April 26, 2006

Forget Mommy Wars; I’ve got a new cause

"Mommy Wars" have been popping up everywhere lately. Here, here, and here are just a few of the people who are talking about it. If you don’t feel like clicking on all of the links, I’ll just summarize for you. They’re mostly saying let’s stop talking about it because frankly, it’s getting pretty old. Amalah had a virtual fist fight going in her comments section the other day about them. You can even go here to find a link to a petition to call a cease fire in the Mommy Wars. (Go sign, but come right back.)

The problem seems to be simple, at least for the Mommy Wars in the blogging world. For the most part, working Mom’s who get upset and offended are reading into what Stay at Home Mom’s are saying and vice versa. Of course, there are some really rude people out there; but the majority of women out there mean no one else any harm by what they say. I’m going to say one last thing about it, and then I’m moving on. If you are a mother, repeat after me: Whatever I choose to do with my life in regards to my children is my business and mine alone.

Every mother will always think that her decision is the best and wisest one. There will even be some who try to push their views on other people. There are MANY who will read or hear something completely neutral; and because they have made the opposite choice and are feeling insecure about their decision, will feel the need to berate a perfectly well-meaning person who meant absolutely nothing derogatory in her statement. This, unfortunately, is what a lot of women do. This is the reason why for the longest time my best friends were always guys. They lack the catty gene. It’s a good thing. I am NOT a catty person; and I don’t really get along with people who are. My female friends whom I hold near and dear are very much like me when it comes to the whole anti-cattiness thing (if that’s even a word.)

So, I’d like to declare a new war. . . one that all mothers: working at home, stay at home, working out of the home can agree on and relate to completely. It is the cause to unite all mothers under one collective motherly roof. . . against those who believe that all baby girls are born with braids, and all baby boys are born with buzz cuts. Let me explain.

The other day I took my daughters out to a store with me. Lil C, who is 6 months old, was wearing: a short sleeved lavender silk sweater, white boot cut pants with little purple flowers on them, and a white lacy bib. As I was checking out, an older woman came over and started talking to Lil C. Our conversation went like this:

Older woman: "A boy, huh?" (and nods in Lil C’s direction.)

Me: (Sighs disgustedly and forcibly looks at Lil C’s extremely GIRLY outfit and then at woman. Thinks in head, "Yeah, because everyone I know dresses little boys in lace bibs and purple flowers. Also, silk is the new denim, and by the way, you’re an idiot," but actually I say. . . ) Girl (with a terse eye roll).

Older woman: (as if she’s offended) "Well, where’s its hair?"

Me: (Thinks in head, "Yeah, because every female baby I know is born with freaking pony tails LADY, and actually THIS BABY is not an IT!!!!!!!! She is my beautiful baby girl and she has PLENTY of hair." But what I actually do is. . .) Glare at woman and walk away.

The same thing happened when Big I was about Lil C’s age. We were in a grocery store. She was wearing a pale yellow sun-suit with pink and purple flowers on it. An older lady said, "A boy?" and I had to restrain myself. It seriously gets under my skin. Why are all babies boys? I mean, I know that some people (o.k., I admit it, I) always call dogs or cats by one gender in particular. But that’s a whole lot less obvious. It’s not polite to look between the legs of anything, including a dog or cat; and it doesn’t count because animals don’t wear clothing (unless of course, we’re talking about Paris Hilton’s dog and then it’s probably pretty obvious what the gender is anyway). Later that night I told my husband what happened and how annoyed I was. He had a good solution for me. It goes something like this:

Older woman: "A boy, huh?"

Me: "Girl, sir."

It goes like this if the offender is male:

Man: "A boy, huh?"

Me: "Girl, ma’am."

I am so using this next time. So, this brilliant husband of mine goes along to karate tonight. We were working on sparring. I was working with my instructor and Big I was working with a 9-year old girl who has a very unisex haircut. To his credit, she also had a helmet on at the time; and he wasn’t present during the beginning of class when this girl was talking a lot, obviously a girl. As Big I stood there refusing to make a move, my husband encouraged her by saying, "Go ahead; punch, hit, you won’t hurt him." The girls mother was sitting next to him and offered a simple, "Her." Now, I can’t blame my husband here. Anyone could have make this mistake.

