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Halloween, Oh Halloween,
every year posing the same parental ethical dilemma:
How much is too much to steal from a sleeping trick or treater?
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Dancing at the Exit
October 21, 2016
by Rieshy
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Is it irony that we were at the E.R. two nights ago after my recent Middle of the Night post?
I don't thinks so. It's just life.
Life is pretty awesome.
Sweet.
Precious.
And easy to miss.
Don't miss it.
I love that scene in the old Parenthood movie with Steve Martin when life is likened to a roller coaster ride.
This little guy scared us all with a seizure. I learned a new medical term. Benign Rolandic. Anything beginning with benign is a good start.
Outside our children's hospital there is a statue of children dancing in a circle with a gap left. The gap has often troubled me. A missing child? Ominous symbolism outside an E.R. But the brass statue has two, shiny outstretched hands, rubbed free of patina; proof that children instinctively know something adults often forget.
They know to reach out, grab hold,
and join the dance.
Joining the dance with Psalm 150.
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Dojo Lego Moats
October 19, 2016
by Rieshy
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I've read a few articles on the importance of developing mat awareness while grappling.
Yesterday, while drilling BJJ at a friend's house, who is on maternity leave from the dojo, I realized that we have accidentally found the perfect way to fine tune the skill. Toys.
Yes, toys.
In addition to her newborn, my drilling partner has an almost 3 year old who plays around our bodies as we drill; sometimes adding dropped action figure toys to the mix.
You do not want to be elevator swept, or elevator sweep your partner, onto a 2 inch tall Mighty Morphing Power Ranger doll.
So, pesky students who don't/won't pay attention to where other students are working? Legos. Throw a handful onto the mats.
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I've read a few articles on the importance of developing mat awareness while grappling.
Yesterday, while drilling BJJ at a friend's house, who is on maternity leave from the dojo, I realized that we have accidentally found the perfect way to fine tune the skill. Toys.
Yes, toys.
In addition to her newborn, my drilling partner has an almost 3 year old who plays around our bodies as we drill; sometimes adding dropped action figure toys to the mix.
You do not want to be elevator swept, or elevator sweep your partner, onto a 2 inch tall Mighty Morphing Power Ranger doll.
So, pesky students who don't/won't pay attention to where other students are working? Legos. Throw a handful onto the mats.
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Middle of the Night
October 16, 2016
by Rieshy
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Awake in the middle of the night because of arthritis pain with a fuzzy brain; dreading the lack of sleep to coffee ratio boomerang to ensue tomorrow.
People with regular insomnia? I don't know how you survive.
Middle of the night reflections on a rather momentous doctor's checkup for my youngest children: It's been almost 3 years since my now 10 year old's last hospitalization. I started this blog in the middle-of-the-night period of my life when I could never sleep more than 4 hours at a time (if I was lucky) without waking to feed my son. We had to feed him multiple times in the night until he was 4 and then once a night until he was 6 1/2 years old. And that was when he was well.
When he was sick there was no point going to bed at all. He was sick a lot. Added to that his younger brother had to be fed at night too. On a different schedule.
I had a lot of middle of the night reflection time so I wrote and I knitted and I prayed.
We were in the hospital a lot. So I wrote, knitted and prayed.
I took up spinning wool so I'd have more yarn to knit.
Four years later and my body still wakes at 1:30 a.m. almost every night. My master closet is packed with a massive wool stash not exactly appropriate for someone living in the South.
Back to the momentous checkup: The boys no longer have to do regular checkups with their geneticist. There are no more tests to be done. They are stable. We still don't have an answer for what exact gene or genes are causing their hypoglycemia. It doesn't really matter at this point because we know how to treat them when they are well and we know how to treat them when they are not well.
It may not sound momentous. You have to listen carefully for the mental clicks; I'm no longer a medical-mom searching journals. I'm not looking for a complete diagnosis or for a cure. Their doctor said it's a bit like wearing glasses. We don't have to know the exact gene for a particular case of nearsightedness; we just order the glasses and deal with the inconveniences.
We still have backup. Their charts light up like Christmas trees and bump them to first in line if they have to go to the E.R. but I feel free. They feel free. They are not patients anymore. That's the important click, the truly momentous and much prayed for click.
Anyone want to buy some wool?
.
Awake in the middle of the night because of arthritis pain with a fuzzy brain; dreading the lack of sleep to coffee ratio boomerang to ensue tomorrow.
People with regular insomnia? I don't know how you survive.
Middle of the night reflections on a rather momentous doctor's checkup for my youngest children: It's been almost 3 years since my now 10 year old's last hospitalization. I started this blog in the middle-of-the-night period of my life when I could never sleep more than 4 hours at a time (if I was lucky) without waking to feed my son. We had to feed him multiple times in the night until he was 4 and then once a night until he was 6 1/2 years old. And that was when he was well.
When he was sick there was no point going to bed at all. He was sick a lot. Added to that his younger brother had to be fed at night too. On a different schedule.
I had a lot of middle of the night reflection time so I wrote and I knitted and I prayed.
We were in the hospital a lot. So I wrote, knitted and prayed.
