Black Belt Mama

The Ultimate Martial Arts Insult

It is the ultimate insult if you're a martial artist, to be told that you attend a "mcdojo."  It's a nasty word in the martial arts, and one that can instantly start a debate.  To be accused of spending your time and money on something the equivalent of packaged french fries is just plain infuriating; yet it happens all the time, especially on the internet where computer keyboards can be the equivalent of a seriously nasty sucker punch.   

So, what is the official definition of a "McDojo"?  According to Wikipedia, the definition of a McDojo is used to "describe a martial arts school where image or profit is of a higher importance than technical standards."  It can also be described as this: "While using the term McDojo primarily indicates judgment of a school’s financial or marketing practices, it also implies that the teaching standards of such school may be much lower than that of other martial arts schools, or that the school presents non-martial arts training as martial arts."  Finally, a third trait of a "McDojo" is this: "'McDojo' is also a reference to the proliferation of such schools in many communities in the United States and many other nations, in much the way McDonald's restaurants have proliferated." 

It always amazes me how easily the term "mcdojo" is thrown around the internet.  Someone finds a picture or a school website, is feeling insecure themselves, and they decide to start a virtual public stoning amongst their online friends sporting solely internet muscles. Picture of a woman in a gi while pregnant?  It has to be a mcdojo.  Pictures of kids learning martial arts.  Definitely has to be a mcdojo, right? 

Wrong.

There are plenty of schools out there who pop up, sign people up to long contracts, and then pack up and move elsewhere. But this isn't even really a "mcdojo."  This is just plain criminal. 

The truth about the term "mcdojo" is that it's subjective, and usually those slinging the mud are the ones who are most insecure about their own training and lineage, or those that have no legitimate training at all.  It's also a common insult among martial artists of differing styles.  Personally, I'm not interested in learning grappling and I am thankful that my particular style doesn't really rely on that as the root of our system.  But just because your style is almost 100% grappling doesn't mean it's a mcdojo and vice versa. There are different styles for different people. That certainly doesn't make your style, or mine, wrong.

While more contemporary martial artists think that old school traditional styles are a lot of hocus pocus and silly spiritual stuff, the truth is that many classical martial artists enjoy this aspect of it.  No, we're not participating in seances to bring back the dead masters and we don't think we walk on water either.  It's just that the precepts of our styles that centered around humility, respect, and self-analysis make sense to us and compliment what we're learning in the dojo. A style that teaches a martial art without expressly laying out parameters of when it's o.k. to use it, especially when teaching kids, is just plain irresponsible.  It's not hocus-pocus; it's just good old respect, and good martial artists highly value it.

Some of us are learning a martial art for self defense purposes while others just enjoy the martial arts for the peace it brings to their busy lives.  But what one person gets out of their martial art doesn't have to be the exact same thing that another person gets from theirs.  It's truly an individual experience for each person, one that shouldn't be insulted because it's not just like the one you do.  Sometimes the easiest thing to make oneself feel better is to put others down; but truly the more worth while thing to do would be to figure out why one feels the need to insult other people without knowing anything about them.  A little self-discovery never hurt anyone.

Is it frustrating to see 5-year old black belts walking around with bad attitudes to match?  Certainly.  But if you truly know the value of the belt wrapped around your waist, and more importantly what's in your head and your heart, then you must know that not all black belts are equivalent.  It's not how hard and fast you kick and punch.  It's not even how many kata you've collected in memory, or the color around your waist.  It's knowing that what you're getting from your dojo is quality, both physically and mentally, and more importantly what that all means to you. 

For me, the martial arts has never meant trying to pick apart what's wrong with everyone else, but rather the ways that I can improve myself whether it's kata, attitude or something else entirely.  How is this different from any other activity that one might do?  If you play soccer, you hope to become a better player and you enjoy the good feelings you get from practicing hard or playing a game to the best of your ability.  If you're a musician, you take joy and pleasure in learning a new piece of music and playing it well.  With every other activity that's out there, there is a mental reward for the physical hard work.  We don't think athletes and their post-game endorphins are hokey or silly.  The martial arts is really no different. 