But with a baby, it’s a lot easier to tell. Even when you can’t, there are easy ways to find out. When I’ve been in a situation where you just simply can’t tell, I’ll say something like, "Aww, how old is your baby?" The mother will usually respond with, "He’s 6 months old," or "She’s 6 months old." The door is now wide open for you to say, "Well, she’s adorable." You didn’t know, but you found out without making the mother want to drop you in the aisle at Wal-Mart.

Here are some other clues that the baby you’re inquiring about just might be a girl:

She’s wearing pink or lavender.
She’s wearing a floral bib that says, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" (Seriously, I had someone ask me if she was a boy while wearing this bib.)
There is lace on any part of her body: socks, bib, hat, etc.
She’s wearing a swimsuit, not trunks. Honesty, I had someone ask me if Lil C was a boy while wearing this:

It has a ruffle PEOPLE! A RUFFLE! There’s another one:

Boys don’t wear ruffles. If the baby has a ruffle on socks, pants, shirt, swimsuit, dress. . . the baby is a girl.
It may seem obvious, but if the baby is wearing a dress, the baby is a GIRL!!!!

So, are you with me Mommy’s? I’m sure it is equally annoying when someone identifies a baby boy as a girl. So, let’s all bond together with a common disgust for those who cannot tell the gender of our babies, against those who refuse to find out in any polite sort of way. Mommy Wars are exhausting: this whole gender war thing could be a whole lot more fun!

Posted by Black Belt Mama on April 26, 2006 in Things that get my gi all in a bunch | 9 Comments

April 25, 2006

Everything you need to know about self defense, you can learn from my 6-month old

It has become abundantly clear in the last few weeks, that Lil C was taking some serious mental notes while in utero. She paid special attention during the many karate classes I attended while pregnant, and seems to have developed her own "action plans" in order to deal with potential threats, i.e. tickling family members. She has taken your basic self defense and turned it into a form of baby karate that I dare anyone to try to escape. She is downright wicked; and since she can’t really speak for herself as of yet, I’ll help her out. The following are her signature moves:

Ear-drum-shattering scream

When in the vicinity of an ear, emit sound from mouth that can only be described as deafening. Potential attacker (or tickler) will immediately forget his/her name and what he/she was doing in order to promptly cover ears and/or take cover, preferably in a sound proof room.

Drown them in Drool

No one can escape the endless rivers of baby drool that occur on any given day. But, get a certain baby excited and simple drool turns into bubbles and cascades of wetness that can serve as an oil-like slick to deter attacker/tickler from even approaching. If attacker/tickler is close enough, a hand full of that drool right in the eye will serve to "blur" the situation and disorient your attacker further.

The Quadruple Threat

If attacker/tickler gets within striking distance, hair pulling is always a great option. There are several ways to invoke pain and suffering with hair pulling. One technique is to grab only a small number of hairs (three or four works quite well). Before grabbing this hair, it is preferable to have enough drool in ones hand so that it will create a sort of gooey glue that adheres to the hair of choice, making a bond more efficient than even crazy glue. Another hair pulling technique is to grab at the roots. The best grabbing is done by reaching far apart with all fingers, then really digging in to those roots, followed by forming a fist around the root hairs. If creativity is lacking, just grabbing a handful in any old fashion will work. Once you have the hair in hand, proceed to pull at unpredictable intervals. If possible, bring the fists of hair to your mouth, thus rendering attacker/tickler unable to dislodge their hair from the grips of drool and fists of fury.

Now, everyone knows that this is called the "quadruple threat" and there are only two hands mentioned so far. The other two threats come from sticky little baby feet. If one can obtain hair and succeed in pulling attacker/tickler close in to the mouth area, it only makes sense to raise up those little feet of yours, spread those toes wide and grab more hair. You now have four points of attack, thus rendering your attacker/tickler incapacitated completely, and in some serious pain. Keep in mind, that if you are able to land just one of these threats, you will succeed; but for each successive appendage involved in the assault, you will multiply your success ten-fold.

The Skin Grab

This works best on arm and leg skin. An especially good location is the skin on the back of the arm, just inches from the armpit. The technique is much like in the quadruple threat. Use those sticky baby hands and grab some skin. Proceed to squeeze, twist, and if not recently trimmed, use those baby nails to really dig in. Incapacitation will occur within seconds.

