Falling in Love with Karate

Wado Ryu Karate is a journey I started back in 2007 while living in Yokohama, Japan.  My son was 8 years old and I was looking for a physical activity for him to get him moving and active.  There was an advertisement on the Navy base for a karate class, so I decided to go check it out.  I expected to enroll him in the class and let the shuttling commence.  To my surprise, I found there was only one student.  My son joined the class and the sensei invited me to join them as well.  I "tried out" the class and found I really enjoyed it.  Being there to encourage my son was awesome and it felt like something we could grow in together.

The man who taught our class was Sensei Obuaki Ohta.  Ohta-sensei was only about as tall as me and was probably 55-65 years old.  He only spoke basic English terms, most of which were limited to "kick" and "punch."  He would model the kata movements and I would follow after him.  I spoke some Japanese and was able to ask him if I was doing it okay.  Invariably, I was certainly not doing it okay.  He would come over and move my arm, push me into a deeper stance, or adjust my hand or foot placement.  

One day, Ohta-sensei watched me run through my kata and he made a correction to one part.  Focusing intently on that one correction, I tried again.  When I got through, I had corrected that deficiency, only to have him come to me and slightly adjust my thumb.  At that moment, I realized I would never arrive.  Suddenly it became clear to me how a person could work their whole lives to perfect their craft and never fully master it.  This commitment to craft and perfection approached with humility, reached deep into my soul.  

I felt an intense connection and respect for my sensei.  Attending class excited me and I pushed myself.  He invited me to test on two occasions during my time in Japan.  Both times, my son and I were the only non-Japanese people in the whole auditorium.  We were not fluent, so we depended on non-verbal cues and our limited Japanese skills to follow the flow of the students and the guidance of the judges.  We were thrilled to be a part of the culture, both of the country and the sport.  

Unfortunately, our time was too short.  When I was 8 weeks pregnant with my twins, I took my 2nd test but was not allowed to spare for obvious reasons.  By 10 weeks, I had to stop my karate lessons and wound up moving to Okinawa to be near the neonatal intensive care unit in case I had pregnancy complications.  Leaving my training behind was difficult and I longed to return.  Trying to juggle the demands of twins, homeschooling my then 10-year-old son, caring for three dogs, and dealing with everything while my husband was deployed left little time for karate, so I wound up not returning to my beloved sensei and the sport I loved so well.  When the twins were 7 years old, we wound up moving back to the United States.

Back in North Carolina, I searched for a dojo in the Wado style, with no success.  There simply was no option anywhere near us.  I considered another school of karate and opted not to pursue that.  My heart was with Wado.  Children, family life, homeschooling, graduate school, and military retirement kept me busy.  Eventually, I became a working mom as well.  Like this, life continued, and ultimately we relocated back to Texas to finally be closer to family after 25 years away.  

Landing in Dallas, Texas, with twins who were now 9 years old, I began to wonder if we might be lucky enough that there would be a dojo near us that taught Wado.  A quick Google search revealed the Academy of Classical Karate in Plano.  With tremendous excitement, I dove into their website and made a plan to visit. 

Walking into the dojo felt a bit like going home.  I was beyond excited and as I stepped into the class, I felt some muscle memory dusting off the cobwebs.  Because the kids were in the youth class, I was able to join the parents' class and wound up surrounded by others who were equally invested in their kids and karate.  These were not your run-of-the-mill parents.  I had not trained with others my age and it was thrilling to be a part of a larger training group, though I honestly had no real idea of what I was getting us into.

Our dojo is the best dojo in the United States.  I didn't know it at the time but two of the twins' instructors were soon to be members of the first USA Olympic Karate Team.  From the excellence in athletes that the dojo produces, to the world-class coaches, to the opportunity to be a part of the WIKF Texas team, our dojo is firing on all cylinders.  All of this said, what speaks to me most is how committed the coaches are to developing athletes of character.  

