ninjas everywhere, but only one broken ornament

While I was off enjoying the Packers stomping on the Lions in the snow at Lambeau (though not literally, as stomping means something quiet specific when talking about that team and the Packers have good sportsmanship unlike SUHme players...), Team Testosterone was ecstatic.

For a while now, Mr. G and Mr. B have had serious boy-crushes on these two brothers at the dojo, I'll call them Nina 1 and Ninja 2, AKA the Ninja Bros.  They're good, upstanding assistant instructors, both in high school, both compete in martial arts tournaments and both are phenomenal athletes.  If my kids want to hold anybody up as role models, they can totally idolize these guys.

Ninja 1 and Ninja 2 have a team routine they've done at karate tournaments and my younger boys copy their moves, flipping and jumping over each other in their room at night.  They've numbered the moves, so they come up with various combinations of flipping, jumping, and shaking the floor when they land.  Mr. G's mastery of a kip-up is also due in part to the Ninja Bros. 

For a while now they've been begging for the Ninja Bros to babysit.  We don't have much of a need for sitters around here since Mr. T's old enough and we've worked out an excellent system of paying everyone for cooperating with one another (Mr. T gets $2/hour, the younger boys get $1/hour, you only get paid if you have a good report).  But a Packer game overlapping dinner time is a pretty long shift, so I relented and asked the Ninja Bros if one of them would be free to come over for a few hours.

Team Ninja Bros said "YES!  We're both in!" and the clouds parted, a light shone down from heaven, angels sung and Team Testosterone squealed with joy.  Or something like that.  The Ninja Bros then asked if we had anything breakable in the living room.  Uh, yeah.  You can do all the crazy stuff you want in the basement, but keep your weapons out of my living room and away from the Christmas tree!

Team Testosterone counted down the hours and then the Ninja Bros arrived, one carrying his sword, the other his bo staff, both laden with Monster Energy drinks and sodas.  I handed over money for a run to Subway and cell phone numbers.  We drove away with a strong vibe that Team Testosterone was in for one of the best nights of their lives.

We returned much later to find the Ninja Bros' vehicle still parked at our house.  I'd told them they were free to leave around 7 (school night, snowstorm, Mr. T capable of handling bedtime) so I panicked, thinking their car hadn't started and the poor boys were trapped at our house waiting for us to return.  Ah, but no.  They were sitting comfortably in the living room, watching TV, drinking soda.  Just hanging out, enjoying the quiet of our home.

"I have to tell you, I broke an ornament on your tree.  It was just a glass ball, not a fancy one or anything," Ninja 1 explained.

"Oh?"

"The boys had knocked it down and I was trying to hang it back up, but it fell on the ground and shattered."

"Don't worry about it.  How did everything else go?"

"We did karate in the basement, played outside in the snow, went to Subway--the change is on the counter--fed Jax.  We played the Wii a little.  Now they're all in bed.  Your kids are really good.  We had a lot of fun with them."

I helped the Ninja Bros scrape off their car and watched them drive away, curious to know if Team Testosterone really had a good time.  They woke up Monday morning dragging their feet.  Later I learned that they had played really hard.  Mr. T finally mastered a new bo staff move he'd been working on (private weapon lesson in the basement from Ninja 2 while we were gone).  They found a flashlight, turned off all the lights in the house and played hide-and-seek for at least an hour.  They each learned something new to add to their karate repertoire.

"So, did you have fun?  Would you want the Ninja Bros to come out here again sometime?"

YES!!!  Are you leaving again?  When?  I had to stop them from rushing off to mark their calendars and grab their weapons. 

Well, there were 5 black belts of varying degrees tearing through the house and only a broken ornament to show for it.  I have to say I was impressed.

In other news, it's 12/12/12 today which means putting on your #12 jersey and celebrating this guy:

Spill it, reader.  Who rocks the babysitting in your neck of the woods? 

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one done

I have to say, I'm inspired by how many bloggy pals out there feel the same way about beauty products.  So, we're giving this new underarm smoothing product what?  About 3 months tops before Dove pulls it?  (And seriously--whoever decided late October was the perfect time to launch a product named "Sleeveless" has got to be dumber than a box of rocks.)

