in Martial Arts and Motherhood

Like many of you, I have spent the past 3 days reading articles, blogs and Facebook posts. I have read, and shared, so many. Us writers, we often process things with our words so I know I have to put something here. Yet every time I sit down in front of my computer I just stare at the screen. Then I type something, erase it, type something else, erase it.  I am just so very tired. Like most of you, I was up until 4am Tuesday night. But that is not the problem. Last night I got a solid 9 hours of sleep, woke up this morning, had a full cup of strong coffee, and yet I still feel exhausted.  I don't really know what to say. To those of you who voted for Trump, I get it. I don't think you are all racists and misogynists. Really I don't. I get that he spoke to many of you, promised you things that Hillary did not. I get that many of you just want change. But still, I am worried. I want to believe that things will be ok. And the truth is, for me and my family they

It is 9am and I am sitting in my classroom at PS84 in Brooklyn waiting for my first kindergarten karate class to show up. It is my first class of 4. They are good kids and I am a very good karate teacher, yet I am always a bit nervous right before my day starts. I want it to be a good day. I want the kids to learn a lot. I want them to have fun. I only get this particular group of kids for 10 weeks so I feel extra pressure to make every class the best it can be. To be perfect. Today, the Monday before Election Day, seems extra tense. The florescent lights hurt my eyes and I feel as if at any moment a full blown migraine is going to explode across my field of vision. At one point my daughter pokes her head in on the way to the bathroom and her little face makes me feel slightly teary.  Am I the only one who feels this way today? Like the top layer of my skin has gone missing? Like all of us are just hanging on by a tiny thread, and at any moment it could just blow away? Its not my

“You must not ever stop being whimsical. And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.”  ―  Mary Oliver ,  Wild Geese Today is Wednesday. Over the past few days, numerous people have asked me if I am ok. This question, simple as it may be, has made me pause and think. If by ok, you mean am I able to go about my life like normal, to teach my classes, to train, to be a mom, then yes, I am absolutely one hundred percent ok. Sunday's situation has not changed my actual life one bit. But if by ok you mean am I still angry, still sad, still disappointed, then the answer is no, I am not ok at all. Many of these well wishers have been men, and when they ask if I am ok, they all have the same look on their face. I didn't really understand that look at first, but now that I have had a few days inside my own head, I get it.  I realize why, despite the very perfect resolution that my husband provided for me on Sunday, I am still positively furious. Despite

While I do not shy away from stating my opinion on this blog, I usually try to do so in the least offensive way possible. I am an atheist, a Democrat, a martial artist and a dog person, but you do not have to be any of these things to be my friend. You just have to not be an asshole. That's all. Pretty simple really. Just don't be an asshole and we can hang together. Not gonna do it today. Today I am going to break my own rule and just come out and say it: ya'll have to stop with the national anthem. It is a fucking song, people. It means the damn game is about to start. It means someone is about to win a bet for how long Beyonce can hold a high note. That's it. And the game will start whether the players sit or stand or lay down in the grass and get themselves a suntan. It does not matter what the fuck you do when this song plays. Really. What matters is that people are dying. Period. But wait, there's more. If you are one of those people who actually feels

When you are climbing up a rock wall, you spend a lot of time assessing things. Is that grip a good one? Do my feet feel secure? Are my arms too tired? Often there is a mental struggle between unrestrained terror (OMG I am so high up, I am going to die!!) and reasonable concern. (Is my knot tied correctly? Is the caribiner locked? Is my belayer paying attention? Ok then, climb on!) I have one of those brains that likes to get carried away sometimes, particularly when it comes to my health. (Something hurts today, it must be jiu-jitsu related. It still hurts a few days later? Maybe I am sick. A week later? CANCER!! ) People with health anxiety learn to distinguish between normal concern and paranoia. We learn to give our body a chance to fix things first. We stay away from Web MD and under no circumstances do we Google any symptoms, ever! We get our annual blood tests and scans and then we avoid the doctor the rest of the year, unless that cough gets worse, and then we just go get a Z

I wrote a blog post this morning. To be honest, it wasn't very good. It has been awhile since I have written anything and I am out of practice. But I worked on it for an hour and then, right before hitting publish I reread it and said, nope, not posting this.  If you are my Facebook friend you know that we have been doing a lot of rock climbing lately, not just at the gym like always, but also on real rocks. So I wrote this post about climbing. It went something like this: "I would not say I am an adventurer. That being said, I love love love this climbing thing. Like really love it. And yes, it is pretty damn scary. But that is not why I love it. We are actually not really the risk taking type, Matthew and I. So while yes, rock climbing is inherently dangerous, we do everything we can to minimize the risk. We climb with helmets. We strap ourselves to everything, all the time. We climb slowly and carefully. We double check all knots and caribiners. Could an accident happen?

