What I'm made of

"Having kids is guaranteed to make you feel like an idiot or a tyrant at least half of the time." Alan Joyce, my husband in his infinite wisdom and wittiness.

The past month and a half has been just a blur of illness, passed back and forth between the whole family. Somewhere in the muddle we also had to make a huge decision that was a long time and several thousand dollars worth of car repairs in the coming. We had to part ways with our beloved Honda CRV. After much deliberation we decided to replace it with a newer Subaru Forester, the day before Aldo turned 4. We said goodbye to the CRV and drove the Subaru home the day before the first bout of my new derby season, which was on Aldo's 4th birthday.

We all have had achy muscles, runny noses and nasty coughs for a few weeks back and forth. Then my lingering cough somehow developed into walking pneumonia in the middle of the car deliberations. Which I had for the first bout. Then Oona puked in the new car four days after we got it and had explosive diarrhea for 3 days. Then on Alan's birthday, en route to his birthday dinner out, one week after the bout and Aldo's birthday the poor boy puked what can only be described as copious amounts in the car. And continued to do so for about 2 and a half days. At the patient advisory nurse's instruction we kept him home as he was still peeing. At the end of the third day of vomit he woke screeching that his hands and feet felt funny so Alan rushed him to the emergency room and he was admitted to the hospital with severe dehydration, the result of what they thought was norovirus. He stayed there for a few nights. 

Add to Alan's previous, spot on description of parenthood the feeling of overwhelming helplessness and despair when your child is unable to keep water down, wincing in pain as you attempt to stroke his hair to get him to rest, unable to stand to walk to the bathroom. The emotions that wash over you as you witness him struggle and scream as they attempt and fail to get an IV not in one but both hands, finally needing to put it in his arm instead. Rest your head for a moment on the hard couch in his hospital room as he fitfully drifts in and out of sleep, listening to all the machinery he's hooked up to, jumping every time you think he missed a breath. The worry that consumes you when you see him lying limp and hooked up to a bunch of machinery in a hospital bed, with none of the usual sparkle in his eyes you realize you often take for granted. The sadness you feel when each time a different doctor or nurse comes into his room and he turns his head, asking quietly whether or not they are going to poke him again.

It is indeed these moments you see "what you're made of." 

But here's my question. At which moment during this ordeal do I judge myself and my strength and "See what I'm made of?" 

Is it when I'm exhausted, starving, with a blinding migraine and way past frustrated, dizzy from the stress and and questioning why I had kids with the wee viking, drastically away from her usual schedule, confused and shrieking at a gut wrenching level non stop at me from 6:00 when I leave the hospital all the way down the hall, in the crowded elevator, echoing in the parking garage, as we drive home, make dinner, eat dinner, as she uses the toilet, as I am fighting to brush her teeth, during her entire bath till 8:00 when she has her pajamas on and we collapse into each others arms on her couch and read? 

Or the utter despair that brings me to uncontrollable sobbing after I've gotten the wee viking to sleep and am faced with what seems to be the overwhelming task of deciding on something to make myself to eat? Or perhaps I take a snapshot and judge myself and what I'm made of in my moments of anger at the brand new car being barfed in twice in the week we've had it? At which point is "what I'm made of" to be measured?

When I'm having a rough time, an especially challenging moment, feeling useless or incompetent I just imagine my skates on my feet. The instantaneous feeling of power and freedom that comes along with wearing them. A feeling that stretches all the way back to the first time I ever skated on my fifth birthday to the present, 37 years later as I have been gifted the amazing opportunity to experience participation on a derby team and continue to learn the game.

This moment. Not all the extra minutes you wish you had every day. Not all the stuff from yesterday you're still thinking about. Not all the what ifs in the future you're worrying about. This moment. Right now. When I have my skates on they deliver me firmly to the present moment and allow me to glide through it, facing challenges with the boldness I strive for in my daily life. 

It's me and my breath, the intoxicating feeling of flight that skating provides me.  For a little while I'm not helpless or an idiot. I am kinesthetically blissed out, empowered and I'm able to glimpse my essence, see "what I'm made of." It's my time to be a superhero, the fuel that gets me through the challenging kid stuff or long weekends at work.