ANYWAY.

One big secret is over.  Check it out:

That, friends, is Mr. B enjoying a surprise birthday party yesterday afternoon.  He doesn't turn 10 until Friday, and he insisted he only wanted a family party.  Pfft.  I sent out Top Secret E-Mail Correspondence to parents a couple weeks ago.  Then I ordered a cake and some pizzas.  Kung fu Master Mr. O told Mr. B earlier this past week that he needed some extra work on his sword form before his qualification test this Saturday.  Hm.  So busy all weekend--candidate training, Mr. D's big company party, flag football--but Sunday afternoon during a rainstorm might work.

The stage was set before Mr. D brought Mr. B in for his private lesson:

When Mr. B rounded the corner to put his shoes in a bin, OUT POPPED A CREW OF HIS BUDDIES!

Then everyone enjoyed feats of strength and manliness, sword sparring and dodging balls.  Mr. B never saw it coming--in fact, even his own brothers didn't know about the party until the very last minute. 

All the planning and secrecy paid off--Mr. B had a swell time with his friends and was shocked by the surprise.   Plus we had leftover cake, so life is pretty good here.

Spill it, reader.  Have you ever thrown or been thrown a surprise party?

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thank goodness for bumbles

Because this woman needs a little shot of estrogen right now.  And a shot few glasses of wine and good book talk wouldn't hurt, either.  We read The Night Circus and it was really wonderful.  So I'm totally dressing up in all black and white with a red scarf (tres theatrical, like a true rêveur) and ordering something dainty.  Don't wait up, boys.

why so eager for book club tonight, green girl?

Well, I passed my karate module test last night, nailing the kama form (perfection, truly) and adequately passing the fan form.  Because my son is easily embarrassed, I backed down from the Kimono Challenge.  The boy and I share dojo space, I need to respect his need for me to blend into the woodwork and not make a spectacle of myself.  However, the boy and I do NOT share blog space, so I'm totally making a video of the fan form in a kimono for all to witness and enjoy.  Plus I'll demonstrate the level of dexterity required to manage a darn fan.

Mr. G woke me up for the 2nd time this week out of a dead sleep--nightmare.  Again.  And I can never fall back asleep once he does that, so I'm feeling a bit cranky.

Evidently Mr. G felt cranky this morning, too, because when I asked him to read today's lunch menu for us (normally a cool thing since he's learned to read so well), he read "We're having fat f*cking chicken patties."  OH MY!  Like any good mother would do, I promptly jammed a bar of Ivory soap between his lips and turned my back so he couldn't see me stifling hysterical laughter.  Grouchy, foul-mouthed kid.  Where the f*ck does he get off, talking like that?

After shooing the gang down the driveway to catch their bus, I strolled to the back yard to discover this grisly find (please don't look if you've got a weak constitution--this is really, really gross.  I swear.):

That, friends, is some unidentified animal skull. 

Bigger than my foot.

Either the work of that varmint-eating dog of ours or the Yeti, I imagine.

Bumble Book Club, take me away!

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frazzled champion!

Doesn't "Champion" sound cooler than "winner?"  Kind of victorious and regal, not random and lucky, although I did draw one lucky winner at random to receive a copy of Alyssa Goodnight's Austentatious.
And our Frazzled Champion certainly has her hands full between 3 daughters and a catering business!  Let's give it up for JUST ASK BETH!  (cue wild applause)

I'm going to return to my part-time job as scheduling coordinator for Team Testosterone.  Get this:  tonight Mr. D has a game, Mr. T has a game, Mr. B has practice and Mr. G has practice--between 4:20 and 7:00 I'll be running the shuttle between fields, supplying them with uniforms, water bottles, gloves, bats and moral support.  You bet we're getting sub sandwiches for supper.

Until then I'm trying to squash their various practice and game schedules into the calendar.  Mr. G's Saturday morning practice just got bumped to Friday night from 5:30-7.  Mr. T has a game from 4:45-6:30ish.  I have tickets to see West Side Story and go to dinner--my birthday gift from Mr. D.  When I'm done hyperventilating, I'm going to start tracking down a babysitter with a drivers' license--hopefully Speedy doesn't have big plans this Friday night!