Yet Again

Mr. BBM talked to our realtor this morning.  There's still no word on the wishy-washy non-deciding people who are making me more cranky than usual.  My realtor asked if we could have Open House number FOUR this weekend.  He says he'll be promoting it with a ton of directional signs, ads in the real estate and business sections of the paper and in the real estate weekly.  Plus, the signs will go up early in the week, as opposed to last time.

Mr. BBM told our realtor he'd have to ask me if it was o.k.  While still on the phone with him, he asked me and I made a face that could only mean one of two things: 1. I'm going to kill you now or 2. I'm going to kill you later.  Mr. BBM took that to mean that it was o.k. with me.  I guess I need to work on my "want to kill you" looks.

I'm sick and tired of cleaning my house like a mad woman so that random strangers (and lots of nosy neighbors-not those of you who read this blog) can come eat a handful of chocolates and traipse through my house with no intention of making an offer on it.  I'm tired of baking cookies for these people and scrubbing little areas of my house that no normal person would ever clean.  I'm sick of second-guessing everything about my house and feeling like our dream home is never going to happen. I'm trying to be positive and hopefully when the rain leaves this week, it will help me get in the right state of mind. 

Our contingency agreement expires again on Friday and although I'm fairly certain our builder will extend the agreement, I'm tired of stressing about it and worrying about when we'll be able to finally move.  Maybe instead of cookies, I should serve strong mojitos and beer and tell our realtor to bring along a mortgage person.  Maybe I should just make some jello shots instead.  Beer goggles are a proven fact with people; maybe it would work with pink counter-tops as well.

Frustrations and All

Last week, I left the girls alone in the living room for exactly two minutes so I could transfer clothes to the dryer.  In that small period of time, they managed to spill my entire glass of iced tea all over my white carpet.  I had to climb into the crawl space to retrieve the carpet cleaner, not an easy feat when you have one knee that can't be crawled on. 

While I was frantically putting together my little green carpet cleaning machine so that I could get the tea up before it left a permanent stain, I jammed the tip of my finger on the machine and thought I would lose my entire finger nail because of it.  While I was cleaning the carpet, the girls fled to their rooms to escape the dreaded loud carpet cleaner and a very unhappy Mommy.  When I went upstairs to talk to them about not running around the living room like it's a track meet, I discovered that they had broken the mobile that was still hanging from Lil C's bed, the mobile that I happen to have an unhealthy emotional attachment to.  I quietly walked to my bathroom and locked myself in there.  I needed a minute.  I needed a minute badly.

A couple days ago, my Mom and I took Lil C shopping.  While in the store, she ripped about 15 pairs of shoes off the racks in an attempt to distract us from the fact that she was pulling the tags off a pair of sunglasses and fleeing the store with them.  She may be two, but the girl knows what she wants and is apparently prepared to shoplift in order to get it.  As we held up various pieces of clothing she repeated over and over again, "I don't YIKE that dress."  It was a frustrating shopping trip.  Enough said.

Today, the girls gave me my Mother's Day presents, complete with a coupon book for chores around the house (the best gift ever as far as I'm concerned) and cards that they made themselves.  Lil C drew a picture inside the card for me.  When I asked her what it was a picture of, she said "That's a bandaid for your knee Mommy." 

I love these shoplifting, mess-making girls more than anything in the world. 

Happy Mother's Day.   

Make It Happen

We have one week before we need to ask our builder for yet another contingency extension.  Although I swore I would leave it up to St. Joseph, I can't deny the stress I'm feeling right now.  It's time for this to happen.  If they don't break ground soon, then we won't be in our new home by the time the new school year starts.  With switching schools being traumatic enough, I really don't want to make Big I start school at her new place late.  There are other options here, like her staying with my Mom who lives in that school district, but the most desirable outcome is to be in our new house in August. 

