Do It Yourself Landscaping (With Injuries to Prove It)
When we got the landscaping estimate two weeks ago from the landscape design lady, we knew there was no way it was going to happen unless a landscaping god dropped plants and trees from the sky, and we did it ourselves.
Then we found where the landscaping gods live. Everyone in our neighborhood has been singing the praises of a nursery located about 25 minutes from our neighborhood. Owned by a mennonite family, they have the best stuff, at a fraction of the price, and they're all super helpful. As a comparison, the plants for the front and one side of our house were going to cost us over $3000, not including labor from the first lady.
From the landscaping gods? We were able to buy all 78 of the plants for around $1000. No, you aren't imagining things; it really does say 78 plants. That could explain why my body feels like it's been through a meat grinder today. The weekend started off with a bang, no, literally a bang.
On Saturday morning, I tried to maneuver around my disorganized laundry room and banged the inside of my ankle on the metal thing sticking out of the inside of the dryer door. It was one of those hitting your funny bone type of moments, but there was nothing funny feeling about it. I scraped some skin off my ankle and it just throbbed for a good five minutes; but there was work to be done, so that's the only time I allowed myself to feel it.
Mr. BBM and I worked for 8.5 hours with barely a break while Lil C ransacked the garage and sometimes sat contentedly on the front porch with her sunglasses on upside down, observing us grumpily. When all was said and done, we had finished the front, and planted two big trees (a birch clump and a weeping blue atlas cedar).
We were exhausted but went to our friends' house for dinner. It was only after washing off the layers of dirt, and arriving at their house, that I realized my ankle was still throbbing. I took a peek at it and noticed it was quite large, as in three times the size of my other one. I spent the rest of the night elevating it and medicating with appletini's.
Sunday I woke up even more sore, despite the fact that I had iced it before going to sleep. I was moving at a snail's pace, but still working because we had no choice. By the close of yesterday, we had planted all but three hosta plants.
My ankle is still swollen and sore. My right knee has a big bruise on it from smacking the shovel against it every time I tried to get some digging leverage. My fingers feel horrible from grasping and shoving dirt around, and my back, we just won't even discuss.
Despite the injuries and the exhaustion, I have to say, that landscaping your entire yard by yourself (me and Mr. BBM) feels pretty good, especially when you can do it for a fraction of the price it would have cost you otherwise.
When it stops raining and we get the mulch down, I'll share some pictures so you can all tell me how fabulous it turned out.
Help a Girl Out
I never, in a million years, thought that I'd be praying that the only thing my best friend has to go through is a D&C to remove what her body thought was a baby that was never meant to be. This week, I've had a hard time thinking about anything but her.
On Friday, I saw Renovation Girl for the first time in many months. We had a girls night and went to dinner by ourselves. We ate and talked for hours. I sipped wine; she sipped ginger ale because she was newly pregnant and nauseated. Having gone through a miscarriage only months ago, and many years of disappointing failed fertility treatments, she remained cautious in her expectations.
As her HCG numbers continued to rise though, so did my hopes, that this pregnancy was going to work for her. I told her to remain cautious. I told her I would invest in this pregnancy for her and believe that this time, it was for real and meant to be.
When I got her phone call on Tuesday, I was devastated for her. To be told that not only is there no baby, but that there is a possibility that there's something more sinister, to be told that the "c" word is a possibility after everything she's already been through. . .
It's all too much.
I will never understand why such horrible things happen to such good people. Please visit my best friend today and give her some love. And if you're so inclined, please say a prayer that the only thing she's going to have to deal with is getting over yet another miscarriage.
Make Me Invisible Before My 3-year old Gets Us Both Killed
I don't remember Big I ever having embarrassed me the way that Lil C does on a near daily basis. It's getting to the point where public outings are a big risk. I recall one time when Big I said something that made me want to disappear instantly. She commented about a very heavy woman and asked me why she was so fat? I gave her a look and later we discussed that it's not polite to say things like that. That was the very last time she said anything.
Lil C frequently calls people out. One time we were at the hair salon and Big I was getting her hair cut. An older man was putting his coat on by the door and about to leave. He had obviously just had his hair cut. He was smiling at her and saying "hi" when she turned to me and said, "That man has funny hair. Why is his hair so funny mommy?" Needless to say, he went out the door quickly and I was never so happy to see someone leave.