Fan Form Update:  Did a trial run of fan form wearing authentic kimono from Japan.  If I pin it shut modestly (just above the knee), I cannot do the kicks and stances in the form.  If I leave the flaps open, I will leave nothing to the imagination when performing the form (yowza!).  This is one challenge I may have to prudently/prudishly back away from...

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fangirl

No, I'm not referring to this sort of fan, though I am that kind of fangirl.

Nor am I talking about this type of fan. Although you can't beat it for white noise while you're trying to sleep.


I'm referring to this fan--

In karate we're studying fans. Mine has metal blades and black silk decorated with dragons. You'd think holding a fan would make a girl look naturally graceful, but that's not the case for me. They're hard to hold, they're very LOUD when you snap them open, and people are constantly cutting themselves on the sharp edges. It's probably the most dangerous weapon we've taken up--who would've guessed, right? Apparently the fans were used by samurai and geisha--they conceal other weapons, they conceal intentions of warriors, the blades were like daggers and sometimes people stuffed needles or explosives inside the fans to release them--almost like ancient pepper spray or scattershot. Crazy. It's a very complicated weapon.

So, now I'm a fangirl. Fantastic.

Mr. O offered extra credit if we wear a kimono doing the form. Mr. D was in Japan years ago and brought one home for me--no kidding. Challenge accepted. I shall do the fan form wearing an authentic kimono. The toughest part will probably be tying the obi because it's like 8 feet long and incredibly bulky.

Spill it, reader. What challenge have you accepted lately?

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prepped

I've got the house cleaned, wine chilling, cake frosted, butter warming (for cornbread), book read, bathroom scrubbed and table set for the Bumbles tonight. I feel so pulled together right now that I'm positive I've forgotten something.

Team Testosterone has no school this afternoon, so I'm taking them and their buddies to play laser tag. Yes, I have ulterior motives--keeping my house clean AND getting to play laser tag. Win-win.

I demonstrated a few of my new bo staff tricks to my karate pal, L, last night and she told me they look good. The most complicated one involves spinning it around one leg while I turn--it feels really awkward, but apparently it looks cool. Will have to enlist a kid to videotape it just so I can see for myself. The boy who teaches me these bo staff tricks is incredible. He makes everything look amazing.

And now I've just looked outside and noticed our yard. Yesterday was recycling day and the dumb dog goes around foraging and brings back cans and jars from other people's bins. Of course Jax's treasures are all over our yard, making the dead lawn look even worse--if such a thing were possible. At least he doesn't crap in our yard, so we've got that going for us...

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she slices, she dices

One of the worst parts about getting a black belt of any degree is the Demonstration. It's not enough just to perform the required moves and show your instructor you've mastered the knowledge. No, you have to DEMONSTRATE your skills in front of a live audience. To music. In public. Did I mention that this demonstration is performed to music? It's like some kind of sharp-edged pom and dance routine executed in snazzy karate uniforms instead of the more Fredrick's of Hollywood-inspired dance team uniforms. Oh the horror.


We'll agree right now that the latter uniform would make this experience even more humiliating for me, so I am thankful to wear the former.

Let's dig into the psychology behind why I dread Saturday night when I'll finally FINALLY get my brand new 2nd degree black belt: I am the only adult in my group. I hate performing in public. I feel stupid. I know I'll look like a total dweeb. It's one thing to do karate in the dojo for fun and fitness, it's another to do it in sync with a tune by Big Time Rush. Yet the Demonstration is part of the karate world in which I circulate.

As it happens, I'm also a bit quiet about the karate stuff IRL. Let's face it, the geek factor is pretty huge and while I'm not normally prone to giving a crap what other people think about me or my interests, I also don't go grocery shopping wearing a t-shirt that says "Ninja Princess."

