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.

Winning

My kid asked me the other morning on my first sip of coffee "what does winning mean?"

Anyone who knows me well can attest I am utterly useless prior to that first mouthful or two of my beloved caffeine. I barely know what day it is or whether I remembered to put on pants at that point, let alone answer such queries.

Truth is, I've been considering this for a while. What my response would be when this question came, whether it was as he got more into my bouts or had his own experiences on a team someday. Our goal as parents is to answer them both as honestly and speaking from as much personal experience as is possible.

Until this year I have never been a member of a team,  with the exception of the Alan/Kate attempting to raise two freakishly energetic and exasperatingly inquisitive children who are 19 months apart and not go insane in the process team. My pre-derby background is comprised of tons of dance, choreography and a few years of karate. Of course there was some competition in karate tournaments but nothing like the dynamics of being part of a competitive team, figuring out how you fit in and what contribution you can offer to the overall efficiency of the team.

Stating the obvious, in competitive sports there are two teams. With the exception of a tie, one is going to win and the other lose. Does that make the team with less points efforts any less valuable?

I guess if I had to define it I would say for me winning is a matter of committing. Choosing over and over to work harder than you think possible. Accepting your teammates completely. Embracing them as individuals, respecting them and learning to work with them. Suspending ego and allowing yourself to learn from them with no jealousy. Not being embarrassed of being wrong or making mistakes, and not allowing those concerns to interfere with your performance. To be passionate and bold, yet maintain calm and a sense of humor when things go terribly wrong. Holding onto the things that went well, acknowledging what wasn't optimal and improving on it. Having no regrets at the end of practice or a bout. Getting yourself in motion and committing, over and over again, particularly when you are challenged to the point beyond what you think is attainable. Getting my tired ass to practice when every fiber of my being is begging me to sit down, have a cocktail, be still and silent either on my porch or in a nice bath after a day of chasing the crumbsnatchers around, breaking up spats, deciphering exactly what is causing them to flail and screech like frustrated, earsplittingly vocal yet non-communicative fish out of water and just generally preventing them from killing themselves. 

I think the strength of a team is each member doing their personal best, working together to achieve a common goal. But within that common goal (which in competitive sports is obviously winning the game) I find there are layers of personal goals, unique to each player.

I'm in awe of the athleticism of my teammates, and just in general of a lot of the skaters in the league. It seems unattainable to me, that aggression and self confidence. I catch myself questioning why I should even play if I'm nowhere near that level. I often feel disheartened I didn't attempt derby sooner, when I was younger, with less bodily wear and tear, parental exhaustion and haze on my body and mind.

The truth is I love this. Completely. Love the amount of fears my journey has forced me to confront, the things I never thought personally possible. Love the physicality and strategy involved. But yet there are times I find myself wanting to give up because in this lifetime I just won't ever be at their level.

Then I think of all the opportunities this experience offers me. All the wonderful people I've met. And I think of what I would say to my kids if they adopted this defeatist,  negative attitude about something they love to do. I think of my beautiful, crazy curled Oona, in her happiest moments or upon waking just stopping, throwing her hands in the air and with a beaming smile that could melt tungsten yelling "Number 40eeeeeee!!!!! Bowskiiiiiii!!!!" then proceeding to spread her legs wide, go up on her toes and yell "Tomahawk stop!!!! Yeah!!" I think of Aldo, his eyes twinkling, coming up to me at half-time and hugging me, kissing me with his soft little face and wacky cowlicks,  telling me I'm awesomesauce as he fondles my knee pads or helmet.

I think of how terrified I was of falling when I started scrimmaging in February. How hitting another skater while you both are moving and in close proximity to a bunch of other bodies on wheels seemed so completely counter intuitive. How my right leg was numb for months and heavy to lift, screaming at me and threatening to give out each time I took a hit, attempted to deliver a hit or fell. I skated like that for two months because I just couldn't bear missing an opportunity to be on skates and with my leaguemates. It wasn't until the last bout in August that I came home and realized I had felt no pain. Confronting my fears of falling or being hit have been huge for me, both in skating and life. I can say I'm  working through them nicely, and lately my biggest fear is not being quick or fast thinking enough in my responses and missing a chance to interfere with the opposing jammer, whether it's attempting a hit or just getting in front of her so a teammate can.

