Monday, December 17, 2012

Timely and Informative

So many are going through so much with the Newtown Tragedy still in the hearts and on the minds of our nation and the world. I am not here to discuss and debate gun control, although I believe in sane gun laws (in the state of NV, if legislation passes requiring pseudophedrine to be dispensed by prescription only, it will be easier to legally purchase a rifle then it will be to purchase Sufafed) I am not even going to talk about how, yet again, our countries lack of mental health services has failed another disturbed individual.

To catch you up on the last few months of my life would be difficult given my only thinly veiled attempts at hiding my real identity. If you know me in real life you know how mental illness and substance use/misuse/abuse have been affecting our family. During this time we have also dealt with tragedy of losing two friends to suicide. I have strong feelings about mental health care but no more answers then anyone else. I am also not willing to use the Newtown tragedy and the loss of so many precious lives to drive readers to my little blog.

What I want to talk about is the worst gift you can ever give to the mother of a young child and how ultimately that gift changed my life at its very core.

When my little one turned a whole year old, we had a party for family and friends. It was monster themed, my sister made the cake and my little one ran around in a tutu. A friend of ours gave me the gift of a month at a local hot yoga studio. First, I had never ever heard of hot yoga or Bikram yoga. Second, giving any woman, especially a new mother, the gift of a workout or workout equipment is usually interpreted as meaning that the giver believes the giftee is fat and needs to lose weight because everyone is sick of looking at the giftee's jiggly belly and flat, saggy butt (at least this is how I initially interpreted this gift, after faking pleasure at receiving it of course) did I mention that the giver is single? Cause shockingly, he totally is (maybe because he makes a habit of giving workouts as gifts) joking (kind of) in the sake of honesty I have to say that the giver is a sweet guy, who gave me this gift because Michael and I rock climb and he had found that hot or Bikram yoga helped him with his flexibility, recovery and strength in regards to his climbs. None the less he is single and if you are living in Afghanistan and looking to meet a guy let me know, I could set you up (long distance wing-womaning, I should totally get props for that one)

I attended my first Bikram yoga class at Bikram Yoga Summerlin that next week. The first week was pure torture. I was sick, very sick, I hurt all over. I was sore and I didn't want to go back. I was experiencing a health crisis, but I also really believed that I needed to make some changes so I trudged onward. The studio was amazing, warm not in the physical sense, it was HOT in the physical sense (Bikram
Yoga is practiced in a 105 degree room with 40% humidity) beautiful; artwork, couches, paintings, gorgeous lithe men and women walking around barely clothed like super attractive cats wearing less then bathing suits. There was love and immediately my cynical side started to look for flaws.

I attended classes 12 times in my first month. At the end of my gift month I knew I wanted to continue with this practice, although I still had times of loathing it deeply. I was mistrustful of Bikram as an individual, I had read some disturbing stories on the Internet about militant instructors and injuries caused by the encouragement to push yourself further, I read about sloppy postures never being corrected, I read about heat exhaustion, dehydration and what ultimately always is a major complaint is Bikram Choudhury's financial success and the disagreement about how he runs the studios bearing his name. But after my first week I started leaving classes feeling renewed, like a dirty sponge wrung out, everything dirty and messed up was left in the sweat on my towels, my clothes and the studio floor. I continued to go semi regularly until the beginning of October.

In October my studio had a 30 classes in 30 days challenge. After practicing for for around 4 months I was seeing my body change and thought I would attempt the challenge. Michael and I talked about how I would fit in the various classes, who would watch the kids while I was attempting this and what I would need to achieve this. I read inspirational blogs of people attempting 30 and 60 day challenges, I followed people on Instagram who were regularly practicing or attending the Fall 2012 Bikram Yoga Teacher Training in Los Angeles. I was pumped, I was set and I started. 30 days to change your body, 60 days to change your life.

I failed. 5 days into the challenge I became dehydrated, I then fell while carrying the baby and sprained my wrist. Lastly, and most emotionally taxing, Michael and I dealt with the tragedy of losing a close friend; an amazing person, a wonderful musician, a talented artist and tattoo artist, a wise, hilarious guy with a goofy, dry sense of humor.

