Chillin' with Cool Chi

Monday: 10/01/2007

I had a great weekend! The sun set on the chaos in my life. I had my yoga teacher training, which totally aligned my positive chi, opened my third eye, balanced the chakras and all that yoga jazz. My children were stars, each in their own way and, did I mention the sun set on the chaos in my life? It was ALL good.

Every month, for one weekend, I am attending a yoga teacher certification course. This past was my second weekend and I am already able to tell a difference but am also left wondering, will there be room for my imperfections in the wake of this course? Am I still allowed? And if I walk in the yogi way, will I still have writing material for my column?

Uh, something tells me: yeah.

Nevertheless, I am trying to be more mindful, more patient and more loving--to everyone, including the dung-bugs that cut me off in traffic or the personality challenged robots who ring up my groceries sometimes. But it's hard to be nice when you are faced with someone who is not so nice. You know the whole angel and devil on the shoulder bit? Well, it's like the yogi on my shoulder gets clobbered by the rogue monk on my shoulder that wants to throw down at the mere suggestion of peaceful, loving resolve.

Ommmmm.

Okay, so this may take more work but I'm journeying man, one weekend at a time.

So, anyway, my daughter had her FIRST EVER solo dance performance and for her, this was BIG. She has always been very satisfied and safe in the crowd of ladies dancing together but to step out on her own has horrified her. How cool that I got to journey with her on this? To see her open her heart and mind to a totally new and slightly uncomfortable experience? It was sweet! I could have never achieved such an accomplishment when I was her age man, I was just trying to survive back then. My daughter's dance? American Tribal Style Bellydancing and the way she moves defies the bones beneath her skin. The beauty of it? She has no idea how beautiful she is, not a clue, for she is the epitome of humble.

My son's play opened, for it's one and only performance, at UNF Sunday night and he rocked! They all did, I could easily spotlight him because he's my babe but the entire cast was wonderful and they have worked so hard, thus the chaos in my life. The last seven weeks, our family has endured a very active rehearsal schedule and I fared the best I could. My son, on the other hand, was a precocious professional. Here again, I was taken on a journey with him, witness to a powerful process--an awakening within him. He would lock himself in his room and practice, practice, practice. He would take notes at rehearsals and actually "got into character" on the stage. Sweet. My son's performance? A musical about peace, celebrating diversity and the tragic costs of war, whether personal, national, international or global. What a message to immerse yourself in at nine years old.

That's the jazz of mothering for me. Not only do I get to have my own joys and journeys along the way but I get to ride theirs as well.

Thursday: 10/04/2007

My mom calls this morning and tells me about a local anchor woman who has posted on her blog about yelling at her children and how lousy she feels--a club the first mother on earth started and subsequent mothers have been joining ever since. This courageous, honest anchor woman goes on to say she expects to receive hate mail from her confession.

Here's where the rogue monk on my shoulder wants to throw down, so I'll proceed from a place of peace when I say what I want to say here. I'll personally kick the butt of anyone who blasts this woman for yelling at her children, in a yogi kind of way.

It is liberating to admit to yelling at your children. They are not always fun to be around, at times, they are down right irritating. How dare society guise the reality of having kids in smiling-robot-mom-clorox commercials or greeting card poetry or lip service from clueless politicians or ridiculous mothering manuals as if we can know or care about what-to-expect once we've met these dear creatures we call our offspring.

Yeah, a bit of a tirade here I suppose but I feel for this anchor woman. If we were in a place where we could be honest about how we love our children, how we mess up, how we feel about them at different times in our lives at different points in their behavioral spectrum, the pressure of being responsible for human life, the painful remorse of allowing your mouth to open when you know good and damn well that you should suck on a fist, if we were in this place, well, we would probably still have to clean the toilet and diaper the butts and cook their dinner BUT, we might be a little less likely to yell, a bit less likely to break down and a lot less likely to feel alone in a world brinking on population saturation.

Hats off to you mama anchor woman, I yell at my kids too.