New Beginnings
Today was the last day of summer vacation for Big I. We spent the day having a picnic in the park by ourselves (since everyone else started school days ago), skipping stones across the creek, and taking about 4000 slides down the sliding board. We also traumatized Lil C a bit by making her go down a big tunnel slide.
Tomorrow, Big I will go to first grade. It seems like just yesterday that I was sobbing my way through her first morning at Kindergarten. I’m hoping I can hold it together tomorrow, because she is beyond nervous. She’s excited that she’ll be in class with her best friend, but the whole staying through lunch thing is just really bothering her right now. I think I’ll be packing a bit of chocolate in her lunch box tomorrow, because we all know chocolate is a cure-all. Something tells me that recess will be as well.
I’m also a little worried about Lil C. The girls are constantly disappearing to play dress up during lazy afternoons, and have made a fort a day in the living room. Without Big I around to entertain her, that job falls to me. I’m going to have to tune up my fort making skills pronto and figure out how I’m going to fit in a size 5 Cinderella dress. It’s going to be a rough transition for me and Lil C without our event director around during the day.
Tomorrow isn’t the only new beginning for us. Tomorrow night, Big I and I will venture out for our very first night at our new karate school. I got the o.k. for kata and basic’s last week from my doctor. I’m still not allowed to have any contact that’s going to jar my neck and no one is allowed to throw me; but that is temporary (probably for the next month) and then I’ll be back as good as new. Most of the neck soreness is gone, although I realize that it’s going to take some time to build up that crazy damaged muscle in there to where it was before.
Due to some circumstances out of our control, continuing to go to our original school became impossible. Because our former karate school approved a transfer, Big I and I are able to stay within our original federation, which means we’ll be able to keep our rank and have a much easier transition. It’s also a much shorter commute; and I have a babysitter super close for nights when Mr. BBM’s schedule and karate are just not meshing (which is pretty much always).
I already know a lot of the people there, having met them at the past two training camps, so I’m very excited. Big I is pretty excited too. She actually began telling me she was missing karate last week, so it seems like a short absence made the heart grow fonder. That can only be a good thing. It’s going to be exciting to see what kind of progress she makes now that she’s feeling motivated.
I’m going to really miss some people at my old dojo. There’s a little girl who was going to be testing for Shodan with me. She’s a sweetheart with great skill. There’s another man, a Shodan, who was always a fabulous partner and great lunch pal at training camps. He was also a paramedic who watched me nervously when I was 34 weeks pregnant with Lil C and still trying to keep up with class. I knew I was in good hands in case I went into labor early though. That statement made him even more nervous!
There are also some fabulous little kids there who I loved watching progress; and a brother and sister Shodan duo who were always willing to jump back out on the floor and help get me unstuck on kata’s. I also had some great instructors there: one who helped me graduate from foam to wooden nunchaku after much mental counseling and encouragement, ones who spent extra time helping me when I was stuck or frustrated, one who helped me rid my apologetic ways from karate, and those who instilled the love of karate in me from day one. I truly made some great friends there.
I certainly won’t forget where I came from, but I am excited about where I am going. The instructors where I’m going are excellent. I know because I spent time learning from them at training camps in the past. There are 9th, 8th, 7th and 4th degree black belts who teach there (there may be others, but those are the ones I know of right now). I am sure that Big I and I will be in good hands there, and we’re excited to begin our new adventure.
As far as I know, I think I should still be o.k. for Shodan testing in February. Of course, that will be up to my new instructors; but thankfully the neck injury was now and not closer to testing. If it had to happen, it was a good time for it.
So this blog will now probably head back to its karate roots. My summer of tentatively nursing a neck back to health has come to an end. Let the new school adventures begin. . .
Pay It Forward
Do you remember that movie from several years ago, "Pay it Forward"? I thought that most of that movie was very cool, all except for the ending. Regardless, it was nice to see a movie about trying to be nice to other people; because all people should seriously try more of that in their every day lives.
This morning, Big I had a playdate with her best friend. Big I’s friend also has a little sister, only a few months older than Lil C. When I dropped her off, Lil C started digging into the toys and playing with the girls, and the next thing I knew I was accepting the Mom’s very gracious offer to keep both of the girls for the play date while I had some time to myself (Trust me on this one-I can always use some time to myself after Mr. BBM has been traveling).
I’ve never left Lil C with a non-relative before and I wasn’t sure how she’d react; but she seemed so interested in staying and playing and it was only for a few hours in the morning, so I left and had absolutely no clue what to do with my morning of freedom.