This skin grab also works with the nose. Grab attacker/tickler’s nose tightly and twist. If you can jam a finger in the entrance of the nostril while doing this technique. . . bonus points.

The Eye Gouge

Nothing says, "I’m sick of listening to you reading this book to me," like a nice stubby baby finger to the eye. Make sure that your movement is swift and unsuspected for ultimate impact.

Remember, that while you are still little and deliciously adorable, these techniques will be viewed as "cute." If you can complete these actions with a smile on your face or emit a giggle-like glee from your mouth while implementing your attack, your victim will never see it coming; and the attack will be that much more successful.

Good luck!

Posted by Black Belt Mama on April 25, 2006 in Action Plans, Favorite Posts | 10 Comments

April 23, 2006

Recipe for fun

Recipe for a night of fun:

1 willing 6-month old baby
3 dress up wigs (slightly knotty from excess use and being stored in wig bin)
1 5-year old princess fanatic
A camera to catch the fun

Mix the first three ingredients and make sure you have ingredient number four handy. Results are as follows:

Lil C as "Snow White"

Lil C as "Cinderella." She looks really good as a blonde, don’t you think?

Lil C as "Pocahontas" or as Big I likes to call her, "Poking-hontas" (The wig itself looks more like Pocahontas after a serious windstorm.)

And finally, as Sleeping Beauty or as Big I calls her "Sleeping Booty".

I never would have let her big sister do this to her if it wasn’t for the fact that Lil C was having an absolute blast pulling her own hair. And since we could all use a break from having our own hair pulled in this family, why not?

In other fun this weekend, I received my first true hate mail. OH, the joy! When I wrote about the Duke Lacrosse team I was prepared for a dissenting opinion or twelve, which is perfectly fine. I have no problem publishing opinions opposite of mine. But, unless you’re going to mail me a check for the $8.95/month I pay for my typepad account. . . then I flat out refuse to publish comments that contain blatant name-calling, unintelligible garble, and other nonsense that only proves that you are not only immature, but also seriously lacking some reading comprehension skills. After all, it is my site; and as it clearly states on my "about me" page, if you don’t like what you’ve read than get lost. "No one is making you read this." So, instead of deciding to publish the rude comments in my comments section, I choose to do it here, Dooce style, with a bit of my own commentary. Here goes:

Original comment from "emmaline" or Darla O. (like her email says):

"you’re an idiot. you don’t know a thing about this town or what has gone on here. what happened at your university didn’t happen to you. i’ll say it again. you’re an idiot. shut your mouth about something you know nothing about."

Well, if you want to get technical, really I didn’t open my mouth. I typed. And thanks for letting me know you think I’m an idiot twice, because really, once just wasn’t enough. So, because my kids were asleep and I didn’t have anything better to do; and because I thought it might be kind of fun, I wrote an email to "Darla." I let her know her comment would be deleted because name-calling is immature; and then I asked her exactly what was so offensive about the post. Her response:

"you really are an idiot. and you do need to keep your mouth shut about things of which you now nothing. pittsburg ain’t durham, and you’ve proved it with your unbelievably moronic post. if you had any guts at all you’d let posts be shown as they appear."

She certainly is fond of the word "idiot," yet there is still nothing cited about what exactly is so darn "moronic." As a former English teacher though, I felt a sudden urge to put this up on a chalkboard and start correcting things, but maybe her shift key just doesn’t work. . . or maybe. . . well, name calling isn’t nice so I’ll refrain. Then I asked her again, to tell me what is nonfactual about my post. Seriously, if something isn’t right, I’d like to know and correct it. (For fun, I also let her know that she spelled Pittsburgh incorrectly.) I got this:

"by the way . . there’s plenty that isn’t documented and factual in your moronic post . . .you have ignored the facts altogether as they have been reported here in durham. but i’m sure that doesn’t matter to you in the least, oh self proclaimed grammar goddess. then again, you’re an idiot from freaking pittsburgh who spends her time celebrating her physical aggression over other people. what can we expect. stay where you are. and leave our problems to us. keep your freaking, stupid, pitmouth shut."