I had a thought today.  I emailed my realtor and told him I'd like to make an offer on my own house.  I'd like to offer $1.  I'll even put 50% of that down in the form of hand money.  Does that count?  Can he now go tell the realtor with the very-interested-but-still-dragging-their-feet-people that there is another offer to make them move?  I'm tired of waiting; these people are killing me and if they think for one second that they're going to get our place at a bargain (which it already is) just because they made us wait, they can forget it.  I'm getting more annoyed with every day that passes and they continue to ask stupid questions that we've already answered previously instead of just putting it in writing.  An annoyed BBM is not likely to be kind with a counter-offer.  An annoyed BBM is not likely to be kind, period.

It baffles me that they won't put it on paper (It also baffles me as to why David Archuleta's ears always seem to be backlit during his performances on American Idol, but that's for another post). When we saw this house, we fell in love. We went one day, saw it for a second time the next day and put an offer in that night.  If they love it as much as they say they do, then put it in writing already!

We're not desperate to move.  In fact, Mr. BBM will tell you that he's quite content to just stay here now that we have a new kitchen floor, new carpet, and a freshly stained deck.  It feels and looks new, especially with the way I've been cleaning and organizing. I, however, don't want to lose my new house, which is right now a grassy lot, a grassy lot where I've already chosen my colors, built my house, moved in, take jacuzzi baths, and have hosted Christmas festivities.  I'm so attached to that lot and my imagined house that I think I will die of jealousy if someone else gets that lot and builds their house on it instead of me building mine.

Making Peace with the Morning

I don't do mornings.  I mean, if I have to, I will.  Three days a week, it's my responsibility to get Big I on the very early bus.  The days when it's not?  I'm praying that Lil C sleeps in until at least 9. 

So, when I was told last week that I had to schedule my physical therapy early in the morning since the office will be closing for the afternoon on one of my days, I begrudgingly made my appointment and told myself one day wouldn't kill me.  It's true.  One day wouldn't kill me, but one day quickly turned into two days when I showed up early today (not the day I was supposed to show up early).

My PT looked at me kind of funny when I walked in.  "What?" I asked him, "not used to seeing me in the morning or do I look that bad?" 

He laughed and said, "No, it's just that you're not supposed to be here until after 3 today." 

"But you have a half day today!" I said.

"That's Friday," he said and laughed some more.

I hate exercising in the morning and now I'm going to have to do it twice in one week.  Apparently I'm trying to kill myself. 

I spent the entire weekend slacking on my exercises.  I figured that my dancing to one Prince song and "In Da Club" was exercise enough.  I was sore after that, even though I mainly danced on one leg (Nothing can hold me back when Prince comes on). 

What I found out this morning is that morning exercise actually loosens the knee up a whole lot better than my normal daily routine of walking back and forth from the kitchen for more coffee.  In fact, I doubt I even needed more coffee when I got home because I'm wide awake.  There's nothing quite like a brisk walk on the treadmill to get you going. 

I'm not saying this is going to become a routine thing, and I definitely won't say I'm happy about having to wake up and go work out on Friday morning too.  I'm just saying that maybe mornings and I can agree to be friends.

***There are some new reviews up on The BBM Review for everything from Norton Security programs to Cranergy drinks.  Go and check them out.  If you know someone obsessed with the Jonas brothers, head over there, click on the sidebar and enter for your chance to win tickets to see them live. 

Blogebrities

Going to Tequila Con this past weekend was kind of like hanging out in Hollywood.  There were blogebrities everywhere you looked.  Some of them, you instantly recognized as in "OMG, that's Secondhand KARL!" or "There's Blogography and he looks just like he does on his blog!".  Then there were those times when you knew you should know someone but you just couldn't place the face or the blog.  It was kind of like when I went to England in high school and the little guy from Das Efx and RedMan were staying in our hotel for the entire week, yet I didn't figure out who they were until the day we were leaving, and only after our chaperones had explicitly warned us to stay away from those scary people.