The Academy of Classical Karate has 5 Traits of a Karate-ka: Humility, Integrity, Self-Control, Courage, and Courtesy.  I'm so grateful to have others reinforcing this in our kids as well.  We used to stop at the dojo door after every class and I would make the kids recite these principles before leaving for the day.  These are excellent concepts I know will continue to grow in them as they train and deepen their love of both karate and their dojo family.  Many of the people who have been training here have invested 20-25 years of their lives doing so.  The roots go deep and the branches are broad.  I'm thrilled to be a small part of such an incredible group of people.

Finding Hope in 2021

Rolling into a New Year tends to stir a heart to contemplate new beginnings. We consider all the history of our past year and ponder what lay ahead. The last year has certainly been a difficult challenge for us all and we look forward to better times. Before we move too quickly into the New Year, it's important to consider one lesson isolation taught us in 2020 - we need each other.

The TAPS family has always said “we are stronger together” and it is true.  Going it alone at the most difficult times of our lives puts more strain on us, robbing us of encouragement that could soften the journey.  We draw strength from one another, sharing the burdens of our hearts, and in doing so, begin to believe we can make it through - and hope is born.  

We begin to expect with confidence that our days will get easier, in part because we see others overcoming similar circumstances and they are still standing and striving.  That model of survival and resiliency is at the heart of TAPS.  It is a gift that we receive and what we each hope to someday give away - the belief that we each will endure.  

Hope is powerful and reciprocal.  We receive it and we ultimately reach a point where we can give it as well. Often these are happening at the same time as we grow in relationship with one another.  When you are down in the throes of grief, there is no better person to have as your company than someone who has also navigated these paths.  This is true in life and in loss.  TAPS Peer Mentors offer you the healing hand of friendship, bearing witness and encouraging you along the way. And they receive a beautiful gift in return, as we search for meaning after loss and often find purpose through lifting others up.    

As you move into 2021, know that sharing your story and your struggles allows others to join with you in a way that deepens our bonds as a family of survivors.  Perhaps you are new to your loss and would like companionship to keep you company as you heal. 

Maybe you are feeling stronger now and are ready to “pay it forward” by supporting another person with the same support you have received.   

Wherever you find yourself at this moment, you are a vital part of the TAPS family and we invite you to connect with us in a deeper way in the new year.  Together we will step into 2021, keeping hope alive.

She Scratched Me!

Just a moment ago, my husband and I heard a rather blood-curdling scream coming from our 3 year-old twins' bedroom.  They were supposed to be going to sleep.  Daddy ran up the stairs and burst into the room in time to hear our son say, "She scratched me!"

My husband looked at our daughter, whose bed is across the room from her brother's, and said, "How did you scratch him from your bed?"

Our daughter didn't skip a beat when she very confusedly said, "I didn't scratch him with my bed."

I love my kids' language skills!    

Cornyhorn

The twins were lying down to take their naps when there was a brief discussion about a pink pony one of them received for Christmas.  My son was feeling sad and I held the pink pony up to his face and pretended it was licking him.  He began to feel better, so I turned my attention to my daughter.  As I was tucking her in, she said, "Mama, I thought it was a cornyhorn."  I chuckled and smiled so big that I nearly teared up.  She did the same and I gave her sugars.  I said, "Do you mean unicorn?"  We chuckled together for a few moments and the moment passed.  I don't know how many more of those I have, but I don't want to miss any of them.   

Preparing for IVF: 16 Days and Counting

We are starting the IVF process again to try and have a sibling for my niece.  It worked out so beautifully the first time.  God truly blessed my sister and brother-in-law with a beautiful little girl inside and out.  She's such a happy girl.  I'm going to do my best to document the process, hopefully even better than I did the last time.

About two weeks ago, I began birth control pills (Reclipsen) so that I would have a period and the clinic could put me on a proper medication schedule.  After nine days, I developed a severe headache and nausea related to the Reclipsen and our doctor took me off the meds.  The clinic told me to inform them if I had a bleed anytime within the following week.  Turns out we didn't wait long - two days later I started my period.  That was three days ago.

After starting my period, I began applying estrogen patches to my abdomen, which have to be changed every other day.  The patches will increase in number over the next two weeks as we near the transfer date, but I will need to use them for a total of 64 days.  The transfer is 16 days from now and counting.

