Taekwondo Moms

Last summer, my niece Amanda introduced me to the TV show, "Dance Moms."  This reality series features mothers who are obsessed with their daughters' dance competitions.  I watched the show and laughed at the intensity of the mothers, made jokes about how they needed to find lives, and swore that I would never turn into a "dance mom."  Several days ago, I was running down the sidewalk between the Taekwondo studio and the grocery store, on my way to fetch a gallon of milk.  I caught a glimpse of myself in a store window and froze at the sight.  Some strands of my hair were literally sticking straight up in the air.  I tried to pat them into place, then, in desperation, licked my palm and tried to smash them down.  I sighed and tried to remember the last time that I had looked at myself in a mirror.  Then I was struck with a shocking reality.  I'm not a Dance Mom.  I'M A TAEKWONDO MOM !!!!!

Whoa. . . slow down.  How did this happen?  Wasn't Les the one who signed Cassie up for Taekwondo?  Wasn't that supposed to give them some quality father-daughter time?   But, in an odd role reversal, I've become the Taekwondo parent because, according to the girls, I can keep track of all the exercises.

So, exactly who are the Taekwondo Moms?  They are the mothers, fathers, grandparents and siblings who are slavishly devoted to their children's achievement of a black belt.  They have lost their own identities and are known as "Kayla's Mom," "Brandon's Mom," "Michael's Mom," and, of course, "Cassie's Mom."  The Taekwondo Moms sit patiently on wooden benches, watching class after class through large windows.  They launder uniforms and sew on patches.  They oversee healthy eating and the multitude of exercises that their children must complete outside of class.  They have entrusted the care of their homes and other children to their spouses.  If there was a reality series for Taekwondo Moms, it might go something like this.

Tuesday:  This week is especially crazy.  There are double Taekwondo classes scheduled to help the kids get ready for black belt testing.  For the first time ever, we skip a violin lesson because we simply can't do everything.  The first class is at 6:15.  Les and Lacey head for ballet as Cassie and I head for the "dojang."  

 The Taekwondo Moms are present.  I am feeling energetic and begin grading the stack of papers that I've brought along. We discuss the myriad of requirements that the kids must complete as we whip out the "orange books."  These books, officially known as "Candidate Packets," contain charts for all the exercises the kids must complete:  3000 push-ups; 3000 sit-ups; 6000 jumping jacks; run 30 miles; 300 minutes of punching; 300 repetitions of the forms; 1200 repetitions each of 8 different kicks for a total of 9600 kicks.  We compare notes.  I'm proud to see that Cassie is the farthest ahead because this Taekwondo Mom has been doing the exercises with her every day.

"That was 20 Front Snap Kicks," says one Mom, "Everybody got that?"

We nod as we scribble  to record these kicks in the books.

"Anybody recognize this kick?" asks one Mom.

"Crescent kick," I reply.  "Page 15."

One Mom asks if the other kids have scheduled their "demos."  This topic provokes a lot of stress.  The kids have to schedule a public demonstration and arrange for a Taekwondo instructor to observe.  Another Mom asks if other parents are taking time off from work for this.  It seems that most of us have successfully scheduled after school presentations.  One Mom says that she's still waiting for an email confirming that an instructor will be present.  She's worked so hard to schedule her child's demo and doesn't have the energy to find a new date.  One Mom complains that although she attended the parent orientation session twice, she still can't understand all the black belt requirements.  Another Mom stresses because her child's uniform is too small.  A new one will cost $50.  I commiserate - I just had to replace Cassie's helmet and now her sparring boots are too small.  

We turn our attention to the class. The kids are working on their forms.  None of them seem ready.  A senior instructor walks by and the Taekwondo Moms seize the opportunity to vent.  How are we going to get our kids ready?  After all the time we've spent here, why don't they know their form?  I glance at Cassie and hold my breath.  Is she going to execute each kick, punch, low front stance and back stance correctly?  Will the private lessons we've been paying for pay off?  "Come on, Cassie," I mutter.  I wince as she falters.  The three inch stack of papers I've been grading slides to the floor.  The toddler who's been running back and forth in front of us slips and falls on the papers, and begins drooling on top of them.  I bite my tongue.  After all, this toddler belongs to a tired, over-stressed Taekwondo Mom.  I glance back at Cassie to see that the class has moved on to something else.  

There is a break between classes.  The Moms shove snacks at their kids and try to squeeze in a few minutes of homework before the next class.  "Okay," I coach Cassie for tomorrow's Spanish test, "Repeat after me. .. Yo soy.  Tu eres."  