I told Lil C that it's not nice to say things like that and that it can hurt people's feelings. Her comment back to me? "Well his hair was funny though!" almost like "Well, with silly hair like that you're asking for it."
A couple weeks ago, in a clothing store, Lil C told me to "Yook at that yittle old yady. Yook at her Mommy. She's a yittle old yady." She would not stop! I wanted to run out of the store. The lady was indeed old and little, but she wasn't taking too kindly to being called "yittle" and "old." Thank goodness looks don't kill.
Yesterday, we went to the grocery store. The first incident occurred back by the deli. An older woman was looking at the cheeses and Lil C yelled out loudly to her, "What are YOU DOING YADY?" (In case you haven't figured it out yet, "L's are in fact "Y's" in Lil C's world. The woman swung around quickly and I apologized with a "Sorry, she's three." The woman laughed and told me about her grandchildren while Lil C smiled devilishly at her.
The next encounter didn't go quite as smoothly.
Lil C was helping me load the groceries onto the checkout belt when a man pulled into the checkout lane behind us. He was an older black man and he had dreadlocks that just passed his shoulders. He also had a bit of a beard. Always looking for interaction ways to embarrass me, Lil C noticed there was someone behind us so she turned around to see who was there.
Sensing there was definitely going to be some commentary, I tried to get her attention back to the front, but it wasn't happening. She stared at him for a little while and then asked him, in a crystal clear voice, "Are you a girl or a boy?" I wanted to die, right then and there.
I didn't allow him to answer. "Lil C, that is a boy. Sometimes boys have longer hair and that's perfectly ok. Ethan's daddy has long hair. . . " I grasped to find the names of men who have long hair. "Mr. Matt has hair that's a little longer. . . " She stared at me with an irritated look. She had obviously wanted the dread-locked man to answer her question. She finished listening to me and turned back around at the man who was temporarily smiling a bit to himself and said, "Well he looks like a girl with that yong hair." Needless to say, the man stopped smiling and I wanted to disappear on the spot.
In many ways, Lil C reminds me of my grandmother. My grandmother is the type of gal who puts it all out there. She is 92 years old and she's never been afraid of speaking her mind. Once, when I was younger, we were walking into the mall and there was a girl walking in front of us whose butt was hanging out of her jeans (from rips-not the style,as is now). My grandmother pointed at her and exclaimed, "Well, look at that! Her entire a$$ is hanging out of her jeans! Look at that! What is WRONG with her?"
I remember my Mom being horrified, but I actually thought it was kind of funny at the time. I thought there was something seriously wrong with her too. Lil C definitely has a streak of my grandmother in her, which is probably why she cracks my grandmother up so very easily.
The next time I go to the grocery store, I think I'm going to bring some of those chewy granola bars along to shove in her mouth whenever necessary. And if someone could tell me where to buy an internal filter for a 3-year old, I would really appreciate it.
Drum roll please. . .
In an uber-scientic drawing, each comment from Admired Martial Artists week was numbered. I then yelled across the room the number range and asked Mr. BBM to choose a number without him being able to see the list. The winners of the Admired Martial Artists month's prizes are as follows:
The Discipline Training Martial Arts shoes from Martial Arts Supplies go to. . . John Vesia of Martial Views.
The year long subscription to the awesome quarterly newsletter from Kyoshi Hayes goes to. . . Eric Mest.
The nunchaku or tekkos carrying case from Bags of Character goes to. . . Mike Sherman.
The Vital Points striking book from Turtle Press goes to. . . Hackshaft.
Thank you to all commenters during Admired Martial Artists month! I look forward to seeing you back here next year, but hope you'll stick around throughout the rest of the year too. A big thanks goes out to the companies and individuals who have volunteered to supply a prize too!
If you're a winner, please contact me at black-belt-mama at hotmail dot com with your mailing address, shoe size (John), and color preference (Mike). Congratulations to all the winners!!!
Hanging with the Boys
Lately, at the dojo, I have frequently been the only girl in class. There are definitely more men than women at my dojo. When you break it out and look exclusively at brown belt and above, there are even more men than women. I grew up a tomboy and my best friend in high school was a guy, so this has never bothered me. I seem to get along better with guys overall. From a martial arts perspective though, I began thinking about whether or not the guys take it a little easier on me.
