Yoga Junkie

From time to time you read in the news about women who abandoned their children for crack or meth. If I ever leave mine, it will be for yoga. Mike was out of town for most of last month. When I organized some time for myself, I found myself booking sitters around yoga classes (I like Mark at Pretzel's Yoga.) Because when it came right down to it, I didn't need drinks or movies or girls dinners or trips to Target. I needed the plow position to keep me sane.

I did yoga religously for several years before kids. But we moved across town and I got pregnant and that was pretty much the death of my downward dog. But back in February I started going again. After an initial week or two of soreness, I've turned into a complete junkie again. When I do the plow position, I can actually feel all the little pebbles of stress in my upper back melting away. And not only does my body feel better, but my mind too.

When we were in Florida and I wasn't able to make it to class for a whole week, I could feel my body reverting back to it's old self. Shoulders hunched, one higher than the other, knots in between the blades. I felt like Quasimodo. And my patience was shot.

When we got off the plane I gave the kids back to Mike and drove over to Potrero Hill for my fix. And then I was tall again. Straight again. And calm again. And much more zen with my children.

How To Hate Yourself in Nine Easy Steps

1. Decide to take your two toddlers across the country to visit your mother, who lives in a destination to which there are no direct flights.
2. Decide you can do this without your partner, who needs to work.
3. Plan your trip soon after the clocks change so everyone's sleep schedules are out of whack.
4. Make sure that your son loses his binkie the week before.
5. Allow your son to stop napping after the loss of said binkie.
6. Make sure that your destination has lots and lots of breakable stuff that he can't get into. And a piano that is really fun - but annoying - to bang on.
7. Be sure that your destination includes a pool without a gate or net so the kids can't go outside to play without intense supervision.
8. Notice that your son never, ever, ever listens to what you say.
9. Find yourself yelling the entire trip....

Good, now you can feel guilty about it for months to come.

The Kindness of Strangers

It might be because once when we were flying home from New York with six month old Miles, I gave a stranger my white Gap t-shirt. His 1-1/2 year old had vomited all over himself (including his shoes) and the father had no extra clothes for him. So he walked off the plane wearing my t-shirt like a ball gown - and I never saw it again. Or maybe I did something extraordinarily nice in a previous life. Or maybe people are just better than I thought. Or maybe I just looked REALLY pathetic.

But whatever the reason, this past week I was on the receiving end of a kindness from strangers. Strangers who carried my enormous carry on bag off of the airplane, while I carried Mia and tried to corral Miles into the right direction. Strangers who didn't complain when my daughter kicked the back of their seat for three hours straight. Strangers who played peek-a-boo with her for hours. Strangers who peeled my son away from the plane window and directed him down the aisle. Strangers who gave us juice, watched my daughter, played with my son.

So if you ever see someone stupid enough to take a two year old and one year old across the country, and change flights on the way, help them out. They might be too frazzled to show it at the time, but trust me they are grateful.