"Bo blacks, let's go!!!" an instructor yells.  The class moves to the back room where the temperature is about 55 degrees.  None of the Moms are prepared for this.  We huddle together trying to decide what to do.  Should we sit and shiver or wait out front?  We decide to stay.  After all, we need to continue recording exercises in the orange books.  As the evening wears on, parents of the younger children head for home.  Finally, the class is coming to an end.  The instructor seats the students on the floor and begins lecturing them about how they must practice if they want to be ready for graduation.  The weary Moms complain that there isn't any time left in the day for practicing.  We call, "See you tomorrow," and head for home.

9:00 p.m. finds me clinging to the kitchen counter doing kicks with Cassie.  "Okay, Cass," I pant, "100 knee highs, 100 back situps and 20 jumping front snap kicks and we will be finished!"

Wednesday:  The Taekwondo Moms assemble at 5:15.  We welcome "Ella's Mom" to our group.  She laughs and tells us that her husband can no longer take the stress.  We count the jumping jacks that the kids are doing so we can record these in the orange book. 

"I hope they work on their one steps," I begin.  "Cassie still doesn't know these."

"Yeah," chimes in another Mom.  "My kid still can't do these either.  You'd think after all the time and money we've spent here this wouldn't be so hard."

"Well," pipes up another Mom.  "I heard that at the last blackbelt testing, only 60 percent of the kids who tested actually made it!"

"Seriously?!" the rest of us gasp.  "What happens then?"

"Well," the first Mom explains, "I've heard that the kids have to do the whole orange book over again!"

"I'm not turning in my orange book until I know for certain that my kid is going to pass the testing." says one Mom.

"Yeah," we all chorus.

One Mom jumps up and pounds on the glass window of the studio.  "Focus!!" she hisses at her child.

The Moms begin speculating about how much money we could make if we had the capital to open a coffee shop in the neighborhood.  Think of all the parents who are sitting through ballet and gymnastics classes right at this moment, not to mention all the Taekwondo Moms!

I laugh and tell the other Moms that for the past week my kids have been living out of the laundry basket because I haven't had time to fold the clothes.  The Moms share their own similar stories.  One Mom volunteers that her husband has been paying for a maid service to clean their home.

"Must be nice," we chorus.

Another Mom admits that she has begun taking Taekwondo classes at night.  "It's so great to have something to kick at the end of the day!" she says.

The class is supposed to end at 6:00.  The next class is not until 7:00.  My plan is to take Cassie home to finish homework and eat dinner.  But, the class runs over by about 15 minutes.  We finally make it home only to discover that Les' Masterpiece Mac & Cheese isn't quite ready.  Cassie knocks out a few math problems, shoves some food in her face and we are out the door again.  I am tired and swerve to avoid a jogging neighbor.  (Sorry, Kurt.  I'll wave next time.)  When did it get dark?

The 7:00 class is again in the back room.  The Taekwondo Moms are equipped with winter jackets.  This class is especially critical because tomorrow the kids have their first pre-test.  There are five pretests scheduled and more whispered stories are circulating.  Was it actually 60% pass rate last time or did 60% of the kids fail?  I finally duck out for a few minutes and go in search of an instructor.  I can't take the stress.

"Listen," I demand, "How do I know if my kid is going to pass?"

"Don't worry," he smiles. "There's nothing to worry about."

I report back to the Taekwondo Moms, explaining that I had been assured we have nothing to worry about. But, we realize, if we have nothing to worry about then why do we have to go through five pretests?  We listen to our kids practice their "questions."  Each has been given a question and answer about Taekwondo that must be memorized.  One Mom watches her kid struggle and finally blurts out, "I can't take this.  You know your question!  Just do it!"  We eventually drag our kids home and I try to figure out how I'm going to get Cassidy's uniform ready for tomorrow.

Thursday:  Cassie is in a very bad mood.  She forgot her math homework and believes that her teacher unfairly ridiculed her.  Stress is high tonight because this is the first pretest.  We are again in the back room because this is supposed to give a more private setting.  One Taekwondo Mom opens the conversation by suggesting that we take our girls for a pedicure before the Black Belt ceremony.  "They need to look nice," she says.  "You know they are always barefoot here."

"Pedicure," I chuckle. "Yes, I think we are the ones who deserve a pedicure."

First up for the pretest is, of course, "Miss Cassie."  Why is it that the kid who is clearly the most nervous gets called first?

