Skip to main content

The Circus

There have been a lot of shows this month. The end of the year is always like that, every specialist wants to show off what they have been teaching all year. So we went to the spring concert and the spanish show and now, today, the Max the Cat Circus. To be honest, I am more than a little sick of watching shows. At this point in the school year its all I can do to put pants on my kid. But Maya was really proud of this one ("Mommy you're gonna love the circus show!") and she really was the cutest little robot clown ever. And as I sat there listening to a bunch of first graders singing along to Katy Perry I realized that I was close to tears. 

I thought it would only be the end of pre k that would choke me up so I was taken a bit off guard when the whole Kindergarten moving up ceremony got me. But even after that I swore this year would go off without a hitch. No nostalgia. No look how big they all are moments. No tears.

But look how big they all are! 

Who cares that my baby is going to be a second grader? Who cares that none of her pants fit anymore? Who cares that she still hugs me when I leave like she actually doesn't want me to?

Apparantly, me. I do.
Who has two thumbs and is a sucker for 6 year olds in costumes? This gal.
What a wuss.
Damn that Katy Perry!
Maya is the third clown from the left. Yeah, I know...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Rape is Not a Spelling Error

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 ,  inac...

Blogging About Promotion is Inappropriate

As a kids karate teacher I am often trying to get my students to not focus on promotion. Don't get me wrong, a new color around your waist is an excellent motivator. But I hope the kids will ultimately come to class because they love karate , not just because they are punching the clock (so to speak) on their way to a new belt. When I first started studying jiu jitsu it was all about the thrill of something new. I just wanted to learn how to do all these awkward techniques with their odd Brazilian names . I didn't care that I was a white belt, on the contrary I loved it. It had been a long time since I was a beginner. About 8-10 months into my training a bunch of the people in my class got blue belts. I knew I wasn't ready for a promotion yet. But still, when the woman who was my partner almost every day got her new belt tied on right next to me I felt a little wierd. Ok fine, I was a bit envious. She was definitely better than me, but she was not that much bett...

November 20th

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 ra...