Yoga Training

So I started my yoga teacher certification this weekend--can I just say, sweet. I am so charged with all I learned this weekend and with all that I came closer to understanding. Yoga has become so much more personal, more useful and more necessary in my life--in two days!

I lost a bit of my bliss this morning with the bits but quickly recovered and tapped into my yoga peace--my chi and the rest of the day reflected the person I want to grow into as my practice grows.

The next post explores why and how I came to yoga, it's very personal but worth noting at this point in my life.

Pandora

One word.

Pandora.

Yeah baby.

www.pandora.com

Build your own radio station based on your preference of music and Pandora will stream it until you stop.

Things that make you go hmmm...

This was taken from a news bit I receive daily by email--it was sent by Women's E-news founder and editor-in-chief Rita Henley Jensen:

"We have only 16 percent of the Congress and only one woman on the Supreme Court; we are ranked 26th in maternal mortality worldwide.

And I didn't even get to the wage gap (77 cents on the dollar), the percentage of the poor (adult U.S. women are twice as likely to live in poverty than adult men) or the bias built into the family court and Social Security Laws. And I couldn't even begin to discuss what women face in corporate America and in law and accounting firms."

Yeah, we ain't come so far after all, baby.

I have missed you, self.

I have missed me so much--it's been too long and I have way too much to say for one night's worth of words.

We went away last week and I came down with a terrible illness--it caused an asthma attack. I could not breathe and my chest was tightening with every breath that I heaved from it. I thought I was going to die. Literally. I was terrified--what would my children do without me? I know I give myself a lot of credit but I'm a god damn good mother, I mother them like no one else could--I have no good replacement here. That's a lot of fucking pressure for one person--one mortal person. It made the experience even worse--I could not die, I had to fight the pressure and pain building in my chest.

At 2:00 in the morning, I asked my partner to take me to the ER--different city and all, I had to stop what was happening to me lest I be an accomplice in my death.

If ER's can be pleasant, this one was. They were nice to me, even AFTER I admitted that I did not have insurance. My EKG was normal, my lung x-ray was clear--*REALLY???* That fucked with my head--my lungs felt anything but clear. Anyway. I was put on a breathing machine with yummy oxygen and even yummier drip meds filtering through the oxygen--all topped with a shot to the ass sure to ease my "anxiety"--yeah, I guess I got a bit flustered when I couldn't breathe, I'm crazy like that.

In minutes I could breathe--my chest pain was easing and my lungs were opening up. I wasn't going to die, at least not this particular night. The cute little doctor with her cute little blond ponytail prescribed an inhaler to use as needed should the the shortness of breath reoccur. Sweet. I was rapidly falling into a hazy little place filled with peace and oxygen--after that shot in my ass she could have brought the bill right then and I would have written her a check with a crayon.

Regardless--I wasn't dying, not that night and it was an amazing feeling.

My daughter...

This evening, after I tucked the bits into bed, my daughter came into my room because the cat was keeping her awake. I attended to the cat and my daughter shared that she really wanted to be with me--that she almost cried because she wanted me so much.

I told her thank you--that I love how much she wanted to be with me. I hugged her close and told her I was one room away if she needed me--we will spend time together tomorrow.

And this I promise.

What a precious, precious child...

Bridge to Terabithia

Ow--my heart. This movie was emotionally wrenching but I loved it! First of all, it was a family movie and I did not have to be on guard with my children--it was all safe content. Second of all, it had everything--themes of friendship, pressures, injustice, overcoming, death, rebirth, life, imagination, creativity.

The bridge is symbolic--she was his bridge, he was hers. Together they crossed into themselves and each other and she helped him to build a bridge to others, something he had never allowed himself to do.

We WILL read the book together--my children and I.

DAMAGED: Plumb

Wow! Check out the new video on my side bar. Plumb's song is about sexual abuse, an issue I am passionate about. I've always loved this song but until now, did not know the meaning of her words. Thank you Plumb.

Life goes on...

Even when I don't blog--imagine! Let's see, my youngest turned nine years old--blows my mind. I am SO proud of him and all that he has accomplished in his life. I wrote him a sweet card telling him exactly how I feel--he loved it and I love that he loves that stuff. I love that he still loves my lap--what a man.

We had his family party Saturday evening because I was on call with the Rape Recovey team on his birthday (Sunday) so I wanted to be sure to have uninteruppted time for celebrating him.

Then on Sunday (his birthday), we were on our way to Build-a-Bear and I was paged out for a rape. I was crushed because I was worried about him--he didn't miss a beat, "Don't worry mama, we can go later." What a man.

When I got home from my call-out we proceeded to Build-a-Bear again--this time successfully. He built his triceratops, his sister a hippo, and then we went to Toys-r-Us for him to spend a gift card he was mailed for his birthday. Following this whirlwind spending spree, we had dinner at the Olive Garden and, finally, home.

I was sad because in all that dropping of cash, we lost something more important than things--memories. I am an advocate for family time, for time together creating memories, sustaining self and creating an understanding of each other and what is important.

I explained this to him as best I could, that even though I loved our day together and I am glad he got to buy things that he enjoys, the important stuff is what happens between us--all of us. It's knowing you have a place in this world little man, little woman--that you count for something and I love my time with you because of what you bring to my life. Every single second of it.

I was going to post but...

I think I'll play with the rugrats instead. Sometimes you have to forego a preference, choose a slightly different direction in order to make a memory.

The end of one more day

And just like that it goes--a culmination of my actions, inactions, choices, words and interactions. I should be in mourning for the day that will never grace my existence again, I should cry for it's passing but I don't. The best homage I can pay for these days that come and go is to live in them the best that I can. To hold fast to my core as the shell around it and the world beyond move at a pace allowing for nothing less than order--predictable passage.

I am proud of me today--these are the instances I overcame:

1. Daughter spilling an entire sectioned box of beads on the floor--I calmly told her to pick them up and order them the way I had them.
2. Son breaking my terracotta oil burner--I hugged him and told him he was more important than the oil burner and to transition his tears into giggles, I told him he could buy me a new one with his birthday money.
3. Daughter freaking out about her coursework--calmly talked with her and strategized how we could work together to achieve her success.
4. Son pouring a cup of water when the lid to the pitcher fell off and the water showered the floor, no, more like flooded the floor. We laughed and I threw him a towel.

On any given day the above reactions might be an anger that I swore I was resistant to when my own mother unleashed hers upon me as a child. I vowed to rise above her anger--to love and to speak without rage if ever I had children.

I have, in every sense of failing, failed to avoid the rage. My rage might look different from my own mother's as it comes without the physical accompaniment but rage is rage is rage. Rage is failing to feel the presence of the human standing before you, failing to nurture and protect their psyche, failing to rise above an irrational impulse--failed clarity that you are, indeed, living one day closer to the last day you will live and breathe upon this plane of existence.

I can be better than this--I can be more aware, more mindful. I owe it to myself and my children so that they might not be a slave to rage in their own lives. It cripples and it hinders growth, hinders love and connection.

"There is a peace within me that cannot be disturbed" I owe special thanks to a fellow hip mama for allowing me to take this special quote for my daily mantra.

Breathe. I will count for something more than inherited imperfection--I will shine in the dark and I will rise with purpose and poise.

Hell yeah!

I'm rocking with the righteous chic music--okay, well NPR's World Cafe rocks and I'm like a fucking chic-musician archaeologist, diggin' 'em out.

Check this:
http://www.myspace.com/lilymusic

Her song "Smile" makes you, well, smile :-)