First I went to the post office to pick up a box to mail all our Polly Pockets back to Mattel. GRR, on that subject. Damn those toy manufacturers with their magnets and their stupid toxic paint, and why isn’t Mattel paying for the stupid box I have to send the stuff back in?!? Sorry, tangent. Anyway. . .
Then I had an idea. Instead of going home and taking a shower (or a nap-which would have been so sweet), I decided to pay it forward.
I quickly picked up supplies and came home to cook up a feast. I made a home made chicken pie for us, and I made one for my grandparents as well. I also made cream cheese and chocolate chip dark chocolate brownies for the play date Mom and her family.
When I went back to pick up Lil C, she was eating lunch and smiling. When I asked her if she had fun she said, "yeah" and grinned ear to ear.
We then drove over to my grandmothers house to drop off the chicken pie. Lil C had fallen asleep and she’s a load. So, I asked Big I to carry the chicken pie into the house. As I was maneuvering the door and trying to let Big I pass in front of me, she dropped the pie.
It would have been fine, but instead of picking it up horizontally, she picked it up vertically. I wanted to cry. When we got inside, I unwrapped my creation and the pretty pre-baked pie I had put together was no more. My grandmother grabbed a spoon and started scooping it back into shape. It wasn’t going to look pretty, it was really more of an upside down pie, but at least I know it tasted good.
We spent the afternoon hanging out with and talking to my grandmother. She told me so many cool things about her mother and father, her aunts and her uncles, and what life was like back when she was young. Although I’ve heard many of her stories multiple times, today’s stories were all new and they were an absolute joy to hear.
I made her day with my chicken pie, and she made my day with her original tales.
If this story made you smile, then pay it forward yourself. Maybe we can start a trend.
Crap Happens
Today our powder room toilet overflowed. The powder room is directly beside our unsealed wood floors, so Mr. BBM and I both went charging at the offending river armed with pool towels that didn’t get put away yesterday. Thank God I am a lousy-no-good housewife who doesn’t put stuff away unless company is coming. The towels were right there, where we needed them most.
That didn’t stop the water from going in the vents and flowing down through the floor into the basement though, where the water made contact with our printer, a keyboard, a ton of toys, etc. I spent the entire morning spraying things down with a bleach solution and going through more paper towels than I ever thought possible. The skin on my hands is now peeling. Who needs a chemical peel or hot wax treatment when you can soak your hands in bleach instead?
After cleaning up the mess, Lil C was eating her lunch in the kitchen. She waved her spoon around and dropped a glob of applesauce on the floor.
"Oh crap!" she said.
I can’t imagine where she would have learned that language from, because I. . . oh, who am I kidding? She learned it from me! I’m just glad she didn’t replace "crap" with its synonym friend that starts with "s." Then I’d really be feeling crappy.
Later in the afternoon, Big I fell down the stairs. It sounded as if my washing machine had decided to take a joy ride of something, so I ran upstairs as fast as I could expecting the absolute worst: broken legs in every direction, blood, gore, missing teeth. My heart was pounding out of my chest, I was so afraid at what I would see.
What I found was Big I sobbing and gingerly rubbing her bum. I hugged her and asked her what happened and she said, "I stepped out and just lost my balance." She started crying harder and then said, "It was awful Mommy. It was like a stair luge." Apparently we’re watching entirely too much of The Cat and the Hat around here.
For dinner tonight, I made a Mexican feast. We had taco’s with ground beef and rice. Lil C used to eat absolutely ANYTHING you put in front of her. Lately, she’ll eat "matos" and "bluedas" only (that’s tomatoes and blueberries for those of you who don’t speak toddler). She’ll also occassionally eat crackers, but only on every third day between the 1:15 and 1:18 p.m. She’ll eat cheese as well, but only on Wednesday’s when it rains. She will also tell you she wants "or-nanj-juice" right up until you hand her the cup, and then it’s "malk." The whining that comes with her drink requests is free.
This is the kid who used to ask for "mar broc-O-lee peese" (more broccoli please). She’d also eat hamburgers, steak, grilled chicken, salmon, potatoes, spinach (yes, I said spinach), and any fruit you put in front of her. We’ve gone from that to "matos" and "bluedas" and my patience is wearing a bit thin.
Apparently Lil C’s is too because with each meal Mommy must now serve an appetizer. Everyone wants something from me and NOW, and they all want something different. I feel like a short order chef as of late and it’s only going to get worse.