I failed completely and my shame and pride kept me out of the studio for almost 2 months. During my recent trip to visit Bean and her little Beanstalk, I started having dreams about my studio and my instructors. I missed them, I actually missed the hot, torture box. When I came home I drug my jet lagged butt to class. I had thrown my back out on my trip, it hurt to lay down, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to carry and run through Houston International airport with carry on luggage, wearing a 20 pound, 18 month old. That first class was painful and healing. My second was better and full of light and love, which was a blessing because of the events our nation went through on Friday. My vibrant instructor Lacey told us to hug someone important to us that day, full of doubt and wondering if she would think I was weird I hugged her as I left, she had no idea how important to me she has become.

So it is with renewed faith I start my Bikram practice again. I am less cynical but I will always struggle to quiet my monkey mind who wants to compare and pick apart my fellow classmates for being better, more attractive, thinner, more flexible, stronger or wearing nicer workout clothes then me.

I will still question Bikram as a man but I have never blindly followed anyone or anything. I don't believe "Doubting" Thomas was a bad thing (another post for another day) I am finding inspiration from the people around me and working on radical self love and acceptance.

"You’re never too old, never too bad, never too late and never too sick to start from the scratch once again." -Bikram Choudhury

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

I Got 99 Problems...

I am getting ready to post my 100th picture to Instagram. This is a very minor milestone in my life right now.

Babyness is walking, she has 6 teeth, uses some basic home signs and is starting to copy noises and sounds she hears. For example we sing the song "Lil Red Riding Hood" to her and she has picked up on the howl and joins in on it. Her biggest milestone is coming, she will be a year old next month.

The Kidlet is graduating 4th grade, finished baseball and is starting basketball.

Michael and I will celebrate 9 years of being together on the 30th of this month.

So many milestones I would to celebrate with my 100th post and I fear I will end up posting a naked baby picture or something mundane but exciting to me like a clean sink or a pile of folded laundry.

These are definitely 1st world problems.

If you want to follow me on Instagram I am Thimbleful.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Sleep and Dream

The Little One is asleep in her bassinet next to me. Everyday she grows in ways I never dreamed I would be privy to watching.

Words are often not enough.

You can follow me now on Instagram I am thimbleful.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

I Will Probably Regret This in the Morning

It is 11:30 p.m. PST.

The Kidlet went to bed around 9, Michael finally called it a night at 9:45 and I got the Little One down a little after 10. I know I should have laid down put on my iPod (with only one earbud in so I can hear if the Little One stirs in the co-sleeper next to me) and listened to This American Life or RadioLab or a meditation podcast but instead I am here.

I wandered around Pinterest, I changed my privacy settings. I also changed my privacy settings on Google, Mozilla and Facebook. While I am happy to share myself, I am cautious about what is out there for people to see. I want to be in control about what I choose to share on the interweb but that is a tangent.

I miss writing, I miss blogging, I miss having these little late nights because the Little One is always up by 7:30 a.m. and I am not a napper. I use her morning naps to shower and get some housework done that I don't want her to be involved with, like cleaning the bathrooms with bleach.

So much has changed, I don't regret a minute of it but sometimes my mind is overwhelmed trying to keep up with what might be an unrealistic ideal of motherhood. I gave up the notion of being super stepmother years ago but I am coming to terms with the idea that I cannot be the perfect mother I had in my head. My Little One loves Elmo, I know this because in a desperate attempt to have a few minutes I put an episode on the computer. I have also had Elmo's Song stuck in my head for around a month.

I was dead set on making all her baby food but it turns out she likes the stuff from the store. I still try to buy organic and I still make her a significant amount of homemade food but again, it was an ideal. I have never been a perfect housekeeper, kids make messes and while we live in a sanitary house we often live with differing levels of chaos. The Little One will eat the dog food if I am not watching closely and by not watching closely I mean turning my back to get a drink of water. I can pick up the food but then the poor dog never gets to eat because I forget to put it back down on the ground.

It is now 11:45 p.m. I am going to try to go lay down and prepare for tomorrow. All I can wish for is to enjoy every day that goes to quickly with my little girl and to sneak a few minutes to keep myself grounded.