Yeah, that’s what my whole site is about! I’m so glad she gets it! Physical aggression over others. Wow! I wish I had her reading comprehension skills. Hey, at least she spelled Pittsburgh correctly. Good girl. I’m so loving her use of punctuation too. Creative writing is certainly her strongest skill. Does anyone know what a "pitmouth" is? Just curious. And then:

"it’s YOUR blog that doesn’t allow anti-your-view comments. jeez. YOU are a coward. black belt or not. your a self absorbed coward. face it. and by the way, my 14 year-old niece could totally kick your ass on the mat, sista."

I’m so scared. Seriously, shaking. . . wait, is your niece the 14-year old girl at my dojo referred to on my about page? (Because in that case, I might be.) Now, it appears that emmaline/darla has some visual problems too; because prominently displayed on the site is my "current rank" which is not black belt. (What was I going to do? Call my site "Green Belt Mama" and then have to change it with each rank? It’s there because I’ll eventually be there, but now I’m getting off topic. . . ). Then, once I’d blocked that email address, because it’s not like anything she’s said is even intelligible. . . and frankly, I was getting bored. Then I get this. . . guess who?

"From: Norma Bates (email address not printed here but if you really want it. . . )

To: Black Belt Mama

Subject: the fact that you spell you’re inconsequential town correctly

. . . don’t mean that you can get mine right, blogging from so far away, you unbelievably smug person. You need to keep your mouth to yourself because you are totally uneducated about Durham."

Darla/Emmaline? Is that you? I thought so! I’d just like to point out a few things here. First, you don’t know where I’m from. Just because I went to Pitt doesn’t mean Pittsburgh is my home town. Maybe it’s Durham. Wouldn’t that just blow your mind? Second, keeping my mouth to myself sounds. . . just lovely, I think. Wait, what does that mean exactly? Third, in case you weren’t aware (or have otherwise been living in an underground bunker with no access to the outside world), the Duke lacrosse story is now a national story, which means anyone with a radio, newspaper, TV, eyes, ears, or a brain has access to the story. And finally, I would be willing to bet that the boys on the lacrosse team aren’t all from Durham. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that at least 90% of them are from out of state. And, if you’d like one more little factoid, the arrested boys are from NY and NJ. Since I used to live in NJ, it’s officially my business if I want it to be.

So there! I feel better now! Take that! (I may not publish name-calling comments in my comments section, but they sure do make for fun posting.)

And since recess is now over, I’ll be signing out. . .

Posted by Black Belt Mama on April 23, 2006 in Just for Fun | 10 Comments

April 21, 2006

Duke rape case hits raw nerve

I graduated from the University of Pittsburgh. During my sophomore year, I became a P.E.E.R. Educator (Peer Educators for an Environment free of Rape and Sexual Exploitation) through Sexual Assault Services which is housed in the counseling center. I also worked in the Sexual Assault Services office as a coordinator of the P.E.E.R. educators in my junior and senior years. P.E.E.R.’s presented materials designed at educating students about sexual assault. We did our presentations for the football team (nightmare), fraternities, sororities, freshman classes, etc. Once, I even taught a month long "seminar" on sexual harassment for three badly behaved boys who went around freshman dorms ripping open shower curtains of unsuspecting female students and snapping pictures. Nice. I loved what I did there and felt like I was really helping students. What I could never understand though, was why our counseling offices were full of appointments with former rape victims, yet our campus security stats were always wonderful. It didn’t jive and I imagine that many universities have such a dirty little secret.

While I was a student at Pitt, there was a gang rape at a fraternity party. The girl was a freshman and it was early in the first semester. The rape happened in a bathroom and the girl was devastated. She had had too much to drink, no friends who watched out for her, and one thing led to another. The case rocked the university paper and that’s all anyone really talked about. The fraternity was a large one and had at least 60 members at the time. Every single one of those guys knew who did what, yet each one of them kept their solemn brotherly vow and not a one would speak up and make right what a handful of them had done. The university did nothing. They didn’t revoke their charter or suspend them from school. They only disallowed them from accepting pledges during the spring semester. Big freaking deal. The freshman student tried to stick it out at the school, but she was too much of a wreck and eventually quit college altogether. The counselor I worked for at Sexual Assault Services had tried to counsel and help her, but she was a broken woman. She had the guts to come forward, a freshman against an entire well known fraternity, and she was rewarded with nothing but harassment and disbelief. I often wonder about those boys and whether or not they can sleep at night. I wonder about whether or not they are now married with children, daughters perhaps. I wonder about how they must feel about what they did to that poor woman, whether they were part of the rape or part of the zipped lips.

