MAMA: Adventures in Martial Arts and Motherhood

On Thursday mornings I volunteer in a first grade classroom at my daughter's school. It is an ICT class, which stands for "Integrated Co Teaching", and basically means the class has two head teachers, plus an aide. The students are a mixed population of special ed kids, or more accurately kids who have an IEP (individual education plan) and have been identified to need some extra help, and general ed kids. Every public school classroom has a variety of learners in it, but this ICT class also includes a boy who cries frequently and most of the time would rather lie underneath his desk than sit at it. It is a tough environment for these teachers and they are all absolutely fantastic. Yesterday one of them showed the class a short video from Sesame Street, that starred Elmo and a rapper named Common singing about "belly breathing". You may have seen it on my Facebook page but I shared the link at the end of this post just in case. This is not the first time I...

If you were anywhere near my Facebook account this weekend you may have noticed that we did some karate. There are multiple photographic records of this event. If you missed them, because you were doing something more valuable with your time than scrolling through Facebook, here is by far the most interesting of the bunch: This cool pic was created by a friend of Sensei Jennifer Rennie, a fellow Kenshikai karateka. It shows the magic that is created when 40+ people in gis show up to work out on a Sunday morning. (Apparently some really high level practitioners can hang from the ceiling like bats!) Ok obviously what this photo really shows is some pretty slick photo editing software. But the actual event, known as "Kagami Biraki", was kind of special. Wikipedia, the deeply wise source of all useful information, says: " Kagami Biraki  (鏡開き) is a  Japanese  traditional ceremony which literally translates to "Opening the Mirror" (from an abstinence)...

I'm going to jump right to the finale. The moral of this little tale is that doctors don't know anything.  Here is the short version. About three weeks ago I developed an itchy ear problem. I ignored it for awhile but eventually it got too annoying so I walked the two blocks to the lovely urgent care place in my neighborhood. There is never anyone in there so after about ten minutes I was on my way out with some antibiotic drops for an ear infection. Fast forward three days where now not only are my ears itchy but they are now hurting and feel like someone is constantly pouring water into them. Same clinic, different doctor. New prescription, this time for antifungal ear drops. Fast forward one week to where I now have slightly less itchy ears and a very itchy rash on my belly. Same clinic, different doctor. Hmmm, you seem to have an allergic reaction to something. (No shit, lady.) What, well it is hard to tell. You should stop using the drops and go see an ENT doc. Cut to ...

Tonight I had my annual conversation with one of the Bedford Avenue Jews. If you have been reading this blog for awhile you may remember this from two years ago: http://mamommyarchives.blogspot.com/2012/12/how-athiest-celebrates-holidays.html. But just in case you were not around then, here is how it went tonight: Him: Hello, are you Jewish? Me: No. Well actually my mom was raised Jewish. And my grandmother was Jewish. But no, I do not practice Judiasm. Him: Well actually if your mom is Jewish than you are Jewish. You do not need to practice. Me: Well..ok...my daughter wants to light a menorah. Can I have one of those free ones you are handing out? Him: Sure. You can teach your daughter about it. And so on. Two years ago I was angry and defiant. I took that damn free menorah because I was daring him to say no. I was daring him to call me a Jew so I could angrily say that NO I was most certainly NOT Jewish because I do not believe in God. I do not practice ANY religion. And...

When I tell you I live in Williamsburg, you probably picture hipsters in skinny jeans and fancy hats pouring out of the L train at midnight. And you would be right. They are wandering down Bedford Ave right now, with their Oslo coffee cups and wire rimmed glasses. Well not now, at 8:30am on a Sunday. Now, they are all asleep. It is the other Williamsburg that is awake this early, the ones with children, the ones who are all bundled up and headed for the playground at 8:00. We have coffee too. Only we made ours at home, in a giant coffeepot that is set to start brewing at 6, and we carry our own reusable mugs because we will need refills. Multiple refills. The hipsters and the mommies are not the only tenants of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. If you go south of Grand Street you will come across Hispanic families who have been in the neighborhood far longer than I have. And if you keep going down Bedford, past Division Ave., you will find yourself in the world of the Hasidim.  The ...

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...

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...