I choose to judge myself here, in the billionth lap of a Satan's mattress drill, holding yet another plank position with my damn elbow pads slipping on and chaffing my sweaty elbows. Or working with a partner, alternating pushing and pulling each other continuously for 10 minutes, heart pounding in my chest, challenging myself to work harder and experiencing my body in such a complete way, followed by seeing how many laps we can do in 5 minutes, which I am extremely proud to report is 31. Derby has taught me that in spite of all the unexpected obstacles daily life can potentially deliver that this is what I'm made of.

Don't Give Up

I have learned something the past few weeks that, in spite of its simplicity, is a startlingly huge game changer for me.

I don't have to fall down every time someone hits me.

By fall I don't mean only in the obvious, most literal way. Falling for me also describes the drastic plummet in my belief, my confidence, my very will to remain upright that happened the majority of last season each time I was hit or failed to effectively block someone. My experience, until the last bout of the season, was a string of self-doubt and self-flagellation, of giving up over and over again. In scrimmage I would refuse the jammer helmet panty with such vehemence my teammates just stopped offering it to me. If that damn panty came near me I'd sense my breath way up in my neck, feel nauseous and be unable to swallow. The idea of failing, of never getting through the pack and being stuck behind and knocked around by the opposing blockers was absolutely stifling.

My goals for this season are as follows:

1. Become more aggressive.
2. Be bold and never refuse the jammer panty.
3. Stretch my existing limits and become skilled at that position as well as learning to be a more effective blocker, both offensively and defensively.

To my habitually self-doubting and hypercritical mind it sounds completely ridiculous to say, but if I could achieve anything this season, it's this: I want to work my ass off both at practice and the gym, confront fear of failure and become a double threat on the track. At the very least, be able to decently play all positions without harshly judging myself and stifling my growth as a skater.

Ah, to be limitless in my view of myself and my abilities as a skater. As a parent, a person. Now that is a tremendous goal. What would that mean for me? No mental interferences, just belief in the concept that if I work my butt off, fail and then reboot over and over I can achieve success.

As a dear friend recently pointed out to me, this is the framework we utilize for raising the kids. What I see in them, especially the boy is often frustration and turmoil because he's got all these complex, intricate plans and his coordination and fine motor skills are so close but sometimes just not there yet. Frequently he has tantrums and expresses his strong desire to be "bigger like daddy" so he can do more, have bigger hands and longer arms and legs.

The few times I attempted jamming last season in scrimmage I would get to a place where I was stuck behind the pack, had no idea how to get through, and to be honest had no desire to even try. I gave up, over and over, and that was accompanied by such an intense sense of failure that I rendered myself unable to even move, just waiting for the jam to be over. It sucked. I caught myself asking "What's the point??" when I found myself stuck back there, a human pinball controlled by the opposing blockers. It was no fun, I was miserable and often left practice feeling defeated and useless.

After a few months off after last season and a loooooong break from Aldo's school with the kids for the holidays I had a very clear reminder of how frustration (with a toddler's lack of impulse control) can manifest. I was pretty much doing what he does very externally to myself, but keeping it all inside. When he's in that state, I hear myself calmly reminding him over and over "You can do it. Don't give up." I hold him tight to me sometimes when he is in tears and ask him to notice my big, deep breaths and to try and let his breath be like mine. I have made him a couple signs for strategic places in the house. One is embellished with shiny stars. They all say "DON'T GIVE UP!"

In a fleeting moment of clarity in the pandemonium that is life with two insanely energetic and curious toddlers, it occurred to me that perhaps I should extend this encouragement to myself. How can I guide them to be confident explorers, dreamers and fighters if my example is so incredibly lacking? It's not that they witness my mental flagellation firsthand when I struggle in scrimmage but it is omnipresent in the way I view myself, the tone I use to speak to myself. The only way to set an example I am proud of is to recognize and inhibit those negative reactions and opinions of myself.

So there it was. Recognize and eliminate the "What's the points?" and instead replace them with "Sure. Why not? I can give it a try. Keep pushing. Try another approach." Find my drive to fight hard, to be unyielding in my efforts and never give up no matter how challenging or exhausting the situation is.