I'm supposed to be a good face for the school, for martial arts. As the only adult in this graduation, I'm supposed to inspire other grown ups, be a great role model for the kids, promote the school, be proud of my own achievements. Mr. O expressed a bit of disappointment when he learned that I haven't invited all my friends and family to come watch me. This also made me feel a little bad, but it doesn't erase the fact that I don't want to do the Demonstration.

Here's where the funny part comes in. I'm in the back of the stage for most of this business, I planned to blend in and keep a low profile. This is mostly working out except for in Weapons Demonstration where I am to begin the whole thing solo, doing some XMA stuff with a sword.

Solo. Sword. Performance.

But wait! There's more!

As the grand finale to this little XMA combo, I have to THROW the sword into the AIR and then CATCH IT.

To this end I've been tutored by Mr. K, the XMA guru at the school. He's loaned me his gorgeous sword (so light! shiny! sharp!) to use. I brought it home Saturday and Team Testosterone went wild with weapon lust, each taking a turn holding it and admiring its beauty.
Then I began practicing. Throw. Catch. Throw. Catch. Throw. Drop. Curse. Throw. Throw. Catch. Throw. Drop. Curse.

Reader, one of two things is going to happen Saturday night. Either I will look like a bitchin' karate goddess, slicing, dicing, spinning, throwing and catching the sword OR I will look like a complete moron slicing, dicing, spinning, throwing and dropping the sword.

I keep telling myself, Chin up, buttercup. Just do your best.

And now, dear reader, I'm off to throw a sword into the air 100 times.

On a bright note, the weapons demo is to a song of my choosing: Fly Away by Lenny Kravitz.

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add 2nd degree black belt to Green Girl's official title

I passed my difficult test. Friday involved a lot of getting tossed to the mat unceremoniously while reviewing self-defense. (LI has a penchant for throws.) Then I bowled a 409, not bad for starting the season. I had two crappy games and ended with a 179 which salvaged my average for the night--including a Turkey!

Saturday was blustery, and after sitting outside watching Mr. B and Mr. G play flag football (2 touchdowns for Mr. G--the first two times he had his hands on the ball!), I geared up to run my final 3 miles. You could blame the chill in the air or the wind for dragging down run times, but I feel okay about my 26:47. Not bad for a gal who was never built for speed. I'd have liked to run more in the 26:30 range, but you can't have everything.

The test was long and reasonably difficult. My basic combos were good, but the spinning/jumping ones were crap. I pounded the mitt work, felt good about my open hand forms and LI and I rocked the escrima form. In fact, we walked off the floor after finishing, causing Mr. O to laugh at our confidence that we passed it on the first try. Our bo staff form looked pretty decent, too. He limited our weapons self-defense to just the gun, which was a bummer since we had our moves all planned out for each one--and I feel best about my self-defense with a stick. I wasn't sad, though. Getting tossed on the ground again wasn't real high on my list. In general self-defense the black belt instructors could attack us any way. People always seem to prefer to do a bear hug grab on me from behind--and lift me off the ground. It may have something to do with my size (or lack of--I'm only 5'3"). Anyway, Mr. O grabbed me first and when he lifted me up, I heard everything along my spinal column crackle and pop. Later, Mr. P Sr. grabbed me with such force he nearly knocked the wind out of me. That portion of the test contributed to my overall soreness through today. The good news is I finally got my wind back and used my inhaler for the last time on Monday--I was starting to feel like Mikey in The Goonies, puffing away on it every couple hours.

We ended with the usual fitness test stuff, including a pyramid drill involving 1:15 of jumping jacks, then dips, then push ups, then mountain climbers, then sit ups, repeated again for 45 seconds each. It looks like nothing much when you type it out like this, but my shoulders were burning. At the end of the test it's tradition for parents to come out on the floor and cheer their candidates on during the pyramid drill. My friend Nicole's husband stood in for me, shouting out encouragement so I wasn't all alone in a sea of people. It was sweet--and another mom occasionally called over to me, "You can do it, Ms. W!" Mr. O presented me with my final star (you get stars to sew on your pants--the karate equivalent of merit badges in Scouts) while the parents handed stars to the kids.

