Punk Rope

Punk Rope Team Photo

A few weeks ago I joined a competitive jump rope team. Technically, it's a Punk Rope team. Punk Rope is this new thing, invented by this guy Tim, and you can take classes at the Y here.

I did not, however, hear about Punk Rope from my local Y. I haven't been to the gym in months. I heard about it from my coworker Amy, who was desperate to find a fourth person so her team could compete in the 3rd Annual Punk Rope Games. I am in no way qualified to compete on any kind of athletic team, but I have a certain enthusiasm for obscure sports, (evidenced by my single minded mastery of the hackie sack, the devil sticks, and break dancing). After a few days no one else had stepped up. I was in!

Two weeks before the games we had our first practice. We all met at Cooper Park in Williamsburg to run through the events. Our team members were Rich and Shaunette, a married couple with a lot of tattoos. Looking around, that seemed to be the primary difference between the punk ropers and my high school soccer team: tattoos.

As practice went on, another difference emerged: most of these people didn't seem to be very athletic. If you looked beyond their punk rope prowess, I was willing to bet that these were people who were really good at painting, or playing the guitar. My suspicions were confirmed when I started jumping rope, for, possibly, the first time in 10 years, and Shaunette said something like, "Wow, that's really good, it took us weeks to do it like that!" Probably she was just being nice, pumping up her new teammate, but I've decided to take that comment at face value.

Let me be clear: Everyone on that field was in better shape than me. I was the only person who literally peed my pants after attempting the Double Unders. (I know this because i said, "oh, wow, I just peed my pants. A lot." and instead of commiseration my teammates just stared at me.) Furthermore, I am not one of those people who excels at art or cooking, and I downright suck at decorating. After years of playing the guitar, I continue to be mediocre. But I've always had a knack for anything physical, anything requiring balance or coordination. I've always been a jock.

I figured our team had a shot at gold.

Our team name was the Unstoppable Mysterians, and the majority of our two weeks of preparation was devoted to designing our costumes. We decided against a cape, for practical reasons. We made liberal use of silver glitter glue, duck tape, and metal studs. Shaunette designed a back patch and bought us all flaming sunglasses. I provided wrist bands. We each chose names. Mine was Deus ex Machina. If you're wondering what that means, it's a literary term for a ridiculous plot device, where a god like figure swoops in at the last minute and saves the day.

I was feeling confident.

Confidence Boosting Back Patches

My individual event was the Double Unders, and I worked hard at mastering them. At first I could only do three or four in a row, but after a week I could do twenty in a row. After a set of 20 I literally collapsed on the ground and had to change my shorts, but still, it was progress.

During the games I was full of nervous energy. Before the Double Unders I felt jittery and full of adrenaline. There were 13 other teams and I had to place in the top four to win points for my fellow Mysterians. I started jumping and felt calm and focused. The timer called out 15 seconds and I barely felt tired. I tripped up once but recovered quickly. I closed my eyes. I was in The Zone. They called time and I could have kept going. I was so amped. I wanted to do it again! I knew I'd made the top four!

I didn't make the top four. I cant be sure, but I think I was number five. The point is that sometimes, no matter how hard you try and how gifted you are, and how many ridiculous obstacles you overcome, you still won't win. You will come home disappointed, and comfort yourself by strumming some melancholy guitar chords, and your husband, who vowed to always support you, will tell you to knock it off because he already has a headache. Sometimes you will feel like you're just not good at anything.

At times like these, it is a good idea to remind yourself that you are in fact good at something. If you no longer own any devil sticks and don't have the energy for donkey kicks, grab your hackey sack, go outside and have a sesh.

Mysterians in action: Rich and Shaunette jump The Twins

The Graduate

On Monday Roan graduated from Chai Tots. It was a much bigger deal than I'd thought it'd be. All the parents were there, seated in folding chairs out in the yard. There was a make shift stage and a woman seated behind a keyboard. Someone gave us a program. The director gave a speech. A rabbi gave a Torah Thought. I was publicly thanked for being Class Mom. When the music started up and the teachers began herding our children on to the stage I realized, right on time, that this was kind of a big deal, and I started crying.