The first scrimmage of the season someone tossed me the jammer helmet panty and I caught it. I also caught myself saying, "I hate this. I suck at it. What's the point?" I paused for a second and with the mild intervention of another dear friend removed that from my thinking. Then I slid it onto my helmet and took my place behind the jammer line. In that split second I made the decision that I had multiple options besides falling down or giving up when impacted or my path was blocked.  I could try bending my knees, using my hydraulic leg system to meet the impact. I could adjust the angle of my pelvis as the hit came to meet me. I could take a step or two. I could hit the blocker coming at me first. I could simply be stubborn and decide I wasn't going to fall.

"Tweeeet!!!" goes the jam start whistle.  And I'm off. Just a wall of bodies in front of me. I gravitate toward the bodies with the same color jersey as me. Then a tiny little break in the wall of opposing blockers. Keeping my elbows in somehow I nudge my way through. I get body checked by someone but remain upright and inbounds. Someone else checks me. I go out of bounds, turn into a quick tomahawk stop then dart back in behind the person who knocked me out. Still I stay upright. A third person hits me, I remember to turn my pelvis into the hit and give them my butt. To my surprise they fall. I kind of step over them, aim myself at a skater with my jersey color and hip whip off of her, bending low and sort of swerving around 2 opposing blockers. I have made it through the pack! "Tweet tweeeeet!" goes the whistle, signalling me as lead jammer. I allow myself a moment of "Holy shit! I did it!!!"

Then it's just me and the sound of my skates, slowing my breath, releasing my leg joints, lengthening my spine as I skate around the track, swinging my arms and crossing over, hugging the corner as I come to it. Eyes wide open as I near the back of the pack to start my first scoring pass ever. I see one of my team's blockers back there, watching for my approach. We make eye contact and she's right there, working with me to clear a hole, occupy a tough opposing blocker. I get around them, and another blocker. Then I get hit by someone, stay up and in bounds. I look and see another of my blockers watching for me, near the outside line. She's leaning on an opposing blocker, her right hand extended for a whip. I skate towards her. Just as I'm about to grab her forearm for the whip the blocker she's been leaning on knocks her down. I manage to step over her and get around. The same opposing blocker that got her sprints out to me trying to knock me out. I lift my outside foot so as not to go out of bounds and refuse to fall. I stay upright and in bounds, take several running steps forward as she chases me and I am through the pack.

It's at that moment I receive the answer to my "What's the point?" query. Because it is absolutely freaking unbelieveably AWESOME and worth every ounce of struggle when you pick up your feet, sprint away from that last blocker chasing you and get through a scoring pass.

As with all derby discoveries, this has an immediate and profound effect on my life. My pedestrian, off-skates life. I have located my will to fight through the more exhausting and rougher patches of balancing momming, work, sleep deprivation, grueling moments of toddler tears,  dramatic frustration and all the other stuff life throws my way. I've found more calm, confidence, the ability to stay standing and a greater sense of humor with the challenges. Once again this sport has positively influenced me on a deep personal level, strengthened me, made me better and remains one of the best life choices I've ever made.

New Derby Season

Rejoice! It is the dawn of a new derby season!

New season, new helmet. After much deliberation I opted for a purple one, with a very sparkly silver name and number. Then I made myself a sparkly gold viking helmet to stick to the front. In honor of my wee viking and Maude Lebowski in the hilarious "Gutterballs" dream sequence in the Big Lebowski.

The wee viking is my inspiration. Words cannot express the power in her the moments she allows me to hold her close with my head against her tiny chest, feeling and hearing her heartbeat or "heart beep" as she calls it. She often lays a big, wet miniature mastiff kiss on my chest and informs me she is "kissing my heart." I am attempting to channel her fearless, joyful, good natured scrappiness, effervescent energy, determination, and daring as I strive to improve my skills this season.

As of this morning we are beginning to wonder if she is perhaps some sort of Maori warrior/viking hybrid. She has taken to standing in an extremely low stance, feet turned out and knees over her toes, thighs parallel to the ground. Then she sort of twists her arms around and occasionally hits at her chest, all the while sticking her tongue out, waggling it and sort of grunting and occasionally stomping her feet. She has also on numerous occasions forgone the paper we provide her with and instead taken her Crayola markers to her face and arms, informing me that one day she will have tattoos all over.