I drove home tested and passed, tired and wired. Naturally, after all that excitement and exertion I slept like crap and Sunday was another Very Long Day out in the wind in the south end zone at Lambeau. What I wanted was to drink a lot of ale, take a hot shower and laze about in bed watching nothingmuch on TV. What really happened: I drank 2 pints of ale, spent quality time with Team Testosterone after returning home, stayed dressed and headed out at 8:00 Sunday night to teach some people how to manage/use a website.

So, except for the Brewers, we're all winners after the weekend in Wisconsin.

I'm going to try and score a video of that escrima form so you can check out my legendary awesomeness. Until then, stay tuned all week for Anarchy Club, A Tale of Yeti Sightings in the Back 40 and A Funny Conversation About Circumcision.

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weekend warrior

I did not beat my run time Saturday--it was hot, so darn hot. I clocked 15 seconds slower, 26:57. Oy. But I'll back the truck up. Friday night we trained and reviewed our weapons self defense. I'm ashamed to admit that when my partner slapped the rubber gun out of my hand, it actually flew up, bounced off my forehead and banged into the wall. My feeble attempts at disarming LI were laughable. I keep forgetting you grab with the same side for guns and do a wrist lock. Yikes. Our forms look okay, though and LI and I do a phenomenal escrima form. It's wrong, apparently. We forget to reset our feet between the first and second half and have ended up practicing and perfecting it all wrong. No matter, Mr. O says keep it like it is because we look great.

So, Saturday we started with the run. It was brutal in the heat--the only really hot day we've run and even with Team Testosterone cheering me on I couldn't get my wind. I thought my head would melt off and breathing was awful--no one ran well, it wasn't just me. Cut to the dojo--on Extreme Day you do all the forms, a lot of mitt/pad work and combos. Our combos looked rotten. My pants were so damp with sweat, sticking to me, that I struggled to get my legs up for kicks. I held the body shield exactly twice for LI before passing it off to someone bigger to take his kicks. Both times he kicked me I flew back a good six feet--a concussion waiting to happen. Extreme Day ends with combat sparring, which means a no-holds-barred style. It's really hard to switch off the mental rules that accompany regular sparring: control your power and only hit target areas on your opponent's body. I had a rough time remembering I could hit anywhere as strong as I wanted. I began to remember after getting punched in the head (I wear gear--don't worry!) a few times--when my neck snapped back I took courage and hit harder. I went four rounds and trust me, after about 30 seconds of full-out brawling, your arms and legs feel like Jell-o. It's hard to calm down after an experience like combat sparring. The adrenaline shakes everything from fingertips to brain cells--not unlike giving birth. Watching the sparring is entertainment in itself. I saw LI choke out his opponent in at least two of his rounds and one of the 3rd degree candidates and his opponent rammed into the heat register along the front of the room and tore it off the wall. Ouch.

I didn't get injured (yay!) and afterwards Chez Green Girl hosted a Kids Night Out for the dojo--a bonfire in my back yard. Literally a school bus pulled into our driveway at 7:15 and out poured 70 kids plus another 8 instructors for hot dogs, pudgie pies, s'mores and games in the dark. The moon was full, the weather unbelievably mild. Everyone had a good time and I went to bed extraordinarily tired but wired.

At one o'clock I woke up with such a horrible ache in my left ankle. Icing helped, but something is definitely wrong down there--Mr. D's speculating it could be somehow fractured. I'm fine when it's taped, but the minute I cut the tape off things feel pretty tender. Because I am a responsible adult I will wait until I'm officially a 2nd degree black belt and the testing is done--then I'll make a doctor's appointment to get things checked out. Might as well have them explore my elbow, too, right?

So. Sunday I staggered around, trying to keep moving so the blood would keep flowing and things wouldn't cramp up and get more sore. Then I stayed up too late watching the Packers win again.

Three more miles, one more weekend of training and testing ahead.