Then all hell broke lose on stage and I regained my composure. Because it's kind of hard to have a my-son-is-growing-up-so-fast moment when half the kids up there are crying for their parents, Oliver's shouting random dinosaur facts into the mic, and Roan is looking completely confused, trying to figure out how he ended up with a big plastic flower around his neck. Even the pianist dropped a few notes in all the chaos.

The kids sang a few songs, and were returned to us to watch the two older classes go through their ceremonies. Then we headed back inside for crafts and snacks. In the toddler room, there was a slideshow playing of all the kids with their baby pictures. Below each current photo, there was a little quote about the child. Stuff like, "always lends a helping hand," and "your smile brightens our day." Roan's read: "your determination is a lesson to us all."

East Coast Conversation

The other day I had some friends over. I asked their opinion about where on the fence I should hang this plant bag called a Wooly Pocket. Here's how it went:

Me: Okay, so, what do you think, right here?

Lindsay: Wait, where do you put the plant?

Me: Right in this bag, you put in soil, then the plant.

Lindsay: Does it even hold water? What kind of material is this? (makes yucky face).

Me: It's made out of recycled plastic bottles. There's a special watering system, like this... (I explain stuff. Friends look skeptical. They discuss alternate watering strategies that would work better).

Gary: Did someone give that to you?

Lindsay: Did you choose that color?

Me: I actually paid money for this, on the Internet.

Lindsay: So you didn't know it would look like that.

Me: Guys, stay on task. Just tell me where to put it.

Gary: You know what you should buy? One of those up-side-down pots where you grow tomatoes. Up-side-down. Those are cool.

(Long argument between Lindsay and Gary about whether such a thing really exists. Gary settles it with his iPhone. It really does exist.)

Lindsay: You need two of those bags, right there, one right on top of the other.

Me: Well, I just have this one.

Lindsay: You need another one.

Gary: Why do you have to put a plant on your wall?

Me: Um...

Lindsay: Why don't you put it over there? (points to a totally different wall, which receives no sunlight, ever)

Gary: Yeah, put it over there (points to sunless wall) and then you can buy one of these up-side-down strawberry pots to hang there (shows me an iPhone picture of one).

*****

If I lived in California, I think the conversation would have gone like this:

Me: Okay, so, what do you think, right here?

Friends: Yeah, that looks good.

Me: Sweet!

Friends: (amongst themselves, after leaving my place) : That was a pretty wretched looking plant bag, right?

Yeah, she totally should have bought one of those up-side- down tomato kits.

Texas Gala

Two weekends ago we flew to San Antonio, where Grandma and Grandpa Lyons were being honored by their synagogue, Agudas Achim. Here you in the parking lot with your cousin Cassie.

At the gala, an a cappella group performed, and then people talked, and there was a presentation and slide show about Grandma and Grandpa Lyons. All in all, it was about 2 hours of sitting still. You have this impeccable sense of timing - just when the music would cease, or a speaker would pause to take a breath, you would yell out some fact about Percy, or ask me a question about your transformer car at the top of your lungs. As family of the honorees, we were in the very front row, so it was pretty hard for us to pretend we weren't your parents.

I told you to be quiet, and so did your cousins Julia and Cassie. You looked all around the room, and seemed to be confused. "Is somebody sleeping in here?" you asked.

The next night, Uncle Beau taught you some classic bad boy moves.

And of course, we went swimming.

Mommy, Go Away!

A few years back, before I became a mom, I sold Korean rights to a picture book called Mommy, Go Away! Every year, the book sells about 15,000 copies. In South Korea. Here in the states it's out of print.

I remember thinking: what is it with those Korean moms? Couldn't they just leave their kids alone? Such impressive sales of Mommy, Go Away! suggested they couldn't.

Now Roan is 2 and a half. His favorite thing is to shout, "Mommy, go away!"

I've tried everything. I've explained the impossibility of leaving him home alone. I've scolded him. I've actually gone away. I've ignored him. I've calmly told him, over and over, that I will not go away. I've started reciting The Cat in the Hat. Nothing works. He loves to say it. His friends all say it to each other and make each other cry.

One day I tried something new. Every time he told me to go away, which was approximately once every 2 minutes, I explained to him that it hurt my feelings and made me feel sad. I made a sad face. I told him to be more polite.

He thought this over. Then he yelled, "Mommy please go away!"

I really wish I read Korean.

Sunny Day at the Gardens

Rainy Day at the Gardens