I spend an awful lot of time nowadays trying not to be angry at my fellow human beings. I know how toxic it is to walk around with that knot in your stomach all the time. But then Orlando happens. And Facebook explodes with useless thoughts and prayers again but in Washington, where laws are made and change can occur, nothing. Again. Nothing is done, nothing is voted on, no laws are passed. There is a great little protest which causes a stir for a bit but in the end it dies just like all those people in that night club. Because too many people in this country are selfish. They want to say meaningful shit but no way in hell are they going to ever give up anything to help others. Especially not for gay people. Or black people. Or poor people. So they post a little meme on the Internet while deep down a little voice is saying not me, don't touch my life, don't touch my guns or my fancy house or my giant TV or all these things that I think are important. I just want to sit here and

Does anyone remember this article: http://www.theonion.com/article/fuck-everything-nation-reports-30743 It was from December 14, 2012. Right after Sandy Hook. Sandy Hook was four years ago. It was four years ago ! And yesterday, 50 people shot dead in a nightclub in Orlando. And today, Facebook, more thoughts and prayers. Because that is the best we can do, it is all we are ever going to do, ever. Change our profile pics and donate some money to some cause that is never going to be able to accomplish their mission, ever. And when I say we, I don't mean you. You voted for change. You donated blood. You sent money. You did something. I know you did. But it didn't matter. Because the guy who shot those first graders four years ago was a human being who lived here. And the guy who shot up that  nightclub was a human being who lives here.  And Donald Trump is a human being who lives here. And fucking Brock Turner is a human being who lives here. And I know the drill. When th

There is certainly no shortage of blog posts out there about Brock Turner and his terrible crime. Writers far more prolific than myself have dissected the entire case, have shamed the judge Aaron Persky, have expressed outrage at Brock's father's statements. So my addition to the pile is going to be nothing unique, but still I feel compelled to throw my two cents in. There are many reasons to be angry about this story; the latest in a never ending series of disappointments when it comes to our culture and the way we handle rape. But I am a writer. I focus on words. And there is one word that keeps coming up that really drives me crazy. Mistake. As in Brock Turner made a "mistake."  He got drunk, found an equally drunk, mostly unconscious woman, and oopsy, accidentally raped her.  Cause you know, alcohol. Here is the definition of the word mistake:  an action or judgment that is misguided or wrong. synonyms: error ,  fault ,  inaccuracy ,  omissi

If you ask the average American what the meaning of success is, most people will talk about money. They will describe a house, a BMW, a well paying job. They may also talk about a loving spouse and a couple of laughing kids in the backyard. A few people, the more "enlightened" if you will, will talk about happiness, fulfillment, a feeling of purpose. For me, success is more about the latter than the former. I am successful if I am a good mother, if my child is happy and healthy. I am successful if my husband and I respect, support and care for each other. And finally, I am successful if I enjoy what I do all day. I do not mean of course, that I enjoy every minute of every day. That would be unrealistic. I just mean that I enjoy my job, that I do not, like so many people, go to bed on Sunday night with a sick knot in my stomach. ( I have had many jobs like that and it is a terrible way to live.) Of course the fact that my husband and I run a business in Manhattan that

I am about to admit something pretty embarrassing. I am 40 years old and I do not have a drivers license. Yes I am aware that most 17 year olds have managed to accomplish the simple task of learning to drive, however I was not one of them. I tried, sort of. In my mid twenties, I got my permit, spent a month or two learning how to drive a car, failed the road test a few times, concluded that driving was not going to be my thing and quit. Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I decided that it was finally time to try again. This time I signed up for lessons. My driving teacher is a middle aged guy named Mark from Queens, who speaks with a heavy accent and operates his small but very busy driving school mostly out of his car. In addition to the basics of Brooklyn driving (turn left, turn right, stop at the stop sign, stop at the red light, stop for the lady staring at her cellphone, stop for the biker staring at his cellphone) our lessons have included a stop at a gas station so he can

I recently did something against my better judgement. I disagreed with someone. I offered a different view. I did this on the Internet, a place where human beings seem to think that it is ok to say anything. Where they often forget that they are talking to other human beings, ones with feelings, and families and lives that they know nothing about. I know better, but I forgot. Over the past couple of days I have been personally insulted. My child has been insulted. My parenting abilities have been insulted. The people who did so will say that they were not being insulting. Or they will say that I asked for it. Whatever. It is my own fault for forgetting the rule, for forgetting that I am supposed to surround myself with positive people, with ones who can lift other people up without needing to tear anyone else down. Today I was fortunate enough to have a private class with a wonderful black belt from Brazil named Felippe. He spent our hour selflessly teaching me jiu-jitsu, moves tha

If your NYC child is in grades 3 and up, they are probably taking State tests this week. We all remember those. Filling in little bubbles with number two pencils. Reading passages that are about subjects you would never choose to read on your own. Forcing yourself to remember terms like main idea and pivotal point. This year the reading test is untimed and split over three days. That means kids can take as long as they need to to finish each section. For my child, it meant she finished pretty early and then sat and read the book she had brought from home. She says she was reading it for quite awhile. So long that it prompted an email from me to her principal in which I volunteered to come in today and help out. Can the kids go outside when they finish? Can they go in another room? Can they do anything else other than be forced to sit there and read a book after completing a reading test? I would be happy to supervise them. Not surprisingly, the answer was no, not really. It would c