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that little book thing

A long, long time ago, when Green Girl had only two sons, she began to write a book. Her intention was to write something marketable so she could attract an agent and a publisher. The germ of the idea came out of all the home parties people invited her to attend. Candles, cosmetics, jewelry, hair extensions, knick-knacks, kitchen goods--the entire spectrum of shopping presented in living rooms across America. Fodder for funny in her view of things, so she cooked up a little tale about a gal who works at Wisconsin Public Radio and decides to start selling kitchen tools on the side. Green Girl modeled her fictitious company after Pampered Chef and named it "Coddled Cuisine." She threw in a love interest and decided it wasn't half bad.

In the summer of 2004 Green Girl trekked that manuscript to the University of Iowa's Summer Writing Festival. While there, she made new friends and a year later co-founded/joined the Screw Iowa Writers Workshop. Marni, Mariana, Lauren and Nina helped Green Girl polish her manuscript and she then mailed it off to approximately 86 literary agents. The process was slow and sluggish and demoralizing. On her 86th try, Green Girl signed with Mitchell S. Waters who advised her on revisions and then shopped around her book.

The short version of this part of the story: nobody wanted to publish her book. Back it went onto the back burner and Green Girl worked on other projects.

A year ago she submitted it to Cornerstone Press on a whim, believing it had appeal to a smaller audience via a regional press. They told her, "Thanks, but no thanks." Then, over the summer, the press contacted her and asked to see the book again. You know the rest of the story so far--they'll publish Whipped, Not Beaten within the year, giving Green Girl the satisfaction of achieving a publishing goal (just in the nick of time--she's two score exactly this year).

Julia asked an interesting question:
Super news about your book! That's very cool to hear. Do you know already if it will come out in a Kindle format? And if it does, is that a good or bad thing from a writer's point of view?

Green Girl doesn't believe Cornerstone does Kindle...yet. She thinks her book might be made available in that format down the line. As a writer, Green Girl is a realist. Most of her book club reads their fiction on Nooks or Kindles. E-readers will continue to grow in popularity. It's a medium for getting books to readers and while she's got a strong preference for paper copies of books, she understands that readers use both methods. She feels the best bet for any author is to offer their work in both hard copy and electronic.

Green Girl thought she was the coolest thing since sliced bread now that she nailed a publishing contract. She had begun to cop a bit of a diva attitude--Excuse me, I'm going to be a published author so I don't think I should have to clean bathrooms or grocery shop anymore. Then she sliced her thigh last night while working on her sword form in karate. That's right, she stabbed herself. Tore a hole in her pants and gashed the top of her left thigh. (Yes, she's totally pissed at Mr. O who convinced her to start using her son's rusty metal sword instead of the lightweight, harmless foam sword she'd purchased for herself. She's fretting, trying to recall when she had her last tetanus shot.) A little public humiliation brought her back to earth, thanks to her clumsiness you won't find her wearing black turtlenecks and chain smoking clove cigarettes while waxing pretentiously about themes and character development and depth through metaphor. Nope, she's still the same geeky gal she always was, sporting a t-shirt, jeans and now a small flesh wound.

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pain--gain

Here's the official report from my weekend at the dojo: almost everything hurts but I'm going to survive. Here's some Karate 101 for those of you new to martial arts: Training for a black belt test is a 2-month process involving hours of pushing through all the karate you know and proving your fitness with things like a 3-mile run and pyramid drills. Last time I did this, the head instructor was dramatic, wasting a lot of time and energy trying to get us to feel the pain of earning a black belt. This time around Mr. O's in charge and he's matter of fact. No screaming, no histrionics. He expects and demands a lot, but doesn't work the kids into a frenzy of wailing. I certainly appreciate how he gets down to business.

This round the candidates include 2 brothers testing for 3rd degree; a teenaged boy, me and 2 6th grade girls testing for 2nd degree; and about 7 kids testing for 1st degree. Because I'm testing for 2nd degree, I get to skip a lot of the B.S. (boring stuff, bull sh*t, basic stances--call it what you will) and head to the other room to work over 2nd degree curriculum like weapons. My fellow candidates decided we'll focus on the bo staff complex (easy), escrimas (easy) and swords (wicked tough).

