At night, usually an hour or so after dinner, I go up to the bedroom. “Hey, I’m doing kung fu,” I say to my son. “Wanna come up?” Often, he follows. I put on my loose pants from some martial arts online store and my Feiyues. I set a ladybug-shaped kitchen timer. I practice.
Today, Jared’s guitar playing was my soundtrack. Usually, my soundtrack is a ticking ladybug. Rocking guitar is better. My heart rate got right up there as I went straight from warm up to the most challenging sequence I know.
Beren often asks me to join in his play while the timer is ticking. “The animals need to be saved from the fire, Momma,” he says. “Can they wait eighteen minutes?” I ask. I felt guilty. Yesterday, I interrupted practice to play dress up. We raided Jared’s half of the closet. Today, the animals had to wait because of yesterday’s slack.
I made this photograph as I practiced kicking. This kick has no name. My posture is completely affected by the camera in my hands.
After practice, Beren and I rough housed. I have heard that doing anything but sleeping and sleeping with someone is a no-no in the bedroom. Makes sense. Keep it peaceful, keep it romantic. In our small house, our bedroom has the largest square footage for kung fu plus a mirror. It also has excellent padding for rough housing. Practice is a good, fun warm up for good, fun rough housing.