Short Adventures, Lasting Memories

California wave-jumping

My daughter, Zoe, has been involved in karate for a few years now. Last year she wanted to attend her first tournament, which was held in Mission Viejo, California. My husband was late getting off work the day we were supposed to leave so we didn’t arrive in Mission Viejo until late at night – much later than we had anticipated. As a result, Zoe got increasingly more nervous as the night went on and was disappointed that she didn’t have any extra practice time before her tournament. Luckily, the time slot for her age and belt rank didn’t start until the afternoon. However, she wanted to get there early to watch everything that happens at the tournament since she’d never been to one before.

Unfortunately, by the time we waited around for a few more hours for her group, she had gotten a little restless. She had also skipped lunch because she wasn’t particularly hungry (most likely due to nerves). Zoe participated in all three events: forms, weapons, and sparring. She placed fourth in forms and was disappointed she didn’t do better, but I reminded her that it was her very first tournament and we were proud of her no matter what – and that she should be, too.

By the time we left the tournament, it was after four in the afternoon and we were all hungry. I had promised her that we would take her to the beach and that I would jump waves with her. As luck would have it, the only time we could go to the beach was that afternoon once her tournament was over because we had to leave the following morning. We made a quick pit stop at Subway to grab a very late lunch, which was promptly inhaled enroute to the beach.

By the time we parked and walked down to the shore, it was around 5pm and getting cold. Well, cold for beach weather in Southern California during late September – especially for folks from Arizona. But, I wanted to keep my promise to my daughter. After all, the last time we had been to the beach was five years earlier. So, Zoe and I walked hand-in-hand into the icy waves of the Pacific Ocean. With each step, we sank deeper into the water, getting splashed in the face while goosebumps crept up our skin. I thought if we at least kept our heads above water, we wouldn’t get as cold and it would be easier to rinse off. Meanwhile, Nik, who is not a fan of the cold, waited patiently for us on the sand, huddled in his jacket.

Zoe and I had gone into the water until it was waist-high and although we were cold, we were having fun. It reminded me of jumping waves with my two sisters when I was young, because we grew up near the beach and spent many summer days in the ocean. Of course, since I was virtually blind without my glasses (I have since had LASIK surgery), one of my sisters usually held my hand so I didn’t get lost. That probably has something to do with why I insist on holding hands when we jump waves. Well, that and the riptides.

After Zoe and I jumped what I had told her was our last wave, I turned to head back to the sand. After a few seconds I looked behind me and saw a large wave coming to a crest. I “ran” the few steps back toward Zoe – which looked more like an awkward slow-motion jog with high knees fighting against the water – and grabbed her hand.

Before I could prepare for a good jump, the wave reached over my head and knocked me backward. By then I had lost my footing and had gone completely under the wave. When I finally stood up (still holding onto Zoe’s hand – yay me!), we must have looked like a couple of drowned rats. The tops of our heads, until moments before, had been mostly dry. Salt water now ran down our faces and we laughed at our big wipe-out. To be honest, that last wave was my favorite wave that day. Nik thought we were crazy.

Of course, once we got out of the water, the wind coming in from the ocean only emphasized how cold we were. Back at the car, Nik had a few jugs of water, which he poured over us to rinse off the majority of the sand and I remember thinking that the warm water on my cold toes had never felt so good. Wrapped in a towel with the car heater blasting, I was grateful that I hadn’t let the cold deprive me of keeping a promise to my daughter. Instead of remembering a broken promise, we get to remember the time we got knocked down jumping waves in September after her first karate tournament.

Las Vegas Donuts

Zoe’s second karate tournament was in Las Vegas this past May. I’ve heard that Vegas is much more family-friendly nowadays, but I’m still skeptical. I was never much into Vegas, even in my 20s. The few times I’ve gone, I didn’t don a little black dress and heels. I wore jeans with a little breathing room and tennis shoes. The strategy was to eat whatever I wanted and walk it off without killing my feet. No, I’m not the most glamorous but I was definitely one of the most comfortable.