Ahhhhh. How giddy I am to be back at practice with all these fantastic ladies. I put on my skates and gear and I find myself. I love all the drills, the endurance and footwork, skating in a tight pack, shifting places like a murmuration of birds.

I would have to say that sprinting a few laps and baseball sliding into a plank position is pretty much my new favorite thing. This is not required, but I just can't help myself. All we need to do is skate the laps, then back to our place and get ourselves into a plank. But the slippery floor just calls to the choreographer/latent superhero in me, and there I am, picking up momentum, sliding on my side then onto my stomach and up into a plank. All in one move. The further I am able to slide prior to the plank the better. I am such a dork.

As far as favorite things this maneuver is rivaled by skating a few laps, sliding 360° on my knees (also not at all required) for an extra ridiculous flourish and to make myself or anyone watching laugh and then dropping to a military crawl, pushups or sit ups. Last practice I was actually attempting to pick up enough momentum that I could make it around twice on my knees prior to the sit ups, crawl, or pushups. And "attempt" really is the only description suitable for the less than graceful, wild moves this jackass was performing. But alas, dare to dream.....

At first this particular endurance drill is the most excellent fun but by the end I find myself thinking about the big finale sequence in basically every Terminator/horror/sci fi movie where the protagonist believes the attacker to be dead and then there he is, back on his feet and coming for them. To get myself through those last few minutes this is where my wacky mind goes. I become the Terminator, my red laser eye aimed at finishing the drill, and of course laughing manically as I go.

Over our break I went to an open skate. I was playing with GWrath on skating sideways. Working on the footwork off the rink while holding wrists and rotating in a circle. We went back out to skate. This lady comes up to me and asks if I would do her a favor and teach her daughter how to do the spin GWrath and I were doing. So I skate off the rink, find her daughter and show her how. She's a bit wobbly so I tell her to bend more in her hips and then she gets it. She seems shocked she got it and looks at me with saucer eyes sparkling, almost teary and says reverently, "You're my hero." I ask her name and age and she says Kaylee, and that she's 8. I tell her my name is Kate and still with those huge eyes, she exclaims "Wow. That's a lot like my name." Then she gives me a high five and repeats again that I am her hero.

Although excellent for my ego, this statement is laughable. If you know me you are well aware that I am harshly self critical, so thinking of myself as someone's hero is automatically ridiculous to me. My first reaction when given any sort of compliment is to try and argue the point, make light of it and joke my way out. Being someone's hero is a huge responsibility to live up to, and in all honesty I spend an enormous amount of time in both my pedestrian and derby lives doubting myself and my abilities.

The greatest gift training to be and becoming an Alexander Technique teacher has given me is the opportunity to recognize and suspend unconscious and/or automatic habits like this. We all have them, be it physical or mental. In my experience it's the mental ones that pose the greater challenge to choosing a new way of responding.

So I catch myself, and instead of snorting with laughter in this sweet little kid's face I pause for a moment, then choose a different, non habitual response. I tell her thanks so much, return her high five and smile. Enjoy the moment. However goofy and bumbling I view myself, in this moment I am this kid's hero and that is extraordinary.

What is happening???

On December 8th my league had its end of the year party. Teams were to decide on 3 awards of their choosing. To my enormous surprise my team voted me to receive 2 of them, and I was both "Most Improved" and the "Dames Dame." I was stunned.

Most of the season I felt I was struggling. I spent a ton of time harshly judging myself, feeling like an outsider lacking in skills and game knowledge. Hugely intimidated often to the point of immobility by the powerhouse players on my team and in the league. Many evenings after practice were spent confronting fear and self doubt, driving Mr. Lebowski bonkers, staying up til 2 worrying, rehashing and fretting. I considered giving up so many times. But then I would wake up in the morning thinking more clearly and remember how much I love this sport and league and all that it gives me, realize again that the good things are well worth the challenges and exhaustion.

My first year of derby has left me with friends I will know a lifetime and memories that guarantee a smile that warms my whole face scalp and soul.