We aren't just counting the days down - there is much to do!  My sister is working on all the legal details and travel plans.  She is preparing all the paperwork the Jones Institute requires to do the IVF: contract, consent forms, etc.  It is quite a process.  She and my brother-in-law, and my husband and I all have to be HIV-tested as well.  Though we haven't had to go through a psychological evaluation this time around, the first time before becoming pregnant with my niece, we all had to sit down together and interview with a psychologist, who then had to send a psychological fitness report to the clinic.  Thankfully, the whole process this time is easier, especially since we no longer live in the Norfolk area where the clinic is located.

With homeschooling the kids, my husband in school and working, and me also in school, the time is sure to fly by.  I hope to still have plenty of time to share meaningful moments, details of IVF surrogacy, and any challenges along the way. 

Toddler Epiphanies

Lisse says to Daddy.
"Daddy, I have a idea!"
Daddy, totally riveted, waits for an impressive piece of knowledge.
Lisse. . . "Your head belongs to your face!"

Sometime later. . .
Lisse runs face first into the hutch.
"Ouch!"  (Rubbing her head.)  "Daddy, I keep getting owies!"
Daddy. . . "Well, your head belongs to your face."

I will never get tired of observing 3 year-olds using language.  LOL

Late Night Sugars

I have to admit that once the kids go to bed at night I really enjoy having time to myself.  Invariably though, the quiet never lasts for long as I hear the creak of the floor and the pitter-patter of little feet on the ceiling.  There have been too many times I've hollered up the stairs, "Get in your bed!"  Not long ago, I decided to stop whatever was so important (dishes, e-mail, laundry, movie watching, etc.) and trudge back up the stairs to address why they were yet again out of their beds after lights out.  Tonight was one such occasion, and here is how it went. . .

Pitter-patter, creak, creak. . . up the stairs, I'm barely in the door of their mostly dark room and I hear a little voice softly say, "Hi, Mama."  I knelt by his bed and as he lay back on his pillow, he said, "I check Sissa and she is sleeping."

"Why did you need to check Sissa," I asked?

"I need sugars."

"Oh, okay."  He swung his little feet to the floor and crept over to her bed.  I rested my hand on her in the dark and could feel him reach down with his little hands to find her face.  The slightest smack of his lips was all I could hear as he gently gave her sugars on her left cheek before climbing back into his bed.

I leaned over and held him in an easy hug, whispering in his ear how much I love him.  "Can I give you sugars, Bubba?"

"Yes."

"Can you go night night now?"

"Yes."

Moments later I am now back at my computer and the house is calm and quiet again.  For now they may argue and fight over this toy or that or disagree feverishly about whether or not to watch Dora or Octonauts, but one day I will share this story with his sister and she will know how much he has always loved her.  And never again will I pass up an opportunity to share those late night moments with my kids.  These days will too soon pass.

What Matters Today & Tomorrow

What Matters Today

doing my dishes, over and over

washing, folding, and putting away the clothes

dropping off and picking up my son from silversmithing class

checking my e-mail

cooking meals...and planning more

walking the dogs

grocery shopping

cleaning the house 

paying bills

organizing next week's school schedule

telling them to stop talking and eat their food, stop arguing. . .

What Matters Tomorrow

watching Blues Clues

stopping to pet all the dogs at the park

strumming the threads of the spider web

watching the creek flow under the bridge

running under the red "magnets" (arches) at the park

stopping to admire the bamboo. . . and talk about pandas

wiping his runny nose, again and again

taking time for hugs and sugars to stave off a tantrum

celebrating with my son as he shows me his first silver creations

not making mountains out of molehills

telling them about Jesus

Caught Longing

They sat staring out at the rain, cradling double-handled cups of their afternoon snack in their hands.  Grapes, they love grapes.  You would think it was a cold winter day, though it was more than 80 degrees outside.  In between mouthfuls they alternated between chasing one another around the house and pleading to go outside.  By the time the rain relented, dinner was nearly finished cooking.  This is how it goes with time. . . it simply gets away, often while we are consumed with the minutia of life.  They do not have a monopoly on longing, but on this day theirs is all that matters.  