Mr. O assigned our partners--mine is the teenaged boy, LI. He's at least a head taller and considerably stronger, big into wrestling and very militant. No slacking on his watch. Last time I tested my partner dropped out after the first night so I got paired with whichever instructor happened to be free to work with me. It's much different having my very own partner this time around. LI's a lippy kid, but we'll get along fine because I dish it back to him.

I taped up my left ankle for the first time Friday night and to my astonishment, that athletic tape gave me enough support to do 10 consecutive spin kicks on both sides and attempt some jumping I'd been loath to try before Friday. I came home sore, sweaty and pleased that my injuries won't hold me back.

Saturday we started training with our 3-mile run. My goal was to come in 4th--behind the 3rd degree brothers (18 and 20 years old, both in excellent shape) and my partner. I hadn't counted on one of the other candidates beating me, but I clocked a 27:53, no shame in that since I was hoping to beat 28 minutes. Then we hit the floor and worked on pads and body shields--hand combinations (like jab-punch-hook-punch) and kicks. My ankle still held up, but I got the stuffing knocked out of me absorbing my partner's kicks and punches. He drove me back a few feet every time he pummeled the pad--and I hold 2 pads to protect myself. Our "break" involved reviewing the bo staff complex and then we returned for more drills. My hands were shaking from punching so hard and getting punched so hard. I felt pretty stiff Saturday night, but this morning I woke up really cramped up. I can't even guess how many push ups and sit ups and jumping jacks and kicks I did. Hundreds of each would be a fair estimate.

This whole training/testing business is a huge demand on my time, especially during the weekends when Team Testosterone has flag football, soccer and assorted social events on the calendar. The physical part won't kill me, but it makes little things--like bending over to tie my shoes--more challenging than normal.

One weekend down and I'm still kicking.

Spill it, reader. How did your weekend go?

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when you take a ninja to the groctry store...

It's baking weather here--a free day on Friday with naught to do but add a little PLOT to my manuscript and hang out laundry. And indulge my urge to bake cookie bars. I'll need some comfort food when I get home tonight from candidate training at the dojo. Baked goods and a glass of wine will be a nice treat. I've got tape for my ankle, pills for my elbow and butterflies in my stomach. Hopefully Mr. O sticks with a traditional easy first night and then kills us tomorrow...

Which brings me to a funny story. This week I had to spend 3 hours taking VIRTUS training so I can keep volunteering at the parochial school. The movie we watched was something else--complete with a stereotypical creepy dude in glasses and long ponytail leering at the children from behind a bush beside a playground. (What really cracked me up was how the one mom marches over and pulls her daughter away leaving all of the other children behind in the company of the suspected pedophile in the film segment titled Protecting All God's Children. Anyhoo...) It was a good thing I wasn't sitting next to my BFF or I'd have made snarky comments all the way through instead of listening respectfully like I actually did.

At the karate school much is made of "Stranger Danger." Too much. In reality, most assaults and abductions involve people we already know. Strangers account for a mere fraction of criminal activity involving children. But nevermind, the parents all feel happy when their kids learn about "Stranger Danger" at karate class.

One of the nifty things we teach the kids is to YELL things like "You're not my mom!"

Cut to the grocery store where I'm trying to wrangle Team Testosterone to submit to my will without coercing them Oreos and Mountain Dew. Sure they give me sass, but then one wise-ass in the group will yell to me, "You're not my mom!" That clever little phrase we learned at the dojo.

Poor little monkey doesn't count on his mom being smarter than average. I reply (in front of customers, cashier and bag boy), "YOU just wait until we get home and I tell YOUR FATHER what you did today." (It wasn't the first time I disowned my kids in the check-out aisle. I'm fond of telling them, "Your mother will NOT like to hear how you behaved today.")

As we're fond of saying around here, "the family that kicks together, sticks together."

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an old promise finally kept

Over a year ago: Green Girl starts talking smack about earning a black belt, being a great woman warrior, blah blah blah.

About a year ago: Green Girl starts talking smack about black belt karate classes, how she gets to play with weapons like swords and isn't she uber-cool now?

About a year ago: Green Girl makes a big promise to her readers that she'll make a video of herself doing karate.