"Miss Cassie," the instructor intones, "Your form is Taegeuk Chil Jang,"

I hold my breath.  Cassie begins her form and completes it almost error free.  Phew!  The instructor puts his arm around her back and tells her to breath so that she doesn't faint.

"Miss Cassie, " the instructor booms, "What is your question?"

"Sir," she says, "My question is, 'Can you explain what makes power,' Sir.  Power is made by weight and speed . . . together with . . . relaxation.......ummmm......concentration..... and......uhhhh........confidence, Sir!"

The Taekwondo Moms violate protocol and erupt into spontaneous applause and cheering. 

I don't pay much attention to the rest of the class.  I'm just relieved that we have made it this far.

Finally class is over.  There is just one last command from the instructor.  "Turn and bow to your parents, " he insists.  "They are the ones who brought you here tonight."

This is Cassie's public demonstration.  Lacey was helping Cassie show the audience how to do a "take down."  Lacey was a good sport!

Hoot Owls and Handcuffs

The girls love Halloween and this year, they began talking about their costumes in July.  When I protested, Cassie reminded me that last year I had waited so long to order the costume she wanted that it was out of stock.    Two years ago, for Lacey's first Halloween, we had ventured into a Halloween specialty store and exited quickly because she was terrified.  That was how we began the order-costumes-by-mail tradition.  Because Lacey never had the opportunity to make choices, she still struggles when presented with options.  For her first Halloween, we had chosen a fairy costume.  Last year, we turned her into Mary Had a Little Lamb.  I decided that this year Lacey should be allowed to select her own costume.

We sat down with the catalog.  From the next room Les hollered, "No wings!"

Ahh, the problem with wings.  The wings to Lacey's fairy costume had refused to stay in place.  She spent Halloween looking like a swatted fly.  Last year, Cassie was a Phoenix.  The red and orange glitter from her wings is still embedded in my car seats.  I agreed that costumes should be wingless.

The girls flipped through the catalog once together.  "I want to be an owl," Cassie declared.  

"What's an owl?" asked Lacey.

"You know," said Cassie, "Whooo, Whooo!"

"No wings!" reminded Les.

"But, Daddy," explained Cassie, "The owl costume has soft fabric wings that are attached to it."

"Okay," Les agreed, "You can be an owl."

Twenty minutes later, Lacey was still poring over the catalog and my patience was beginning to seep away.

"How about Dorothy?" Cassie suggested.

"Don't know who that is," answered Lacey.

"How about Miss Muffet?" Cassie tried.  "Look how pretty the costume is!"

"What's a mismuffet?" asked Lacey.

"Oooooohhh!"  Cassie squealed, "Lacey, you'd be an adorable Red Riding Hood!"

"And, the costume would be so warm!" I added.

"Who's Red Riding Hood?" asked Lacey.

We sighed and continued turning pages.

"There," smiled Lacey.  "I like that!"

"Oh," I groaned.  "The little gnome costume would be perfect.  But, it only comes in toddler sizes.  Too bad."

"What about a ladybug?"  asked Lacey.

"No wings," yelled Les.

"What about a mermaid, Lacey?" offered Cassie.  "You know what a mermaid is."

"She'd never be able to walk in that costume," I concluded.

"What about a cowgirl?"  Cassie ventured next.  "I loved my cowgirl costume."

"What's a cowgirl?" asked Lacey.

"Hmm.... maybe she'd look good as Marie Antoinette," Cassie said.

"Cassie," I replied.  "You would like to be Marie Antoinette because you know who she is.  There isn't enough time to explain all that to Lacey and get her to be excited about it.  Anyway, she'd never be able to hold her head up wearing that huge wig!"

"Maybe I would like to be a cat," ventured Lacey.

"Well...." I said as I examined the picture of the cat costume, "It's awfully skimpy.  And, before you ask what skimpy means, I will explain that you would freeze in that costume.  If it's cold, you would have to put a jacket over it and nobody would be able to see the costume."

"I kind of like this one," Lacey pointed.

"A watermelon fairy?" Cassie giggled.  "Lacey, if you ring doorbells dressed like that do you really think people will know what you're supposed to be?"

"No wings!" grumbled Les.

"This is kind of cool," Lacey pointed again.

"The same goes for 'galaxy princesses,'" Cassie explained.  "Lacey, part of the fun of a costume is when people recognize who or what you're supposed to be."

Lacey continued turning down our suggestions.  She had never heard of a go-go dancer or a Pink Lady.  She didn't see why Cassie though a poodle skirt was cute.  No to any food costumes, including the hotdog, popcorn, pizza slice and cupcake costumes. I said no to the cave girl, simply because I knew she'd freeze.  