How could I not have engaged their little dreams.  My sister reminded me of a time not so long ago when I threw-off my bonds of dullness and traipsed through the rain with my oldest son, just because we could.  We were soaked to the bone and loved every rain-drenched minute of it.  

I can't get so caught in the routine 

that I don't allow myself to get caught up in the moment.  

The photo is my reminder.

Lest you think otherwise, this is what lay on the other side of those little hoods. . . that mischievous little grin melts my heart.

Revenge of the Apple Festival

Last night our family attended the Apple Festival and Campfire.  We headed out early thinking we would grab a nice dinner together before heading to Rock Creek Regional Park.  It was a good thing we left home early since the DC traffic was horrid.  By the time we got near the park there was little time to enjoy a leisurely dinner, so we opted to stop in to Chipotle for a quicker bite to eat, although it was hardly quick as we were stuck behind an apologetic woman who was placing an order for an army.  While waiting our turn, we had a spontaneous conversation with a lovely Irish lady with a great accent - a conversation that could hardly be avoided since the twins stood two feet in front of her, staring up at her with unblinking eyes.  For some reason, she was a spectacle to them.  Interestingly, I routinely find myself commenting to yet another stranger that they would think my children have never seen other people for how often they stare holes through them.  Thankfully, the twins normally receive a warm reception, which invariably yields smiles and giggles all the way around.

Upon inhaling our dinner, we were out the door, not quite sprinting to the van, but just nearly as we wanted to have as much time as possible to play before sunset.  Certain of my directions, I set out with Koen as my navigator.  My first indication of a problem came when "you have reached your final destination" only to find it was a dead end with only a bicycle path entrance to the park.  Scratching my head, I surmised that I had only to continue driving the park perimeter, which logically should reveal the proper entrance.  Yeah, well. . . this is a rather large park.  After ten minutes of testing my apparently faulty logic, I pulled over and double checked my address.  It turned out I had input the general park address, but not the park's nature center address.  Problem solved, we put on our racing caps and sped off (a whole 5 miles over the speed limit) to the correct address.  We were thrilled to finally get to the festival. . . and only 30 minutes late.

Everyone piled out of the car ready for fun and me with my camera in hand to capture it all.  First stop was the trunk, where I pulled out my handy dandy bug spray.  We were after all entering what appeared to be a 72 acre jungle.  I have to admit I was proud that for once I had remembered to bring the insect repellent.  My kids were finally going to be bug free!  Imagine how loudly my bubble burst when after fighting with the can of bug spray, I had to abandon my attempts at shielding my kids from the mosquitoes because the sprayer was broken.  Well, at this point no one cared because they heard the music spilling through the trees from deep in the forest.  Lisse would have it no other way than to sprint toward the music, which we did.

After clearing the ticket table and repeatedly removing the display apples from Lisse's hands, we headed toward the sound of the banjo.  The kids pointed out every little thing along the way.  They certainly are city kids, but they're fast learners.  Taking out across an open field, they were squealing with joy.

It wasn't long before the field turned into a forest path and Lisse learned her first lesson about avoiding tree roots.  She took a rather dirty tumble, recovered quickly, and still blazed the trail ahead of the boys.

Finding our way into the center of the melee, we looked around and plotted our course of action.  First step, apple-tasting!  Gala and Honey Crisps were among the variety, but the one that caught our eye was the Smokehouse.  It was pretty tasty, as are all apples in our humble opinions - we are just an apple-eatin' family - however, Honey Crisp took the prize.  We then tried our hand at pressing apple cider, making apple pies, eating caramel apples, and creating Johnny Appleseed hats, all while listening to a talented, live bluegrass band singing mostly hymns.

At this point I would normally move on in the story, but I have to pause to contemplate the caramel apple.  Whoever came up with the caramel apple concept must have been a twisted individual, or at least not slightly OCD like me.  It took all of five seconds of watching everyone else walking around gnawing rather unsuccessfully on their miracle grow, massive apples to realize there must be a better way.  Like the perfect marriage of peanut butter and chocolate achieved by the Reese's peanut butter cup, I snagged an apple from the caramel apple stand and stepped ten feet over to the young man cutting apples at the tasting stand.  Voila!  You would have thought I was developing the cure for cancer as people stared at my sliced apples.  No really, didn't McDonald's figure this out not so long ago?  In all fairness, when you have a child who loves apples, but is cursed with braces, you have to improvise.