I can't believe it's been a year since I tried out for the league. Tryouts were September 10 last year. I never thought I'd make it. It's still amazing to me that I was drafted to a home team and I have actually skated in bouts. I'm coming up on my 5th on September 16th.

This morning at practice we had to skate 25 laps in 5 minutes, while pushing another skater the whole time. As I took my turn pushing the lovely and effervescent Damé Sangre around, alternating between heavy breaths and laughing like a hyena I knew I was in exactly the right place. There was nothing else I'd rather be doing, no random thoughts or doubts cluttering my thinking. Just the absolute joy of the moment, digging in and working hard.

25 laps pushing Damé in about 4:41!!!

High Fives

We lived in New York for about 12 years. Our time there was bursting with unique, often times utterly amazing experiences. Things I will remember forever, stories I will tell my kids about.

I've seen a group of guys come onto my subway car, push the button on their boombox, perform gravity defying parkour moves off the seats, poles and walls of the car then finish with a total of 20 consecutive back flips in place, while the train was moving.

I've heard a capella groups sing on the trains and subway platforms that have made my jaw drop. Seen a blind dude with a cane and an accordion swing the doors open on the train at the exact moment the lights on the train went out, mutter "Goood evening ladies and gentlemen" and begin hammering out the theme from "The Godfather." Eaten ridiculous amounts of fabulous food that I still crave years later.

I've also witnessed a guy on the subway realize his wallet was stolen, stand blocking the one working door during rush hour and refuse to move until whoever boosted it gave it back. Jawdroppingly, it  was passed over the heads of the insanely crowded train and returned to him.

I spent the majority of my time there either bartending or waiting tables to put myself through Alexander training and I also had a home furnishings business to balance my teaching income after I graduated. I've made seat cushions for a Ghostbuster's kitchen, taught Alexander Technique to a runway model, waited on Sidney Poitier, Stevie Wonder, Peter Jennings, Pierce Brosnan, Dolce and Gabbana, Kevin Bacon, Nathan Lane, Matt Damon many times as he was just finishing up "Good Will Hunting" and still unknown, Salman Rushdie, an inebriated Rod Stewart, Larry David and the entire cast of Seinfeld, spilled wine on Rosie Perez, and quite surreally seen both Sir Ian McKellan and Cate Blanchett walk past my house.

All of these experiences make excellent stories, but by far the absolute best part of living in New York is the day of the Marathon. Unequivocally the most fabulous day of the year. In my old Brooklyn neighborhood, Fort Greene, people filled the sidewalks shoulder to shoulder, several bodies deep. The guy who lived in the brownstone across the street from the bar I worked at would have these giant speakers on his steps and a microphone in hand, bellowing encouraging words to the runners and leading the crowd in cheers. He would be blasting C&C Music Factory, the Village People, Michael Jackson and every other up tempo 80's dance music you could think of. It was breathtaking, the sense of community and good will in that neighborhood, and all across the city each Marathon day.

It was extraordinary to see the world class runners in the first pack pass by in the blink of an eye. But even better was witnessing the other runners following that pack. The people from every country you could think of. The office workers. The moms. The everyday people with their names on their shirts passing by in an endless sea of feet and legs, collectively pounding those streets I walked every day. Bystanders reading some random stranger's name off their shirt, cheering for them as if they were a long lost friend, jumping over the police barrier into the street and offering a hand for a high five. People walking around handing out doughnuts to the crowd, water and Gatorade to the runners. Each year Alan and I would stand there, participate in cheering runners on and I would inevitably cry. I was always so incredibly moved by the goodness of the day. It gives me shivers as I sit and write this, the memories of the energy of that day.

