Eight Days a Week

This morning I took the cap off a dry erase marker and drew a nice, fat X under the number 8 on the white board on the wall of the yoga studio, so that now, a week into this thing, there are eight nice, fat x's behind my name. And here, for no real reason, are eight little lessons I've gleaned from a solid week of daily yoga.

1.  Showing up is 99% of the work. The hard part? It's the preparations (clean yoga blanket, full water bottle, correct clothes, actually getting in the car and going there instead of off in a million other directions), not the actual yoga. Once I'm in the studio, sitting on my mat, waiting for class to begin, I hardly even care what the poses will be. I know I can do them, or, if I can't, I know I can lie in child's pose for all anyone cares. Doing the yoga is easy, and getting easier by the day.

2.  You can do anything for one breath. The classes I've taken over the past week blur together, but one instructor said this one of the days, and I love the reminder. Not just while trying to hold a hard position, but during anything complicated or difficult in life, you can just be with it for one breath. Just breathe. Then breathe again. (Sometimes I think my older daughter was put on Earth to teach me this lesson.)

3.  Do things with purpose. It doesn't matter if it's deciding to work out or deciding to take a class or deciding to quit a job or deciding to move or deciding to stay up late watching Tosh.0; what matters is that it's intentional, that you're choosing to use your time and energy in a certain way rather than just drifting mindlessly into a situation. But, at the same time . . .

4.  Play more. I was so exhausted from the first four days in a row of yoga that I could hardly drag myself out of bed on Saturday morning to make the 7:30 class. I sat cross-legged on my mat, grumpy and sleepy, and wondered idly how little I could do without anyone noticing. Luckily, the instructor was one of the more colorful, irreverent teachers, and it ended up being the best class of the week for me, all because she encouraged us to play and have fun. We'd be clenching our jaws, frowning through the sweat in eagle or crow, and she'd yell, "Smile! It's just yoga! It's supposed to be fun!" Life, yoga: it's supposed to be fun! Play more.

5.  Be OK with looking silly and failing. I have very low standards for how I look as I go about my day, but even I am borderline embarrassed of myself when I emerge from hot yoga. If I go in the morning, I haven't showered before, so I'm holding onto what little shred of deodorant remains from the day before. My hair is held back by a wide headband that I like to think makes me look Earth Mother-ish but which probably makes me look like a hobo cleaning lady. Most importantly, I look like I've taken a shower with my clothes on and I smell terrible. But guess what? So does everyone else in the room. During the class, too, I inevitably fall out of poses or tip over backwards or land with a thud when I try to jump out gracefully. The first few times I did this, I felt strange and vulnerable. Now? I hardly notice. I need to carry this more into my everyday life.

6.  Being fully present in our bodies is so rare, and so good. I watched my little dancers perform in their spring recital on Saturday afternoon, and it was such a treat to see them fully inhabit their strong bodies on the stage. One of the bonuses of having daughters in dance is that I get to see such a range of dance performances that are totally unfamiliar to me, since I didn't grow up dancing (or even watching dance performances). Watching some of the older, more accomplished classes perform long, complicated, and original choreography, I thought about how I couldn't care less if Annie and Jemma continue to dance, but I do want them to experience in some way the joy of being completely immersed in something physical. It could be the underwater speed of swimming, or the musical immersion of dance, or the intricate passing of basketballs, or it could be dance. For me, it's yoga.

7.  There is power in community. At the start of almost every one of the classes this past week, the instructor has asked those of us participating in the 30-day challenge to raise our hands. (About half the class typically does.) The wall of the studio is covered in white boards, and each board is covered with names, and each name is followed by a row of x's or checks or colored-in squares. There is something important about knowing that the person next to me on the mat is struggling to show up every day, too. There is something satisfying about going over and writing on the dry erase board after the class is over, even though most of these people are strangers and I never see them outside of class.

8.  Practice makes . . . permanent. Not perfect, permanent. In yoga, as in life, there is no such thing as perfection. There is, instead, always an opportunity to grow, to tweak, to change, to play your edge, to keep doing something over and over (breathe, write, sing, love, cook) until the skill becomes a habit on which you can build. And I think, eight days in, that taking the time to practice breathing and moving intentionally a little bit every day might just affect my life permanently.

The Good

• Starting the day with sleepy snuggles from both girls at once.
• Getting to sit in on a cooking class tonight for an article I'm writing, and most especially getting to eat goat cheese and chorizo-stuffed, bacon-wrapped dates.
• The return of hot and humid, and having nothing at all to do yesterday afternoon that interfered with dragging out the old water table and having a fun hour in the front yard with the girls in the sunshine.
• Surviving the third day in a row of yoga, and the fact that I am sleeping so well at night.
• Coming home tonight to sea salt caramels, and most especially that Annie picked them out just for me and left me a sweet note beside them on the table.
• Sleeping with the windows open, and knowing that it's probably safe to put away the winter hats. (Finally.)