After all the aforementioned fun, we made our way to the campfire for marshmallow roasting, smores, and a viewing of the classic, animated Johnny Appleseed.  Everything was going well until Lisse melted down over wanting to eat her "marsho" before it was roasted.  She truly never relented on the issue until I took the initiative to create the smore and shove it in her mouth.  At that point, she was like Stitch when he was destroying Lilo's room and she placed the lei around his neck, at which point he fell over backwards and began purring in contentment.  Okay, so Lisse was not quite purring, but I'm fairly certain she reached toddler nirvana.  Nothing like sugaring up your kids just before bedtime.

With the festival itself shaping up nicely, I was quite content that I had provided my kids with such a wonderful opportunity to make a warm memory with Mama.  Feeling quite accomplished that I had achieved my goal, I convinced the kids to leave ahead of the crowd.  We even stopped on the way out of the nature center upon Lisse's request to ogle at the farmer, which is oddly what she persists in calling any red barn she sees.  On the way out to the parking area, she then spied a sign that read "NO VEHICLES."  She was beside herself, "Mama, LOOK!  It's AB's!"  We spent a couple minutes letting her and Karter trace the letters with their fingers.  These were moments of pure joy.

 

Heading out of the park on a slightly declining sidewalk, Lisse began picking up speed.  "Lisse be careful, slow dow. . ."  My words trailed off as she tripped forward, landed on her knees, and rolled forward onto her face, screaming.  Only five feet behind her, I snatched her up with speed and cradled her in my arms, shoving the front of her shirt into her mouth, having already seen the blood pouring from her lip.  There was little light left to the dusky evening and I jogged to the van carrying her, Koen trailing behind holding Karter by the hand and carrying our goodie bags, camera bag, and my cell phone and keys.  Koen was one step ahead of me and had the side door of the van open before I got there with Lisse.  I placed her in her car seat and tried to get a closer look at her face.  I was just realizing the extent of her lip injury when Koen blurted out that one of the bags had torn open and something had fallen out. . . in the dark.

 

Strapping the kids into their car seats, I quickly surveyed the remaining contents of the bag and realized the missing item was my cell phone.  Like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack, I began brushing my hands all over the tallish grass on the side of the road where we were parked.  By this time, there was nearly no light whatsoever.  Rather desperately wanting to find my cell phone so I could get Lisse home to doctor her wounds, I stopped a passing parent and asked him to call my phone, not realizing that Koen had his cell phone in his pocket.  As we all searched the grass, Koen called my phone, which was answered by a lady who had found it inside the park.  Koen sprinted back inside the park, secured my phone, and sprinted back to the van.  He had an even greater sense of urgency over the whole incident than I did, even gasping and recoiling with his hand over his mouth upon seeing the blood.  In his mind, we were experiencing an emergency.

Safely back in the van, he used my cell phone to navigate us back to where my internal map could take over and get us home.  Halfway home, Lisse began saying her nose and knee hurt as well, and I reassured her that I would be her doctor once we got home.  Karter quickly jumped on the doctor bandwagon, stating he was going to be Lisse's doctor too.  Minutes into that conversation Lisse stopped crying and said "I'm better now, Mama.  Can I be play a doctor too?"

It was all uphill from there as we finished our trek home, bathed the kids, and had some great play time before bed.  The looks on their faces tell it all.  They just love being together!  Koen adores them, they follow his every move, and they are all pretty much inseparable.  

In hindsight the whole evening could have perhaps been characterized as attending the "get stuck in traffic, shovel your dinner down your throat, get lost, rip your lip off, lose your cell phone" festival!  Thankfully, all these things were punctuated by warm, memorable moments. . . and the smores didn't hurt either.  Like many other days and circumstances, we lived to tell about it.  If such times can end in a photo like the one above of my three kids, I'll take whatever life throws at us.