Which brings us to yesterday...

8:00 a.m. wave last of Team Testosterone out of the house for the day, turn on computer and start cleaning bathroom.

8:10 a.m. decide while scrubbing the tub that today would be a great day to figure out how to use the video camera and download videos to the computer.

8:11 a.m. decide if she's going to download videos to the computer, the Internet is just a short jump away.

8:13 a.m. quit cleaning bathroom, strip off gloves, find video camera.

8:16 a.m. plug in video camera, instruction manual and necessary cords. Attach video camera to computer. Success!

8:17 a.m. attempt to download videos from the last 3 years to computer.

8: 38 a.m. discover this will take a while. Read blogs, troll websites, skim newspaper while hard drive is running.

9:49 a.m. discover that she's spent an hour downloading nothing. At all. Open instruction manual.

10:00 a.m. attempt variations on pressing "direct back up" and "auto/manual" buttons while opening various computer files to read the videos.

10:35 a.m. reread instruction manual. Discover CD with software to upload videos from the camera onto the computer. Begin installing software.

10:45 a.m. finish cleaning bathroom.

10:55 a.m. watch videos of Christmas 2007, Mr. T's karate graduation, her armpit filmed during the trip to Disney World, kids' attempts at movie making involving light sabers and Mr. G's last birthday.

11:10 a.m. leave computer and camera running and head out to retrieve Team Testosterone for 6-month dental checkup across town.

1:00 p.m. boys back at school, cavity-free, flourinated and fed. Discover all family videos from the past 3 years are now on computer.

1:01 p.m. indulge in self-congratulatory fist pumping and audible whooping.

1:05 p.m. change into yoga pants and grab kamas.

1:06 p.m. why kamas? Green Girl is studying them right now, they're a 2-handed weapon used in Japan for farming. Lightweight with a curved metal blade, they are easier to manage than the unpredictable nunchucks. And her sword form is rusty and she cannot remember more than the first half of her bo staff form, even though the bo staff is her favorite weapon. So kamas it is.

1:09 p.m. after much trial and error to set up camera to tape herself, Green Girl find the perfect angle to capture most of the living room floor is on a stack of books on a table. And she can still plug in the camera without requiring an extension cord.

1:10 p.m. execute kama form. replay video.

1:15 p.m. cringe. need to begin form further back. ended much too close to the camera and can only see torso.

1:16 p.m. execute kama form again. Nearly fall over during kick sequence.

1:20 p.m. execute kama form again. Success!

1:21 p.m. watch video. Notices how loud her knees crack during kick sequence. Video quality is very shadowy because of sunlight coming through windows behind her, but Green Girl is sick of entire business.

1:30 p.m. successfully load video to computer.

1:35 p.m. attempt to load video to blog.

1:36 p.m. whoops. need to copy video to another file first.

1:47 p.m. master copying video to file.

1:53 p.m. attempt to edit video using new software. Would be so cool to add a music soundtrack.

2:25 p.m. abandon all hope of learning how to edit video. Attempt to add video to blog.

2:35 p.m. loading.

2:50 p.m. still loading. go pick up children from school.

3:20 p.m. still loading.

4:00 p.m. computer says complete. try to watch. screen reads "error in loading, try again later."

4:01 p.m. viciously curse the internet.

4:03 p.m. try again.

4:15 p.m. loading. take Mr. G to karate class.

5:30 p.m. return home and make dinner. computer says complete. try to watch. screen reads "error in loading, try again later."

5:55 p.m. sit down with Team Testosterone and eat dinner.

6:30 p.m. take Mr. T to karate class. work on kama form. get complemented by Mr. O on kick sequence. Booya.

7:45 p.m. return home. hang out with kids. start putting everybody to bed.

8:30 p.m. decide to set up YouTube account.

8:45 p.m. load video to YouTube account.

9:15 p.m. video loaded. Success! pump fists and hit "play."

9:16 p.m. watch self perform kama form on YouTube. feel mildly famous even though only person aware of this video.

9:19 p.m. watch a few other videos while loading kama form to blog.

9:27 p.m. DONE!

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