Tequila Con, like the Cheers bar, was the place where everyone knew your name (You were wearing it like a billboard on a lanyard all night so it was fairly obvious).  There was no catty business like in usual social situations (at least none that I'm aware of) and everyone was super nice and complimentary. 

Karl told me he loved my shoes and won my heart.  Others asked me about things I had written about months ago, or checked in on the status of the knee.  There were people there that I was just getting to know, but many of these people knew me.  It was definitely a weird feeling.

I often talk to my college friends about how cool they are, and how no matter how much time passes or what's going on in our lives, when we get together we always have wine, I mean fun. Leaving Tequila Con on Saturday night was like leaving yet another very cool group of new friends who felt like old friends.

For years, I scolded my sister about meeting people online (In my defense, she only met losers online).  So, when I told my family I was going to meet a bunch of bloggers, I could see their hesitation and a flash of concern.  But meeting everyone that I met at Tequila Con showed me that there are some really incredible people out there, and a whole host of bloggers to fix my sister up with if things don't work out with her current guy. 

Up to the Saints

Although I spent a ridiculous amount of time at Tequila Con trying to convince Dustin to buy my house instead of searching on the west coast where things are overpriced, somehow I don't think he was buying.  At one point I'm fairly certain I even offered to shoot him the MLS listing for my house.  I may have even thrown out the words: "two gas fireplaces" and "hardwood floors" in between drinks and tater tots. I met lots of cool people at Tequila Con, but sadly, I could not sell my home while there.

So, I did what every desperate home seller does these days.  We loaded the entire BBM family into the van and headed to the Christian bookstore across town to buy a statue of Saint Joseph to bury him in our front yard (Don't believe it works? Click and learn).  The entire drive home, Big I kept telling us it wasn't going to work until I read her the instructions:

1.  Ask St. Joseph for help.

2.  Believe that he will help.

3.  Now place him on your property and stop stressing the hell out already.

(O.k., Step 3 is slightly embellished but you get the idea.)  As we drove up our street, she agreed to believe and we started chanting, "I do believe in St. Joseph, I do! I do!" Peter Pan style. We said our prayers out on the sidewalk and Big I even offered to help bury him out there.  Once the house sells, you're supposed to dig him up and place him inside the new home in a place of honor. 

If this works I will build that little guy a shrine, and I don't even know how to build.

Somehow I'm wondering if threatening to bury your realtor upside down on his head wouldn't have the same effect on getting your house sold?  I'm just wondering.

Meeting Real Live Bloggers: Tequila Con 2008

Last night, Mr. BBM and I met some real live bloggers face to face.  They did not disappoint.  This was my very first Tequila Con and it did not disappoint either.  I had plans to make a photo essay out of the whole night, but then I realized that we had over 40 pictures, and there was just no way I could upload them all here.  So, if you'd like to see the photographic evidence of our very good time, you can go here.  This is where everyone will be uploading their own pictures of Tequila Con.  I've added a few below, just for fun.

I spent the entire night laughing and smiling almost non-stop. My sides and face hurt by the time it was all over. It really was that much fun. The planning crew, Dave, Jenny, Dustin, Vahid (please forgive me if I'm missing someone) were so welcoming and sweet.  We got custom lanyards, pins to add some bling, and even a soundtrack that is just plain awesome (I thought I was the only person who liked S-S-S-S-Samantha Fox). 

Just a couple highlights from the night:

-Sneaking into the DJ booth ninja style armed with song requests and $10 along with the help and support of Jenny and Dee Dee.

-Adam teaching me about the joys of being able to bring Karl's posts to life even in a bowling alley.

-Hanging out with Hello Ha Ha Narf and Vahid.

-Meeting Karl which, well, words can't even begin to describe.

 

-Watching Dustin break out the Tequila costume and then work the room like a pro.

-Kicking Dave's butt, because he put in a special request.

 

-Meeting one of my favorite readers, Delmer and his friend with very cool shoes Donna!