On Teaching and Parenting

I had a conversation this morning with a friend about teaching (our school district is trying to come up with the funds to continue having paraprofessionals in the kindergarten and first grade classrooms, which I think is essential) and then I went to yoga at noon, where two different teachers shared teaching the class. So while I was lying on my back at the end of class, I was thinking about the way that good teaching is both an art and a science, and about how I continue to be surprised that I am not a better parent, because I was a very good teacher. And isn't parenting just teaching on a much smaller, much more continuous scale?

Don't get me wrong, I had a few extra-specially difficult kids in classrooms over the years, but even then I never became completely unwound by the difficulties. I put in my very best effort and knew, somehow, that my very best effort would have to be enough, that there was nothing more I could do. Maybe in parenting, we're too close to the source, too constantly surrounded by the "pupils," and too attached to the outcome to be as level-headed. In any case, I never yelled. I never lost my temper. I never went into another room to cry or lay awake at night going over where it had all gone so wrong.

This is not to say that parenting the girls lately has been completely joyless. In every day there are moments of satisfaction and goodness, and I try to focus on those. I try to take the long view, to have some perspective that things will not always be this way. (Swistle, again, putting my thoughts into words.)
When that fails, there is always commiserating with girlfriends, running, drinking, getting out of the house, or going to sleep and pinning my hopes on the fact that the morning will bring a clean slate and a fresh start. But it hasn't really been a party for me lately, and I'm wishing I could channel a bit of Wise Teacher Stephanie to tell Frazzled Parent Stephanie what to do.

Back to lying on my back after yoga: I'm thinking about teaching. I'm thinking that I used to love teaching the same units and skills and information to new students every year, the way I did at Cranbrook, because the fresh crop of students every year ensures that the experience is different. I'm thinking, too, that there's probably satisfaction in teaching new skills and information to the same students, the way my instructor does at the yoga studio, because the continuity of learners lets you see people progress in their practice.

So:

same information + new students = fun, satisfying teaching experience

and

new information + same students = fun, satisfying teaching experience

but you know what sucks?

same information + same students = unsatisfying, frustrating teaching experience

And what situation most closely mirrors that?

Parenting. Especially the kind of parenting I'm largely doing these days, the kind where you keep saying the words, modeling the behavior, providing the information, encouraging the skills, and yet it's a Groundhog's Day situation of the same frustrations happening again and again.

Maybe I need to switch up my material. It's either that or switch up the kids, I guess.

Thirty Days (Hold Me)

With a few quick keystrokes this afternoon - before I could think too much about what I was doing - I committed myself to a thirty-day challenge at my yoga studio. For the month of May, I'll try to practice every single day. If I miss a day, I'll have to double up on another day (I have never, ever done this before) to catch up. I truly have no idea if I'm going to love this, hate this, succeed or fail at this, but I do know that I'm in need of a little challenge in my life and that I never leave yoga wishing I had spent the last hour any other way.

When the studio first announced the challenge, I wasn't interested: not the right stage of my life, weather finally getting nicer, right shoulder feeling a little wonky for the last couple of weeks, and, to be honest, a little bit of fear. I thought I'd just keep practicing a couple times a week and probably take a few months off during the summer. Darn that Gretchen Rubin, though, with her Happiness Project blog, because here was part of Friday's entry:

"If I try to do something four days a week, I spend a lot of time arguing with myself about whether today is the day, or tomorrow, or the next day; did the week start on Sunday or Monday; etc. And that’s exhausting.

If I do something every day, I tend to fall into a routine, and routine has a bad reputation. It’s true that novelty and challenge bring happiness, and that people who break their routines, try new things, and go new places are happier, but I think that some routine activities also bring happiness. The pleasure of doing the same thing, in the same way, every day, shouldn’t be overlooked. By re-framing, you can find happiness in activities like doing dishes or sweeping the floor, as well as your beloved morning coffee-and-newspaper.

The things you do every day take on a certain beauty, and provide a kind of invisible architecture to daily life."

Unsurprisingly, I think Gretchen is right on here. I remember when the girls were smaller, I found it was easier to give them baths every single night, no matter what. It wasn't that I really thought they needed baths every single night, but it was more that I knew it would be easier and happier for everyone if baths were just part of the nightly bedtime routine. No arguing, no trying to figure out when the last bath had been, no negotiating over it. And I suspect the same will be true here: no figuring out when (or whether) to exercise, no meaning to get to yoga but getting sidetracked by errands or a book, no wishing I had gone when I had the chance and resolving to go the next day. I've always wanted to do more yoga, and here is my chance. Just thirty days of yoga, one day at a time. 