Last night, we were paired up and spent the entire night trying to wail on each other with bat-sized sticks. Whenever we do these drills, we ease into them gradually. We start by working out distancing. Our partner starts swinging at us when we're just a hair out of reach. Then we add movement, first small movement, then big movements. Finally, we add some evasive maneuvers and techniques to combat someone wielding a club or bat at us. By the end of the night, it's usually a sparring type situation that can get pretty intense.
I was partnered with a brown belt guy, who I believe has a black belt in another style (a heavily into kicking style). I like working with this guy; we seem to work well together. The drills went fine, and then it was time for the free-for-all stick swinging. He was taking aim at me and my first movement brought some serious pain with it for my knee. The quick movements, twisting, pivoting and off-angle stuff still freak me out and cause me some trouble. Yet almost every week, I've been taken out of my comfort zone for drills that start harmless enough, but end with me being a nervous wreck. I simply haven't figured out how to adjust to my knee situation. My previous stances are uncomfortable so I've been forced to find new ways to stand. Something as simple as which foot to put in front is now troubling and feels uncomfortable.
It's really difficult to think about the stick swinging at your head when you're more worried about your knee and messing it up again. After the initial tweak however, I was able to make it through the drill. I got hit a couple times (thank God we had switched over to plastic), and I mostly felt like a total idiot. Being a teacher and having previously done a lot of public speaking, you'd think I could handle a little audience, but the four guys standing on the side were freaking me out too. They're all good, and I feel like I'm not, so it can be intimidating.
Later, I watched the guys switch it up and continue going at it. When my partner was out there with someone else, it was intense. He was throwing in some good kicks and techniques and I was really impressed. I also got the feeling that he had been taking it easy on me.
This, for a girl, is good and bad. It's good because I am smaller than these guys. Even though I'm of similar height to most of them, I am definitely a light weight. I don't fit the typical body type of a female karate-ka, at least not most of the ones I've seen and been around. Despite months of busting my butt at the gym, there's nothing you can really do when your genes say you'll be a 5'9", 135 lb string bean. I've built muscle, but it's still on my spaghetti frame. So, for that reason, I guess being treated a little differently is good.
I also think the guys are cautious around me because of my knee. They know I'm terrified of being injured again, and so they approach drills with me with kid gloves on. I get that, and I do appreciate it. But I guess there's a part of me that wishes it was otherwise. When I watch the guys out there, throwing each other around, and getting intense, I'm a bit jealous.
That's never going to be me. I'm not the girl who will be fondly recalled years from now as "the scrapper." I doubt there will be any legends told about me and my skills twenty years from now. I'm feeling more and more like I'm the blend-into-the-background type of girl in the dojo and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
People comfort themselves by saying that there's a reason for everything and that things happen for a reason. I, for one, would like to know the reason for some of these things. Like the ACL injury, for example. What was the purpose of that? Was it to make me quit karate? Was it to make me appreciate it more? Was it a giant smack-down from someone above telling me I'm out of my league? I know it's made me into a person who enjoys going to the gym and working out, but how does that fit in with karate and how things go at the dojo? Right now, I'm not seeing how the working out has benefited my karate. Will it make me a better martial artist in the long run? Will it harm my progress because I'm afraid (rightfully so), and because others are afraid to hurt me?
I don't want to go to the dojo and get a beat-down each week (I seriously can not sustain another injury), but at the same time, my purpose for being at the dojo is primarily self-defense. If the guys are taking it easy on me, then isn't this doing me harm in the long-run? Am I now seen as the delicate flower of the dojo? If that's the case, I'm not happy about it.
Last night I got home and iced my knee for a while. Then I had Mr. BBM come swinging at me and I tried to take him down using one of the techniques we worked last night. Without him knowing what I was going to do, and without him taking a dive for me, I simply couldn't make it work. Granted, he is bigger than the guys I usually work with, but it's still frustrating when something that had worked only hours ago, now doesn't.
As martial artists, we need compliant partners until we've learned the proper technique and control, but are my partners being too easy on me when it comes to helping me make techniques work? Is it because I'm a girl? Is it because of the ACL injury? Am I doing the same thing to them? Unfortunately, I don't think there are any easy answers to these questions.
There's a new place for ACL bloggers to hang out. Go here and click "join."
The winners will be announced tomorrow for the AMA month prizes!
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