I always wondered what that must be like, to be on the receiving end of those cheers and high fives from complete strangers. I guessed it must be pretty energizing from seeing the smiles cross the faces of the more exhausted looking runners, seeming to be lifted up and carried a few blocks by the energy in Fort Greene as they ran through.

The past two bouts I've been in I have gotten my own little piece of that marathon day magic, and I tell you, it's completely awesome. For those of you who haven't been, at the beginning of every bout the teams line up, each skater is announced and takes a lap around the track. Tons of people and kids line up and stick their hands out for high fives as you skate by. As you whiz around you are greeted by a wall of goodness, hands and smiles. Totally, totally fun, as amazing and energizing as I had imagined.

The morning after the bout my husband greeted me with a hot, strong, fresh latte. The wee ones were running around my kitchen in a derby direction line, laughing their little asses off, proclaiming themselves "roller derby teammates working together" and shouting out in very deep voices, "Numberrrr 40eeeee!! Maraud Lebowskiiiii!!!" Then they would stop very abruptly, raise up their heels and stand on tippy toe in some crazy jazz dance or kung fu stance, shouting "Tomahawk stop!!! Yeah!" Then begin chasing each other all over again.

After practice Wednesday night I had to stop at the grocery. It was 10:30 and I was sort of self conscious of the hot pink tights/striped orange and hot pink socks/deep purple Converse the boy had selected for me to wear to practice. Have I mentioned he is my dresser, the Jerome to my Morris Day, and selects my derby wear for each practice? On top of this get up I am completely drenched and still sweating, probably looking a bit bizarro and no doubt incredibly stinky to the average, non-derby bystander. I'm in line and I hear this huge guffaw from the guy who just got in line behind me. I remember the glimpse I had caught of him as I was getting my six pack and he was loading an enormous case of Coors Light into his cart with his bud over in the cooler area and I cringe, waiting to be mocked for my appearance.

Instead I hear, "Maraud Lebowski. Ha! Oh my god that is f$%king hilarious. Derby, right?? Seriously, that's the best derby name ever. Genius. Freaking genius. Amazing." And he goes on and on, doubled over and laughing, furiously quoting the movie to his friend who I'm certain has never seen it, laughing uproariously at the quotes I'm firing back and I think we are collectively kind of scaring the lone, slightly haggard check out lady with our enthusiasm. He's bellowing "Up top sister!!" and offering me his hand, over and over. He's vowing to wear his Walter Sobchak outfit from Lebowskifest to my next bout and I'm telling him about the purple Jesus Quintana costume I made Alan for Halloween a few years ago. We have bonded instantly, he proclaims himself my number one fan. Minutes later, I'm getting in my car and he runs over to give me yet another high five.

Mistakes, Moments and Beginning Again

She picked up momentum and body checked me with all her weight as we were coming around the corner. I  wasn't low enough, heard her kind of growl, my breath exit me with me with an "ogghhhh" and somehow I ended up backwards with an excellent view of everyone's skates and a few fishnetted legs coming at me. "Ooooo look at that girl's sweet toe guards, wow, this floor is very shiny, keep your hands in fists so nobody runs over your fingers, thank goodness I wore the padded shorts tonight, and oh wow I'm going over backwards now" are the things that rushed through my head in the 2-3 seconds I had to get up as I executed some type of crazy backwards ninja roll, got up on my toe stops, and sprinted off to try and catch up with the pack.

May 19 was my first bout. And it was extraordinary.  I relished every moment of it.  I am head over heels (literally) in love. Can't wait for this Sunday, when we get to go again. From the warm up to the afterparty, one of the best nights of my life, full of moments that will forever make me smile. These women are amazing, they and these experiences enrich my life in multitudes of ways.