Because of this, the Duke rape case is driving me absolutely insane. You have a well known school, a sports team mentality, and a stripper’s word against a band of "brothers." These are the things that are annoying me:

Just because she was intoxicated doesn’t mean a rape did not occur. Most sexual assaults occur when the victim, the assailant(s) or both are intoxicated. This does not make her any less credible.
DNA evidence is not required to show that a rape occurred. (Please don’t even make me explain the "anatomy" of this one.)
The fact that the second stripper says it happened or that it didn’t happen, or that she believes it could have or could not have happened MEANS NOTHING. She was not in the bathroom. She does not know. The fact that she thinks it may or may not have happened is NOT evidence.
Why would the alleged victim make this up? What does she have to gain? The Duke lacrosse team and/or it’s members are not celebrities. There is absolutely NO upside to reporting a rape. Rape shield laws are complete crap these days. No one adheres to them in court. Reporting a rape of this magnitude makes you nothing more than a target. This is why the vast majority of rapes are not reported. Rape victims are forced to relive what’s happened to them over and over and over and over again.
This has NOTHING to do with race. This is about a woman who was violated. It does not matter what color she is, or what color her attackers are. It’s wrong any way you slice it.
Strippers are not "asking for it." Would I be a stripper? Never. I’d rather live out of a cardboard box and eat scraps on a street before I would take off my clothing for cash. But, some women strip for money. It does not mean they are asking to be raped. It seems to me, they’re trying to make a living and there are a lot of men out there who are more than happy to pay for it.

I feel it’s only appropriate for me to add here that the only thing worse than a group of guys sticking together and not saying a word about what they’ve done, is a "victim" who makes up the crime. As Jim Hines states in his article:

"It happens. It’s a legitimate fear. But it’s not one I’ve got a lot of sympathy for. Not compared to the people who lived every night in fear that their father, mother, or some other relative would come in and molest them. Not compared to the women who struggled through fear, violation, and helplessness after a boy they trusted turned out to be a rapist. Not compared to the vast number of men and women who did speak out about their victimization, only to be labeled liars and sluts."

I strongly encourage you to spend some time looking around on his site.

The things that are encouraging about this case are that the students involved have been suspended, the coach is gone, and the University President actually had the guts to disallow them from playing any more games this year until this situation is resolved. For that, I am happy. Duke did more than a lot of schools do when faced with a similar situation.

I am dreading the outcome though, as I watch this case being played out in the media: lawyers dropping bits of information designed to prejudice a potential jury, lacrosse players and their parents lawyering up and zipping their lips, fellow strippers coming out to catch their 15 minutes of fame no matter what damage they may be doing to themselves, their friend, or women in general. It all makes me sick. I wish I was bringing my girls up in a world where I didn’t have to worry about what will happen to them when they’re in college, where they didn’t have to view every man as a potential problem before finally being able to trust him, where I could be sure that young men are being brought up right, to respect and cherish the women who will be in their lives. But unfortunately, it’s just not that way and giving birth to daughters, for me, means a lifetime of worrying.

For follow-up on this story, go here.

Posted by Black Belt Mama on April 21, 2006 in Things that get my gi all in a bunch | 8 Comments

April 19, 2006

Work on the worst

Karate class was great this week. Big I and I were the only ones there so it was a somewhat private lesson. We were able to focus on things that the two of us specifically need to learn. We worked on Big I’s waza; and she did it by herself for the first time. I couldn’t help myself; I broke out in applause. I think my instructor wanted to as well. I feel like I got somewhere too. I now know my new kata well enough to practice it at home. And, my new weapons kata is finally starting to make sense to me. I’m now able to see the patterns in it which should make mastering it a lot easier.