Joining the league I had hoped I would meet some cool, strong women. But what I have experienced this year far surpasses that expectation. Truth is, I was sinking miserably into isolation, dominated and exhausted by the demands of caring for 2 toddlers. There were days I was so lonely, and spoke to no one until we picked my husband up from work.

I feel the need to mention that I was dreading December 8 th as it was the one year anniversary of a dear friend of mine dying after several years of battling leukemia. She remained unbelievably positive and strong throughout, and left behind her 3 year old daughter. With our crazy lives in New York we never had enough time to spend together and I miss her profoundly.

I am in awe of and inspired by each of the women in the league, but there are a few I have been lucky enough to get to know more closely.

This is my love letter to them.  They have each saved me in unique ways this past year. Come to my rescue and loved me unconditionally over and over again. Insisted I honor my desire to do this, and think seriously and calmly about not giving up. Reminded me of the example I set for the Little Lebowskis and to look forward many, many years when I am able to tell my grandkids about having this dream and pursuing it.  Surprised me with elaborate care packages on my front porch when I spent a night in the hospital. Unexpectedly and joyfully Christmas bombed my house. Made me laugh till my face hurt, encouraged me when I wanted to give up, listened to me cry, took me on a birthday trip to Chicago, came willingly and excitedly to the wee viking's birthday party and made me jawdroppingly gorgeous team awards that will forever be prized possessions. My life is deeply affected and enriched by knowing each of them, they warm my soul, yanked me out of the mommy disconnect I was immersed in, and make me a better person each day I know them.

There's thoughtful, warm, powerful, steady, grounded, amazing GWrath. The first girl I spoke to at tryouts. She shook my hand with such friendliness and eye contact and kept insisting she knew me from somewhere. After knowing her a year it seems we have indeed known each other much longer. She taught me how to put on my wrist guards at tryouts and I lovingly refer to her as the Mayor of TCDG.

And my dear, kind, strong, honest, brilliant, determined Killy. Encouraging me, begging me to knock someone on their ass one time just so she could see it happen and I would believe it's possible, leaning her head on me during rule of the day. Coming over spur of the moment and on her way to work to help me heft some enormous play structure I found on the street over my fence for the kids. Pen pals with my boy. Meeting me in the park to play with the kids, encouraging me and complimenting my mothering skills when I have doubted myself.

Hilarious, generous, free spirited, gigantic hearted, fabulous cook, gypsy juice brewing, gorgeous Gator with her mile long legs, and cornucopia of fishnets and amazing booty shorts. My go to Derby attire guru, persuading me that, although drastically veering from my usual baggy old school gym shorts, the sparkly purple booty shorts were indeed a good idea and I could wear them. Never fails to make me smile. Her and her 32 lipglosses of very similar shades all toted around in her purse each day, which she willingly displayed for a very lucky few of us to view at a league meeting. We compare parenting notes and laugh about doing so in about 12 years when my kiddos are the ages hers are now. She utilized the phrase "Well that's a very broad question" with such comic timing that I can't write it now or probably say it ever without cracking up. Gator, "What is happening??"

Energetic, inspiringly confident, enthusiastic, motivated, artistic, beautiful, rock star Dame. My Senator's dance partner and giver of whips at practice. Instigator and vehement supporter of skillfully choreographed, sparkling moments of beauty during couples skates. "Hold my hand like you mean it damn it!!" One of the youngest in the league, exploding with life and all it has to offer. Driven and constantly striving to improve, making friends with everyone. Sitting down next to me on the bench at bouts to offer guidance or pushing me at practice to work harder than I knew I could and improve.

It is these women and all the others in the league that have fueled my experience this year and made it extraordinary. I am forever grateful. They are my friends, cheerleaders, confidants, and teachers. I had been feeling isolated and overwhelmed by motherhood and now I am surrounded and embraced by powerhouses. Their collective energies strengthen me, make me strive for greatness and I will love them always.

Stellar Moments

Lighthearted.
Surefooted.
Decisive.
Bold.

I have these words scrawled in marker on a beat-up piece of red construction paper, taped to my kitchen cabinet in a place that I am forced to view many times a day. Right next to a copy of the cherished photo Laura Fitch took of me on the bench at my first bout.