Suddenly, Lacey's face lit up.  "I know what I want to be!" she exclaimed.  "A policeman."

"Oh my gosh, Lacey, that's perfect for you!" Cassie cheered.

As I got ready to place the order, I asked Lacey why she had chosen to be a police officer.

"I can put the handcuffs on Cassie," she grinned and ran off.

Well, Lacey still has a lot to learn about American culture.  And, she still has trouble making decisions.  But, this Halloween promises to be exciting.

A Short History of Heinz

Two weeks ago, on a beautiful, late summer afternoon, the girls were in the backyard when a little bundle of fur arrived from out of nowhere.  It came leaping and bounding and squirming and purring.  It wrapped itself around the girls' legs and attached itself to their hearts.  I must have heard, "OH, MOMMY!" a thousand times.  And, although I must have agreed a thousand times that the kitten was adorable and lovable and precious and everything that a kitten is supposed to be, I said that we could not keep the kitten.  First, a kitten this cute had to have come from somewhere.  We would have to find its owner.  Then, we already had two cats of our own.  I wasn't willing to take on the expense and work of a third.  Maybe if we left the kitten alone, it would wander back home.  Cassie contacted the animal shelter.  It was closed on Sundays.

Evening arrived and the kitten was purring outside our backdoor.   I concurred that it couldn't stay outside all night.  So, the girls made a bed in an old shoebox and fixed a spot for the kitten in the garage.  Come Monday, the kitten was still in the garage and Cassie promised to call the shelter in the afternoon.  Guess what?  The shelter is closed on Mondays too.  I fired off an email to the shelter with a description of the cat.

By Tuesday, the kitten was getting quite comfortable in the garage and I'm sure it was already gaining weight.  On Wednesday, I heard back from the animal shelter.  They needed a more detailed description.  Were the tips of its ears pointed or curved?  How long was the tail? I sent a photo and tried to answer the questions.  By Thursday, the kitten knew that even though it was spending time outdoors every day, it was welcome back in the garage.  On Friday, the kids and I drove for miles in the surrounding communities, sure that by now someone would have put up posters with pictures of the lost kitten.  We found nothing.

On Saturday, I went to New York City with Mirela to celebrate my birthday.  Before I left, I reminded Les that we needed to either find the kitten's owner or find a good home for it.  Then, thoughts of the kitten were out of my head for a day.  Sunday, while riding home on the bus, I exchanged a series of text messages with Cassie that went like this:

Cassie:    She has flea medicine, litter box and food.  Daddy says now what?
Me:  I guess a name.  You should check Craig's list, though.
Cassie:  I checked Craig's list.  Daddy named her Nancy and we call her Fancy Nancy.  Daddy wants to know if we are going 2 keep kitten
Me to Myself:  (THEN WHY DOESN'T DADDY ASK ME HIMSELF?!!)
Me to Cassie:  Do I really have a choice?

Cassie:  (With the following photo)  I love u thank u for letting me stay

Me:  This is a trial.  I love u too.  But if u don't learn how to use the litter box we will have a problem.  Also, if u want to live in my house, Cassie needs to clean her bedroom.  If u go up there, we might lose u for good.  Or, u might sharpen your claws on one of her good scarves.
Cassie:  Ok.
Me:  That can't be all you have to say.
Cassie:  I will start cleaning now.

"Nancy" continued living in our garage for the next few days.  On Thursday, while the girls and I were at ballet, the same person who had decided the girls could keep the cat, let it outside.  When the girls and I got home, the kitten had wandered off.  The kids were hysterical.  Les' reasoning was that if the cat was going to wander away, it was better to find out now.  The girls and I searched the neighborhood until dark, knocking on doors and wandering through the woods calling for Nancy.  Cassie and I made "Lost Kitten" posters and hung them up and down the block.  Suddenly, a neighbor appeared with Nancy in a cat carrier, apologizing profusely for having "put Cassie through this."  It seems that his child had locked the kitten up earlier in the evening.  So, we could have called all night and Nancy wouldn't have been able to return. 

I then had a short talk with the kitten. "All right, cat, you win.  You have clearly earned the family's love and devotion.  I will allow you in the house.  But, you still have to learn how to use the litter box!"

The next day we took Nancy to the vet.  "Good news," the vet said.  "Your kitten is very healthy.  But, it is a boy!"  So, Nancy became "Heinz," and Heinz has progressed from taking over everyone's hearts to taking over the house.