I took up spinning wool so I'd have more yarn to knit.
Four years later and my body still wakes at 1:30 a.m. almost every night. My master closet is packed with a massive wool stash not exactly appropriate for someone living in the South.
Back to the momentous checkup: The boys no longer have to do regular checkups with their geneticist. There are no more tests to be done. They are stable. We still don't have an answer for what exact gene or genes are causing their hypoglycemia. It doesn't really matter at this point because we know how to treat them when they are well and we know how to treat them when they are not well.
It may not sound momentous. You have to listen carefully for the mental clicks; I'm no longer a medical-mom searching journals. I'm not looking for a complete diagnosis or for a cure. Their doctor said it's a bit like wearing glasses. We don't have to know the exact gene for a particular case of nearsightedness; we just order the glasses and deal with the inconveniences.
We still have backup. Their charts light up like Christmas trees and bump them to first in line if they have to go to the E.R. but I feel free. They feel free. They are not patients anymore. That's the important click, the truly momentous and much prayed for click.
Anyone want to buy some wool?
.
Naming Pity
October 9, 2016
by Rieshy
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Testing Moments
Autopiloting to the dojo
while reconsidering scrap booking.
Suddenly snipping in a living room
sans Master filled panels and bruises
and possible pity is appealing.
Pity,
That perfect hobgoblin
The principle fear.
The question I couldn't answer honestly.
Even to my Soke;
naming it invites it.
To receive pity?
A spectacular fail is a softer mat.
Pity is the sloppy breakfall on your elbow.
that wrenches your gut and
pops something in your shoulder that you should never hear pop.
Pity is a fraction times you;
defining and excluding in a testing hall wreathed with smiles.
The children's table at Thanksgiving
minus the cheer and good food.
Pathos, the Preventer. The anti-hero who won't try to fly.
And whose spin hook kick sucks.
.
Testing Moments
Autopiloting to the dojo
while reconsidering scrap booking.
Suddenly snipping in a living room
sans Master filled panels and bruises
and possible pity is appealing.
Pity,
That perfect hobgoblin
The principle fear.
The question I couldn't answer honestly.
Even to my Soke;
naming it invites it.
To receive pity?
A spectacular fail is a softer mat.
Pity is the sloppy breakfall on your elbow.
that wrenches your gut and
pops something in your shoulder that you should never hear pop.
Pity is a fraction times you;
defining and excluding in a testing hall wreathed with smiles.
The children's table at Thanksgiving
minus the cheer and good food.
Pathos, the Preventer. The anti-hero who won't try to fly.
And whose spin hook kick sucks.
.
An Observation of Bruises
October 2, 2016
by Rieshy
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Because I'm a klutz with a tendency to be anemic, because I do mixed martial arts and because I play jujitsu, sometimes I have visible bruises, bumps and/or mat burn.
Not all the time and not always spectacular. It's amazing what eyeshadow and a tan can cover. My 17 year old daughter has gotten quite adept with a kit she bought me for christmas. I don't even know what the tubes and powders are supposed to be for- for normal women- but they work great at covering the marks left by leg locks, thai kicks, accidental elbows, tight grips and gi chokes.
When I bother to use it.
When I don't I've observed some interesting phenomenon while out and about in my suburban area.
Mostly people are embarrassed and avoid looking. You get your coffee really quickly from the barista when you pay with a complete 5 finger handprint bruise on your forearm.
People get overly friendly and talk to you like you have the brain power of a daffodil. A trashy daffodil.
Then the really freaky one- you get oddly calculating looks from men. Very unpleasant.
The rarest response? A friendly, "How did you get that bruise?"
If you have your young children with you while visibly bruised? Angry. People jump to angry. You see it happen quickly; they notice the bruise, their eyes narrow as they hand you your change and their normal smile flattens. And they say Nothing.
Humans are weird; I don't know why God puts up with us.
.
Because I'm a klutz with a tendency to be anemic, because I do mixed martial arts and because I play jujitsu, sometimes I have visible bruises, bumps and/or mat burn.
Not all the time and not always spectacular. It's amazing what eyeshadow and a tan can cover. My 17 year old daughter has gotten quite adept with a kit she bought me for christmas. I don't even know what the tubes and powders are supposed to be for- for normal women- but they work great at covering the marks left by leg locks, thai kicks, accidental elbows, tight grips and gi chokes.
When I bother to use it.
When I don't I've observed some interesting phenomenon while out and about in my suburban area.
Mostly people are embarrassed and avoid looking. You get your coffee really quickly from the barista when you pay with a complete 5 finger handprint bruise on your forearm.
People get overly friendly and talk to you like you have the brain power of a daffodil. A trashy daffodil.
Then the really freaky one- you get oddly calculating looks from men. Very unpleasant.
The rarest response? A friendly, "How did you get that bruise?"
If you have your young children with you while visibly bruised? Angry. People jump to angry. You see it happen quickly; they notice the bruise, their eyes narrow as they hand you your change and their normal smile flattens. And they say Nothing.
Humans are weird; I don't know why God puts up with us.
.
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