Read Elsewhere: Books, Human Nature, Weight, Appearances

"I think, consciously or not, what we readers do each time we open a book is to set off on a search for authenticity. We want to get closer to the heart of things, and sometimes even a few good sentences contained in an otherwise unexceptional book can crystallize vague feelings, fleeting physical sensations, or, sometimes, profound epiphanies." - Maureen Corrigan, Leave me Alone, I'm Reading


"Most Asian cultures see human beings as innately good, born perfect but then pulled off course by false beliefs, unfounded fears, and other delusions. The Judeo-Christian tradition that undergirds Western philosophy sees humans as innately imperfect, born with all sorts of problems (original sin, carnal nature, ignorance of God's laws) that must be rectified and controlled if we are to become worthy. From a Western perspective, setting the original self free is shocking and dangerous: 'Why, if we just act from a place of freedom, we'll all be pillaging and looting by nightfall.' In Asian psychology, pillaging and looting (etc., etc.) come from a place of delusion, from imagining ourselves as separate from others, so that our welfare and theirs are disconnected." - Martha Beck, Steering by Starlight

"Nevertheless, she is six years old, and she is so far below the average weight for her height that the pediatrician mentions it at each visit, and she doesn't want to gain weight. She's mentioned this a few times recently, but I've ignored it because I didn't want to draw a lot of attention to it---or more truthfully, because I didn't know what to say. This time I asked soooooo casually if the other girls at school talk about gaining weight. She said no. I asked if anyone else had mentioned it. She said no. I asked why she said she didn't want to gain weight, and she laughed nervously and said, well, she meant she didn't want to gain TOO MUCH weight.

I didn't pursue it any further. There isn't any point. It's not as if it's possible to rear a daughter who doesn't understand that this society expects her to be thin. I'd been hoping, though, for a longer time before she understood it." - Swistle, writing "Weight and Daughters" at the blog Swistle

"None of us lead the lives our appearance suggests. We each lie in bed at night with our personal terrors as to what life could be, or about what life is like right now, and whether we have the strength to get through it. Clothes and money rarely can make that go away." - Deborah L. Jacobs, in Forbes Magazine

Last Week's Highs and Lows

Jemma and I were home one afternoon last week. I was cleaning bathrooms and she said, "Mom, I want to clean the kitchen floor."

"Great!" I said. "Do you want to use the Swiffer?"
"No, I want to be like Cinderella. With a rag and soapy water."

Done.

She is my little buddy, and I am going to miss having her around so much next year. I mean, who will put raspberries on each finger and eat them off one by one at lunch?

We all went hiking on Sunday. It's what we tend to do on weekends when we don't have a jillion other plans, and these hikes often end up being the high points of our week.

Kites to fly, trees to climb, a pound of sand in each shoe, and time to stop in Holland for ice cream and to play the piano at the retirement home where Jason used to work long ago.

It's not all hiking and happiness around here, though. Last week we tried to take the girls out for dinner one night to escape the dust/noise/chaos/electrical shutoff caused by our construction, and the meltdowns that occurred in the backseat of the car while we tried to come to agreement on a restaurant were epic. EPIC. So epic, in fact, that after five minutes of all the Love & Logic scripts and various parenting techniques I know, I gave up and started videotaping the meltdowns, which amused Jason but further enraged the girls. I have tried in vain to upload it here, but you will have to trust me: there was hysterical crying, hysterical screaming, and hysterical kicking-of-seats. We did not go out for dinner. We drove back home, went back inside our Godforsaken construction zone, got out the jar of peanut butter and the bread and a hunk of cheese, and said, "There."

We have talked about it since, agree that it was ridiculous, and have decided to move on.

Three Simple Questions

I've nerded out before about my 2012 Happiness Project calendar, I know. But I particularly liked yesterday's page. With no editorializing, the page simply asked, bullet-pointed:

• List five things you do for fun. In the last six months, how much time have you spent doing those activities?
• Is there a quotation, a book, or a scene from a movie that makes you particularly happy?
• What three subjects fascinate you?

I love these questions. LOVE them. They're such good prompts to get me thinking about concrete ways to sneak more joy, more wonder, more fun into my everyday life. So here are my answers, and I'd love to see yours.

• Write, read, walk or run outside, cook and eat with my family, laugh with friends. I think it is safe to say that I do at least one of these every day, and I now realize that "a good day" is usually achieved when I have done all five.
• Oh, I am a sucker for quotations! One of my favorites is from Brian Andreas: "Time stands still best in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life." The book Dandelion Wine never fails to make me happy; neither do the movies "When Harry Met Sally" or "Love Actually," particularly the scene where Hugh Grant dances down the staircase.
• I have long been fascinated by the 1960's (I used to get actually angry with my mom, who graduated high school in '68 and was in college at the height of the war protest/free love movement, for not at all participating in the era) as well as anything to do with World War II, and I'm currently interested in the intersection of parenting and religion.

“Instructions for living a life. 
Pay attention. 
Be astonished. 
Tell about it.” 

-Mary Oliver