They appeared in my thinking after a meditation one evening last week. It had been a particularly exhausting kid-wrangling day with much emotional turmoil on their part. The kind of sobbing and dismay that as a mother seems to be wired directly to your central nervous system and slowly, agonizingly yanks at it. I was looking for some motivation to get myself to and through an 8:30 to 10:30 pm practice and those words came to me as I attempted to center myself and find some focus and strength. I'm still not sure if they are my mantra for derby or merely a description of my daughter.

I'm sitting here at my kitchen table after the peaceful hush of two toddlers finally napping has enveloped my home. With the absence of crumbsnatchers I can hear my wind chimes again and the lovely soft breeze. There is a beautiful sunny golden fall glow coming in my window.

But my heart is racing. I'm shaking. My breathing short and unsteady. The dog is looking at me funny. I can't decide if I should make another latte, use my phone-a-friend lifeline, lie down in a darkened room or just crack the bottle of bourbon.

Let me try and describe the scene at my house moments ago as I attempted to get the kids to nap today. 

The boy is running around the house chanting "000100010011000011111.....". After checking with Alan I am assured he hasn't been playing him the binary solo from "Flight of the Conchords." I'm also fairly certain he hasn't viewed any of my "Alias" DVDs and is reciting the Rambaldi Code that Sydney and Ana Espinosa had to memorize before the test tube cracked and that green chemical spilled all over and destroyed it in the suitcase in Berlin.

Although not ideal for a naptime setting, that's all quite manageable. The girl on the other hand has just taken a few more years off my life, contributed a few more gray hairs, and deepened the ever-growing creases in my face.

I've sung her "The Girl from Ipanema" several times. Played her Tom Waits nap time medley. Read about 26 books. Given her the "This is the last book. After this book it's time to go to sleep" warning. We take our time finishing up and then I pick her up to put her in her crib. 

I turn around long enough to switch on her nightlight, and as I turn back see her going from a handstand on the top bar of her crib to still holding on, flipping over backwards and dismounting with her butt and back headed towards the floor. Somehow my consciousness leaves my body and hovers over the scene unfolding. In slow motion I see all this, and see myself leaping across the room to catch her inches away from the floor and still holding onto the top rail of the crib. 

She is calm as can be. Unfazed. Smiling. For a second I completely believe I have created this in my imagination because I am so exhausted. But then I see the boy's face. He is literally saucer eyed and slack jawed and says "Mommy what did Oona just do? Mommy is that a yes or a no?" I also realize the whole time she was flipping she was saying "Mommy I just want to get out sit on the couch and reeeeaaaddd mooorrre books!!"

While I'm attempting to catch my breath we read about 45 more books and she finally allows me to put her in her crib. But then as I'm tucking her in my tiny Sydney Bristow informs me she wants to "kick her legs up AGAIN" when she wakes up after nap.

Her floor is now literally carpeted with every pillow and couch cushion in the house. I was considering blowing up the air mattress but I didn't know where it was.

She ran UP the steep slippery slide at the park this morning. As she was going up I rushed to assist her. As I touched her butt I realized she didn't need me at all. Her head was leading, her leg joints all deeply bent and her little pelvis was weightless as I attempted to guide her. It was effortless, and she ran her little purple converse up onto the platform in a blink of the eye. 

Perhaps I shouldn't have shown her those parkour videos this morning after she scaled the slide. Or the Cirque du Soleil. Maybe she's some sort of super hero like Monica Dawson with her adoptive muscle memory on "Heroes," and if she sees something she's able to then do it. By far the coolest super power ever. Just not so close to home or at such a young age.

Each time I look at that paper I can still hear my boy's soft voice as he read those words to me, leaning on me and carefully sounding each syllable out as I wrote them that night. They are very thick print because I went over each letter a few times as I explained each word to him over and over until he told me it made sense.

Some days I seriously doubt my ability to keep these children safe. More specifically, the girl. Daring and fearless. Stubborn and opinionated, incredibly independent. But so ridiculously sparkly, spunky, happy, goofy and loving. 