We drove to Vegas the day before the tournament with plenty of daylight to spare. At Zoe’s request, we got a room at the hotel where the tournament was taking place so we wouldn’t be late. What we forgot to mention was that almost every hotel, including ours, allows smoking. Zoe hates the smell of smoke and holds her breath whenever we pass someone enjoying a Marlboro. She tried holding her breath and covering her mouth with her T-shirt, but the most effective plan was to cover her nose with VICKS VapoRub, which she never left the room without.  

On our short drive to the pharmacy, I pointed out the Las Vegas Strip to Zoe and told her about all the shops and restaurants. She said she wouldn’t want to walk around among so many people. The poor thing – it wasn’t even getting dark yet! I did not mention that the last time my husband and I were in Vegas, we saw a gentleman in a wheelchair shooting up on the sidewalk. I did, however, tell her that if she was out of the car, she had to be holding my hand. Looking out the window, Zoe asked “Why does everyone look so sad?” My first guess was that they were hungover and gambled away all their money, but I could be wrong.

Zoe wanted to practice her sword form, so she spent a good hour swinging her sword as quietly as possible while trying to fit all her movements into a thin aisle of carpet between the beds and the TV. Nik managed to catch a few minutes of rest between the sound of Zoe’s kicks and the metallic wobbling sound her sword made.

The next day, we took Zoe the epic voyage of a few floors below us to the ballroom where her tournament was being held with plenty of time to spare. She warmed up and practiced with friends while Nik and I tried not to get consumed by the crowd.  Once the group for Zoe’s age and rank was called, I got to enjoy being the proud parent of a little ninja. Zoe entered all three events again (forms, weapons, and sparring). She placed fourth in weapons and had hoped to do better in forms as well, but when she placed second in sparring, the afternoon took on a brand new energy and she couldn’t wait to sign up for the next tournament.

Zoe had heard about a gourmet donut shop in Vegas (Saint Honoré Doughnuts & Beignets), and asked if we could check it out before we returned  home. Again, I had promised that we could. After all, how many times am I going to bring my teenaged daughter to Vegas? She may be an only child but she doesn’t ask for much. She even offered to pay for them with her own money, but I assured her that a few donuts wouldn’t break the bank.

Thankfully, that was true, because the donuts ranged from $3 – $10. After I picked up my jaw from the floor, we selected our top four choices. Yes, I paid $10 for a “Couture” donut. I must admit that it was quite tasty, although I doubt I will ever pay that much for a donut again. My parents used to own a donut shop and I remember when donuts cost fifty cents each. Granted, we did not have the exotic flavors that this shop had, but man, how the times have changed.

Our favorite was the Pistachio Dubai Chocolate donut. I had never even heard of Dubai chocolate before. Their donut is filled with pistachio cream (I didn’t even know this was a thing) and something called crunchy kataifi (I had to look up what this was, but whatever it is, it’s delicious). Then it’s topped with chocolate and white frosting and sprinkled with pistachio bits. Holy crap, I think I gained five pounds just looking at it.

Our other desserts were the Cannoli donut (filled with the cannoli cream and topped with a miniature cannoli), the Crème Brulée donut (also yum!), and finally an order of Nutella-filled beignets. Mind you, these donuts were not tiny, so we sampled a few bites of each one before tucking them safely back into their box. Zoe was in charge of keeping them away from me until we got home so I wouldn’t eat more than I would regret later, because they were so rich and delicious and, while my mouth wanted more, my tummy (and jeans) should not have more. I think the desserts lasted a day and a half before there was nothing left but crumbs.

Now when I think of karate tournaments, I will think of jumping cold waves on a beach and sharing couture donuts with Zoe. And now that I know that Dubai chocolate is a thing, I may need to Google where I can get it in Arizona…and probably limit my servings to once a year.