For the past few weeks, Big I has been asking us with great interest, whether or not what she’s eating is from an animal. She declared a few weeks ago that she will only eat animals that are "not cute." We convinced her that chickens are nasty looking. We also convinced her that humans only eat the ugly cows.
Tonight, she stopped buying that. I wrapped up a taco for her and she sat there staring at it for a while. "Is this from an animal?"
"Yes" I said. Keep in mind that I have a super sensitive stomach. I don’t like to think about the unpleasantries that may have happened before my ground beef got put on a styrofoam slab and wrapped in plastic. If I had to do you-know-what, I’d be a vegetarian; but I don’t have to, so I eat meat and gladly.
"Mommy?" Big I asked.
"What?" I said.
"Can you take the cow out of my taco? I don’t want to eat it anymore" she said.
I told her that’s all fine and good if she doesn’t want to eat animals anymore, but that we’re going to have to find other ways to add protein to her diet. She wasn’t happy with the protein choices I gave her. I have a feeling big sister is headed for the mato and blueda diet herself.
She also started bringing up my sister, Crazy Aunt E. I love my sister dearly, but when I went off to college, my sister decided she was going to become a vegetarian. I came home on a break and was excited to be eating one of my Mom’s awesome burgers and then I bit into. . . that. It was one of the early versions of veggie burgers and it tasted worse than a slab of cardboard. I protested. My Dad nodded silently in agreement, but did nothing to join my protest. He must have already learned that it did no good.
It was a vegetarian nightmare after that. I can’t tell you how relieved I was that my Mom didn’t cave in when it came to Thanksgiving turkey time. Of course, my sister refused to sit at the table with us while we ate "carcass" and kept asking if she could go bury it (which come to think of it, might be why I can’t tolerate that kind of talk anymore), but I didn’t let her bother me then. I was a college student and I was starving for good food.
Picky eating I can tolerate. Big I ate nothing but noodles and nectarines for an entire year of her life. But vegetarianism? I just can’t handle it, not this week anyway.
I’ve clearly had enough crap for one week.
Pirate School Drop Out
I have always been intrigued by tales of pirates. We vacation regularly on the Outer Banks, which is said to have hundreds if not thousands of shipwrecks off shore. Black Beard stories are also plentiful, and even the story behind how Nags Head got its name is related to pirates.
Despite the fact that our home is filled up to the chimney with princess stuff, we also have a decent amount of pirate booty in these parts. Big I insisted on having pirate swords when we visited Disney World a few years ago. It can be quite challenging to maneuver a sword wielding three-year old around
Disney World. Trust me on this one.
She’s also added to her collection an eye patch, and a cool bandana complete with cross bones. We’ve had plenty of sword battles here, and since this family is familiar with samurai I’d have to honestly say that our sword battles more closely resemble something you’d see in Pirates of the Caribbean.
We’ve seen all but the last of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. I joyfully watch these with Big I because if pirates look like Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp, then sign me up and NOW. And don’t feel bad for Mr. BBM here, because I have told the man that it’s fine with me if he lets his hair grow long and mangy and stops brushing his teeth. Pirates are hot; well, the Hollywood ones anyway. Mr. BBM just thinks that such an appearance might be detrimental to his career advancement.
Each year, when it’s time to pick out Halloween costumes, I imagine that we’ll be invited to some cool party where we can go as a family of pirates. We know all the words to the pirate song "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me" and we can certainly talk in Piratese. "Yargh matey." You get the idea.
Unfortunately though, I think I’m going to have to drop out of Pirate training, because this wanna-be pirate may not ever be able to look at rum again. I’m pretty sure rum is a requirement.
Rum and I have a troubled relationship. Back at a college date party, my date (pre-Mr. BBM) decided that the drink of choice for the evening was Captain and Coke. Captain and Coke made me a very happy girl, right up until I wasn’t anymore. I stayed away from rum after that entirely.
Then a friend told me that I had to try a mojito this summer. Mojito’s have rum, club soda, lime, mint leaves and cane sugar and they are fabulous. We’ve made them for company multiple times and have enjoyed them on the few occasions where Mr. BBM and I actually manage to get the girls to bed before it’s time to crash ourselves.