Currently I'm attempting a feat. It's conquering an old and very stubborn habit. One which has spread its dark cloud over all activities I have been involved with for the entirety of my 41 years. I am striving to shift my perspective to dwell on the stellar moments of my derby life. The ones that leave me smiling with all of my face, eyes twinkling, instead of tirelessly and cruelly reminding myself over and over of mistakes I've made and things I wish were different. I believe if I can achieve this feat in my derby life, not only will I be a better skater, but there's also a chance it will spill into my regular life and allow me to enjoy it more fully.

One such moment came the other day in scrimmage. All the tractor-trailer training we've been working on finally clicked. I was decisive. I saw the opposing jammer coming on the outside. One of my teammates had gotten in front of her and I picked up my feet and momentum, grabbed my teammate's hips and swung my hips into the jammer with everything I had. She went out of bounds and came back in. I was right there and so was my trusty tractor, stepping right along with me. I swung into the jammer again, knocking her out a second time. We were so ridiculously proud of ourselves that we almost started high-fiving right in the middle of the jam. We had a good laugh about that one after the whistle blew.

Applying the new derby outlook I'm attempting sheds a slightly different twist on my hypercritical and not-so-useful way of thinking about my parenting skills. Instead of bemoaning my daughter's independence, frightening boldness and the years they are shredding off my life, I will look to her for guidance in my pursuit of derby badassery.

I believe she was the perfect second baby for me to have, that she joined our family at exactly the right time (i.e. 10 months before I had the guts to attempt my 20 year derby dream). Perhaps it's slightly harsh, but to be honest if she had come before Aldo (who seriously spoiled us by being such an incredibly easy baby) we probably never would have attempted a second child after her. She put us through hell the first 6 months of her life.  It's totally bizarro, but I had a dream a when I was pregnant with Aldo about this bright eyed, ringlet-covered red-headed girl. It was clearly Oona, and we were shocked when the sonogram tech told us Aldo was a boy. But then there she was, my little Beatrix Kiddo, one-inch-punching herself out of me 19 months later.

Last Sunday was the league championship bout. I had a few goals for the evening. I held my daughter in my lap for a large part of the day, just soaking in her calm, joyful, powerful, confident, radiant, effervescent energy. She is truly small but mighty, and when she allows you to hold her for an extended period of time it is extraordinary. She goes full out with everything she does, and when she finally sits still she is a master of peacefulness. I let it pass through me, the feeling that is the essence of Oona.

My first goal was to allow myself to inhibit my nasty negative habits and self judgement and attempt to let myself experience the bout with a little more Oona in me. My second goal was to challenge myself to have more 360° awareness, be very conscious of the two jammers' positions in the pack when I skated, and attempt to anticipate the opposing blockers' moves and interfere with them to assist my jammer's path through the pack. My third goal was to try and stick to my derby mantra, scrawled on that piece of red paper in my kitchen.

I put my head down to sleep after the bout with no regrets. I was smiling big and was completely pleased with my skating, able to suspend my harsh self criticism and simply relish the amount I've grown this year.

A few posts ago I wrote about high fives and my love of them. One memory that will stick with me my entire life was the introductions before the bout. As I stood there with my team waiting for the announcer to call our names out, I could see and hear my girl in Alan's arms, her ecstatic little voice yelling "That's my mommy!! Number 40eeeeee! Bowskiii! Mom you are awesomesauce!" My whole team was cracking up, and I was pointing out where the kids were so my teammates could try and make sure to high five them as they skated past. I saw my dear friend and teammate Killy Loveless, off her crutches and standing unsupported, with her arms around my boy, them both just beaming, waiting for us to skate by. And when they called me and I got to skate that line of people along the track, all with their hands out smiling and offering their hands for high fives it was amazing. Even more amazing were the looks on my kids' faces when I skated by and touched their little soft hands. I will hold that memory with me forever, and I hope they do too.

The night of the championship was truly a stellar moment. It and the night last November we passed our WFTDA test make perfect bookends on the volumes of experience, challenge, learning and pure joy this first derby season has offered me. Two shining, extraordinarily stellar moments I will remember forever. One of the most positive experiences of my life, one of the best choices I've ever made, allowing myself to pursue a dream after so many years. I am filled with derby love and guaranteed eye twinkling smiles with each memory I have. So looking forward to next season.