While doing my regular blog reading this week, I read an entry by [Mat] that got me thinking. "A class is an opportunity to learn," he said. So, I took advantage of the private nature of our class to ask for help on my weakest area in karate. . . sparring. I wasn’t able to spar the entire time I was pregnant with Lil C; and I can’t say that I was really bothered by it. On previous sparring nights, I would gear up in my helmet, gloves and kickers and get prepared to be smacked around. I also have a bad habit while sparring of hitting someone and then apologizing for it. Stupid, I know. Let me preface all of this by saying that when it’s the real deal, I know what to do. I have unfortunately been in a situation before where I’ve been forced to defend myself and I did so with flying colors. After it was all said and done, I didn’t apologize. Trust me on that one. But sparring happens in a dojo, and without all the adrenalin so it’s just not the same.

I think one of the reasons why is because I feel like I was sort of thrown into sparring. One night, as a beginning white belt, our instructor had us gear up and spar with her. I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. We didn’t really receive any instructions. I guess that instructor is of the belief that just having you go for it is the best way to learn. I just don’t operate like that, so I feel it’s been my worst area by far. I never directly learned what’s allowed and what’s not. In the past I have usually just stood there pretending like I’m a warrior, most likely followed by being smacked in the head with a foot or a fist, and then I retaliate (poorly) and then say, "I’m sorry." It’s silly and stupid, but that’s what I do. Can you imagine being in a street fight, having someone hit you, and then you hit them back and say, "Oh, sorry about that." It’s dumb and I know I wouldn’t do that in a street fight, but sparring in the dojo is a different experience altogether.

The last time I sparred was right before I became pregnant, and instead of sparring with black belt instructors like usual, my instructor paired me up with a green belt teenager (I was white at the time.) She was much more aggressive than I was used to with my instructor. The two of us kicked each other at the same time, shin to shin, and over a year later. . . I still have a sore spot on my leg. I seriously thought I would pass out from the pain when it first happened. Having such a lousy experience last time, I was absolutely dreading sparring again and avoiding it however I could. But, like I said, [Mat] got me thinking.

I’ve only sparred with my current instructor one time in the past. Once was enough. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be bopped in the head with a fist by my other instructors, my current instructor has a style where he sort of watches you and picks you apart. It usually culminates with a swift unsuspecting kick to the back of the head. It sort of makes you want to spin around and go "Hey! Who did that?" even though he’s standing right there in front of you. He seriously has "go go gadget" legs. No one particularly likes to spar with him because he’s good, really good. So you can imagine that it took some serious guts to request help with sparring from him.

At the end of class, my instructor had my daughter and I gear up. He sent Big I off with a brown belt to practice some basic techniques. She needs the basics, since the last time she sparred she kept doing these dinky little punches and when I asked her why she wasn’t throwing some good ones she demurely said, "I don’t want to hurt anyone." Now, picture my little princess (age 4 at the time) sparring with boys of at least age 6. I think she was giving herself a bit too much credit. So, Big I went off to learn how to punch; and I was going one on one with my head-kicking instructor.

First, he discussed two very important elements of sparring: distance and timing. When sparring before, I kept thinking about how close I needed to be to hit, not how far I needed to be away so as not to get hit. You’d think that line of thinking would come naturally, but apparently it doesn’t, at least not for me. The instruction on distance and timing was extremely helpful.

We then moved on to some basic techniques. My instructor had me get into a fighting stance and then he verbally picked me apart. He showed me how to do the same to an opponent. He also gave me some of his secrets which I will not be revealing. Now, they’re mine (evil laugh). He then told me he was going to throw some punches and watched what I did to block them. He then showed me how to do the techniques better, so that I would open him up more so that I could land multiple kicks and/or punches. He moved on to kicks and taught me how not to get nailed. Honestly, before tonight I would just stand there and take it. It was like I saw a leg coming and was like, "Oh well. This is gonna hurt," and it would. Not anymore.

With just a short 20 minute lesson on sparring, I already feel a lot better. I was able to land one of my first back fists to the head, and even managed to land a kick or two in good locations. I also had one "instinctual" kick that went a bit too close to a very taboo area. (Any men reading this will probably flinch and cover.) I did apologize for that one, and explained that for women, it’s just natural to go there. Luckily I didn’t land that one. Lucky for him because, well duh; and lucky for me because I think that would have been the end of my tutorial.

Now that I’m back in the saddle, so to speak, I feel like I’ll be able to work on my sparring again without being so self conscious. I realize that it’s going to take a lot of work to get where I want to be; but hopefully my instructor will have the patience to help me get there . . . (and possibly a jock strap just in case).