-Meeting Lisa and her husband and Hilly.

-Being in the presence of Miss Britt doing just about anything, but especially dancing.

-Comparing PT notes with Rachel.

-Trying to make the case for Pete and Mike being serial killers.  They're so totally not.

-Saving Dan at Chucklehut for last, and even sharing a cab back to our respective hotels.

It was great to meet so many fantastic people.  Looking back over the list of attendees today, I can't believe all of the ones I didn't get to meet last night.  I guess there's always next year!

   

Back on the Floor

I drove Big I to karate tonight and I couldn't help but think that in just a few weeks, I could be training again.  I was daydreaming about what it will feel like to tell everyone "I'm back!"  I have not set foot on the training floor since my injury in October.  It's been a really long time.

As I entered the dojo tonight, my teacher commented about how well I was walking around.  I told him that I'm getting there and hoping to return (slowly) in June.  Somehow the conversation turned to Sanchin.  I said I didn't know it and he said he would teach me.  I thought it would be from the sidelines.

I was having a conversation with another Mom in the dojo when Hanshi summoned me from the upstairs training floor.  He told me take my shoes off and come out on the floor.  I took my shoes off, threw my jacket and purse on the bench and walked out.  It felt really strange being back on the floor, but even more so in jeans. 

Hanshi explained Sanchin and talked about the meaning of the number "three" within our system and how it relates to pretty much everything in our style.  And then we started.  In a casual stance, I stood there and worked on Sanchin breathing.  Then we added hand motions.  When it was time to get into the Sanchin stance, I just kept my feet facing forward and didn't worry about my stance.  I spent about 40 minutes out on the floor walking through Sanchin with the rest of the class, careful not to pivot on my knee or do anything that would cause a problem. 

I wanted to be completely immersed in learning Sanchin but I couldn't help but think about my knee almost constantly.  I tried to get into a good nai hanchi stance but it was really difficult to do.  Like squats, I continue to put more weight on my right leg, not yet trusting my left knee to keep up with the right.  I knew I was going to need some work on basics again but I had no idea how much.

I also tried to stand in cat stance with my weight on my left leg and that was nearly impossible and painful.  My knee cap area just started to ache and I backed off.  At one point while standing there, I started to think about how good it felt to be back out there again; but then I almost welled up with tears thinking about how difficult a journey it's going to be to get back to where I used to be. 

The reality that it is going to take me months just to get my body to do the basic things that it used to do without thinking is hitting me hard tonight.  After knocking out all the things I couldn't do at home, like carrying Lil C up and down the stairs and even something so simple as alternating steps when going up and down, I mistakenly believed I was almost there.

Going back to karate is going to pose an entirely different set of challenges.  Tomorrow, when I go to PT, I'm going to talk to my physical therapist about the stances I'll need to use and ask him to help me get there.  I realized tonight that the mental aspect of coming back is going to be the hardest part, but the physical part isn't going to be a cake walk either. 

Verdict

They love our house.  We're their favorite.  Are you sensing a "but"?  Because there is one. 

They are first time home-buyers and they want to see every other possibility in the whole wide world before they decide we are the right house for them.  This does not mean they don't want our house; they do.  They just want to be 100% sure and they can't be if they've only seen eight other properties.  While they continue to peruse the universe, they want to be notified immediately if another offer comes in on our house. 

I might be slightly exaggerating about the number of homes they intend to see; but I am a woman on the edge here.  I am a woman who is seriously sick and tired of vacuuming morning, noon and night and constantly putting dishes and clothes away.  I am a woman on official bed-making strike.  I am done. . .

. . .until we get another call for a showing and then I'll turn right back into Martha again, spelling out "buy me now" in the carpet with the vacuum and baking perfect chocolate chip cookies that the girls aren't even allowed to smell.

In the interest of completely changing the subject so that my breathing can return to normal once again, what does one wear to Tequila Con 2008?  Because I have no idea, and somehow I'm imagining that asking Karl might be a bad idea.