Mom Fight Club: Let's get ready to rumble

Earlier in the week I wrote about an apparent surge in teenage fight clubs, which included some statistics showing that young girls are increasingly showing signs of aggressive behavior. I initially was appalled at many comments that encouraged this type of unsupervised fighting. I spend my days teaching my preschool son that hands are not for hitting. Why would this change all of a sudden when he's a teenager? Surely we could find other ways for youths to express their emotions. Yet I couldn't deny one thought - throwing a good punch is definitely a stress reliever.

Teenage angst is troublesome. But motherhood angst? Sometimes insufferable. Mom cliques, mommy wars, just being mom day in and day out - often never leaving the house for 24 hours straight.  If anyone needs to get rid of bad juju, it's a mom. I started to wonder, would a little time in the ring make moms feel better about themselves? I asked a few of my friends if they'd be interested in starting a Mom's Fight Club - not a back door, dark alley fight club, but an organized club using a professional facility where we could spare with each other to release a little crankiness. The rules - only those invited could come;  no sharing the deets with the husbands; and no photos or digicams allowed. The consensus? Hell yeah.

Prekids, I trained as a kickboxer and studied Kung Fu (Sung style), so I contacted my "sifu" and asked if he'd let us use his facility in the evening for a few rounds in the ring. I also asked if he'd spend some time showing the moms a few basics of boxing and let us use the safety gear. He was game, and so on Thursday night the Mommy Fight Club had it's first gathering.

Everyone was decked out in their best workout gear (you know, the kind the looks like it's never had an ounce of sweat on it). Sifu and I spent the first 20 minutes teaching the ladies how to protect their faces, how to block jabs and how - and where - to throw a punch. It was all good. Then it was time to rumble. Three minutes in the ring. And if you haven't done this before, three minutes can seem like for.e.ver.

The first few moms were a little embarrassed and shy when they got in the ring but as soon as I turned on the tunes, everyone started to feel better. Then they got into it. There was shouting, there was cursing. There was sweat flying. And then I got in the ring. I promised I'd not use any of my kickboxing. No praying mantis moves. I promised I'd not take it seriously. Only Stacy, my "opponent," got a little over confident and punched me right in the face. I got a little pissed. As if a scene out of an old Ally McBeal episode, I tossed out what I can simply describe as a lightening-fast side kick to the side of Stacy's head. I made impact and there was a collective gasp as she dropped to that mat.

Praise sweet jesus for safety gear. Stacy was okay, no blood was lost - only a little bruising of the ego.  My ego, however, inflated as I was amazed I could still kick my leg that high after having two kids. I was even more amazed that my mommy brain could react and the instinct to use the kick was still intact.

I apologized profusely to Stacy, hugs were shared and we're still friends. The Mom Fight Club will continue - we'll  meet again next Thursday. Only I'm forbidden from entering the ring.

(P.S. -- Happy April Fool's Day!)