Speaking of in love, I sold my bike and a ton of baby stuff and got new skates and wheels. My starter skates were a bit too large and on top of that they had stretched out so much that each time I picked my leg up to cross over I could feel them drop slightly off my foot and my toes shift side to side as well as forward and back inside the boot. It was really awful, and beginning to cause me significant back and leg pain. I sold them as well and am now in a ridiculously amorous, borderline fetishistic relationship with my new ones and my new wheels. Alan just laughs (perhaps a bit uneasily) at me as I come home, clean my wheels and toast my new loves, sticking my nose deep into them, sniffing the soft leather, repeatedly proclaiming my love and fondling the sweet stripes on the sides. At some point I will probably grace you all with a ode or perhaps a love sonnet to my skates, so please stay tuned for that excitement.

I was lucky enough to have a few awesome pictures taken by our league photographer. I will cherish these as I do several taken when I was dancing in Pittsburgh and one of me bald in my gi, breaking a board with my hand in Washington Square park when we lived in New York and were studying karate. What's similar about all these prized photos is that I can remember those moments with absolute clarity, and looking at them allows me to relive some pretty powerful experiences.

photo by Laura Leonard Fitch

It's my mindset in the  shot on the right that I love. I know exactly when it was taken, what I was thinking. There were no second guesses, my usual string of worries and self flagellation were absent. I was uncharacteristically calm, completely in the moment. I was feeling my feet in my new skates, my sit bones on the chair, the huge industrial fan blowing on my back on that wickedly hot day, enjoying the movement of my breath, taking it all in, completely immersed in the moment. I wasn't dwelling on the past, attempting to plan the future. I was there, fully present in that chair, not even slightly worried about the kids. It was a moment solely for me. Alan printed this photo and it hangs on the wall over our kitchen table. I look at it daily, especially during the hectic times and remind myself that it's possible, I'm still capable of calm, focus and clarity in moments of chaos.

Speaking of hectic moments....

Perhaps it's an overshare, but if I am able to think about it objectively I feel this story is hilarious and pretty much too disgusting not to share.

Our latest endeavor is toilet training the boy. We have graduated him to awesome underwear (which is adorable and I am including photos) except during his nap and overnight. After about a day he pretty much got it down.

Today he decided it was imperative that he hold his full sippy cup and drink while he was peeing, so he could "watch the water drain out of him." Not yet having my second coffee and too exhausted to argue I stupidly agreed to this. He usually wants me to squat next to him and hold his hand when he's aiming. Moments later the cup drops into the toilet with a huge PLOP and I am the recipient of a face and shirt full of boy pee and toilet water. I'm fairly comfortable with playing the fool, so I feel inclined to also mention that my mouth was open, mid-sentence praising him for his achievements.

Bumbling. Confused. Slow witted. Lacking confidence and unable to make quick decisions. These are just a few ways I would describe my daytime persona. My main focus each day is to prevent the children from damaging themselves, defusing tantrums, deciphering what has caused them to inexplicably freak out and creating distractions to prevent it from happening again. The amount of brain power and energy this requires leaves little focus for much else.

By the time 5 PM rolls around and I'm on the way to pick up Alan I'm exhausted, in need of a glass of wine and ready to lay down. The days I have derby practice I often question where the heck I'm going to find the energy and mental clarity to go and participate. Although these thoughts flutter about like ominous, party pooping gargoyles in my completely hazy brain, I manage to gather and pack my gear with the boy sitting on the bed and meticulously, thoughtfully choosing my derby socks. I can honestly say once I am there and skating they vanish. Things become clearer. I find my breath, discover untapped energy.

Clarity of thought. Focus. Staying in the moment. The ability to begin again. These are things I've been studying a large portion of my life, with dance, Alexander Technique, karate, parenthood and now roller derby. The "beginner's mind" our karate sensei spoke about in depth and my Alexander training are are both so pertinent to learning derby. It's incredibly easy to get stuck on mistakes I've made in the last 2-minute jam or second guess parenting choices. This habit totally interferes with my ability to be fully available to respond to situations in the next moment and I realize it is present in most activities I am involved in.

One of the best parts of a scrimmage or bout is that every 2 minutes or every time we get up we are able to start over with a new jam, a different strategy. If we allow it, this game structure enables us to acknowledge (but not dwell on) what wasn't so great about the past one, build on what we did well, wipe the toilet water off our faces, and begin again.