Being that rum and I seemed to have repaired our relationship, I took a chance at a wedding reception we attended this weekend on some rum and diet coke. I was feeling fine. Like I said, rum tends to make me pretty happy. But we started talking to a relative and her husband and he started bringing me drinks much faster than I would have liked. But hey, they were little glasses with a lot of ice, and what’s a girl going to do when she’s standing no where near a table, hold two at a time? I mean, that’s just tacky. So I drank them and he continued to replace them and before I knew it, I was swaggering around just like a pirate.
When the reception was over, Mr. BBM and I followed the bride and groom into the hotel nightclub and danced our derrieres off until the wee hours of the morning. (It’s not often we have a babysitter people, so cut me a break.) It was quite fun, minus the fact that I spent hours dancing on 2.5 inch heels. Did you know that rum numbs the toes? Because I sure didn’t, not until the next morning when I woke up and thought that someone must have beaten both of my little toes with a hammer when I wasn’t looking. Either that or maybe someone dropped a cannonball or two on them. It’s possible. I’m sure pirates have that happen to them all the time.
I also learned why pirates have that swagger to their step. Rum can make one a bit wobbly, even the next day, especially after wearing high heels. That’s probably why pirates wear boots, or walk around in their bare feet. That’s also why they don’t have kids on their ships, because they need to be able to sleep until the rum has been deactivated.
The day after the wedding (before the rum had been properly deactivated), Mr. BBM decided that he wanted to take a windy, bumpy drive up to the top of a nearby mountain. It wasn’t really working for me. I realized that motion sickness is amplified by a former night of rum; and I made him take me back home to nurse myself back to wellness with some Oodles of Noodles soup and water.
Since I’m guessing that sailing on a pirate ship is probably more motion sickness inducing than driving in a car; and since I’m also guessing they don’t have the magic elixir known currently as ramen noodles. . I think my only choice is going to be dropping out of pirate school.
Somehow I’m thinking that when they said "Drink up me hearties, yo ho" they meant rum, exclusively. Switching to something else is going to be a serious faux pas. It’s a sad day people, but I’ll get over it eventually. This wanna-be-pirate has just walked the plank.
If you can’t get enough of me today, I’m once again guest posting over at TDA Training. As if rum wasn’t controversial enough, I’m blogging about faith, rank and Funakoshi.
Escrima Training Required
I’m not dead. I didn’t forget how to write. It’s just been an absolutely crazy week. It’s good I watched the Human Weapon episode about escrima (stick fighting), because I needed those skills in order to fight off an aggressive picture sales person this week.
My church puts together a picture directory every ten years or so, maybe longer, because the last one I was featured in shows a BBM with one serious spiral perm. Anyway, we got our pictures taken and then suffered through the gradual wearing down of the blockade protecting our funds.
You go, get your pictures taken, and then you choose your family picture for the directory. You get a free 8 x 10 of your chosen family portrait, and then they use their picture software to show you how you can have a billboard of pictures put into one of their beautiful truck-sized frames in case you have that kind of space on your wall. There was no talk of costs. I hate when people aren’t up front about things like that.
We politely sat and watched her maneuver the pictures around into various displays that became smaller and smaller as we eliminated unnatural looking picture after unnatural looking picture. Despite the fact that my neck is getting better, I looked wooden in several of the shots after being told to look to the left, tilt to the right, rotate the chin. I started feeling like I should have brought my chiropractor along with me. We ended up with about three that we liked, all of the girls. Big surprise there.
Despite the fact that I told them my Mom has her own framing business, they continued to try to sell us on the frames. I tried to stay nice about it. We were in my church after all, but eventually it came down a very frustrated this:
"How much do individual prints cost?"
She looked disappointed, picked up a binder, and started secretly looking through it. That kind of behavior bothers me deeply.
Mr. BBM and I both grew impatient as she showed us package after ridiculously priced package that included hideous frames, after I explicitly told her we were not interested in buying any frames.
"Yeah, that’s not going to work," I told her. We finally got her to open up the secret book of prices when she realized she was getting NO WHERE with us. We ended up with three pictures and a couple wallets of the kids.
We said no to the shot of Mr. BBM and I alone. The photographer had us so tangled up with our legs and arms that we began to feel like pretzels gone wrong. I also had a mad hatter’s grin on my face as the photographer had just told us to say "more KIDS" in place of the standard "cheese." I cracked up laughing at that insane thought because right now, I’m in kids up to my eyebrows. We’re holding off on adding any more to the mix for at least the foreseeable future and maybe eternity.
Once we had the kids loaded into the car, Mr. BBM said to me outside the car, "You know, I usually like to have dinner and wine before I get. . ."
I’ll let you fill in the blank.
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