Rainboot Mindfulness

In the span of a few months, the only full priced pair of shoes I’ve ever bought Potamus, has failed. True he’s worn them threadbare, with all his tromping and climbing and sliding. But I wasn’t prepared for the rain boot replacement, and then I showed up to school today and the gash in the side of the boot (that I had, perhaps, frugally thought I would repair with a big swatch of duct tape), and a ripped strap, and just general disrepair. And I realized, “dang, it’s time to replace these boots.” As it so happens, we live in Seattle, and it’s January, and it’s…RAINING.

Thank goodness I let my students out early today, so Potamus and I headed down to Fred Meyer by our house to pick out new rain boots. He was thrilled. The whole ride there he sang a little song that went something like “rain boots, rain boots, new rain boots,” and then included things like “mommy, me, scrummy, me, house, rain boots, new rain boots.” The melody is hard to translate, but it was adorable. When we arrived at the brightly lit shelves of the toddler rain boot section, I realized…good thing I only have one kid, because a) DANG THESE ARE EXPENSIVE and b) DANG THIS TAKES FOREVER.

I squatted down, frantically looking for a replacement size 9, which we  bought a size too big four months ago. And only finding one pattern (which he quickly rejected) we opted to try on some size 8’s that actually fit really well, but make me nervous that he’ll grow out of them in 3.4 seconds. He tried on butterfly boots “like aubrey,” and princess ones “like bella’s,” and didn’t want the sharks because they were “like madden’s,” and finally, after digging through all that rubber, he decided on the one pair of dinosaur boots that fit. Phew.

But wait!

The hemming and hawwing began again.

“They’re too big mama,” he said, which I protested because there’s no way they were too big. Too small, maybe, but definitely not too big. So we tried on the shark pair again. And then looked at the butterfly pair. He rejected the ladybug that was sorta ‘like aubrey’s’ but not exactly the same. We looked at plain red, plain yellow, you get the idea.

Oh the toddler indecision.

But after about five minutes into the haggling with my tiny, I was actually enjoying myself. I remember going to get shoes as a kid and feeling so stifled by the choices because a) I was gigantic and had gigantic feet and b) my mom was cheap on a budget, and c) there were 3 of us and we were always in a rush from one thing to another. I know that the luxury of spending 30 minutes hemming and hawwing over the perfect pair of rainboots will not be something I can do forever. But in the world of hurry up, where I’m always hustling him out the door in the darkness to school, or coming home and slamming things down to start dinner/snacks/tv show/cleanup, it felt nice to simply notice all the designs available for him to choose from.

And when he strutted out of the store, and on his own said, “thanks for buying my new rainboots,” I smiled and drank in the sweet moment that passes all too soon.

How Boyhood the movie is changing my life

By now, I’m sure you’ve heard of the incredible feat of a movie in Boyhood, which was filmed with the same actors over a period of 12 years. Having simply seen the previews, and hear a review on the radio, I decided to take myself out to see this 2 hour and 45 minute film that is being touted as an award winning movie with very little action. It, by all accounts, has broken many cinematic rules. There’s no plot, besides simply watching a boy grow up, and the actors (Patricia Arquette, Ethan Hawke) committed over 12 years to make this film. The main character, Mason, played by Ellar Coltrane, was only 6 when he started the project. 

So there I was, sitting in a dark movie theater for a matinee showing with five other people. A young couple, who I judged to have no children yet, and older couple who seemed like grandparents, and a guy about my age. The five of were there to see the magic. 

But it wasn’t magic. Not at first. It was cute seeing the six year old boy’s antics, and how he related to his older sister, and his mom, and the scenes from life that unfolded before my eyes. Halfway through I felt bored. There was no action. Tiny episodes of drama, but mostly interpersonal relating. Scenes from year to year were marked by Mason’s haircuts. I was sitting in this theater thinking “what? what? this is it? this is what I paid good money for? Really? This is all there is? The cinematography isn’t even that spectacular. And the soundtrack? Is there even a soundtrack?”

These thoughts were much like the thoughts I have when meditating, or halfway through yoga. Monkey mind. I sat back for the rest of the film, followed the loose plot, and then BAM. (uh, spoiler alert for those who haven’t seen the film…do not read on…)

BAM

Mason graduates from high school. His mom, played by Patricia Arquette, is sitting in her new apartment with her now-grown son, in that awkward teenage-almost-college-student-scruffy way is packing up his belongings. And she starts to cry. She says, “I just thought there’d be more.” At least that’s how I remembered it. She might have said “I just thought there’d be more time,” but nonetheless, I started to cry. Little tears rolled down my cheeks, not a full on sobbing mess, I can keep it together of course. 

The final scene is Mason hanging out with some of his new college buddies, and he has this conversation about the idea of ‘seizing the moment,’ rephrasing it by saying, “I think the moments seize you,” and suddenly the movie was spectacular. I think that was the magic in it. That I couldn’t tell how beautiful it was until it was over and I looked back, remembered earlier scenes and saw how the tied in to the ending. That life was unfolding and no matter how mindful in the here and now, there is something powerful in that moment of reflection, introspection, nostalgia. It was pure magic. 

And would it be crazy to say that a movie could influence me to want another child? No, that’d be totally daft, right? But I found myself, as I was watching the scenes unfolding, and the nostalgia I felt at the end when she said ‘I thought there’d be more time,’ that the reason I have only wanted 1 kid is not because I am afraid another will distract me from BIG life goals like curing cancer (or travelling to India) or doing a career I love…but that it will distract me from doing things like Buzzfeed quizzes. Now that might sound silly, but it’s true. When I get angry with Potamus for ‘interfering’ with my time, or not going to bed because I ‘just want a fucking minute to myself,’ It’s not because I want a minute to myself to do art or yoga or spend time with friends. Because I manage to find time to structure into my life to do those things. It’s that I want him to ‘go the fuck to sleep’ so I can scroll, scroll, scroll through Pinterest on my phone. 

I was asked once if I would get to be that 80 year old woman if I would regret not trying to have another kid. And I know the answer would be ‘no,’ if it meant I could be the best parent to 1 kid while pursuing my amazing life goals. I will regret not trying for another kid if it’s because I wanted to pin recipes to pinterest that I know I’ll never use. You know? 

Parenting is my mindful meditation. I get to drop into something deeper beyond buzzfeed quizzes and the monkey chatter of my thoughts. This isn’t a pregnancy announcement, or even an announcement that we will be trying any time in the near future (soonest will be next summer), but something settled in my body and heart when I watched this film. I realized that it is hard, and amnesia sets in at some point and I will say to myself, “I just thought there’d be more time.” 

Take Time to Stack Rocks

With an hour to kill before dinner plans, Potamus and I took advantage of the Seattle sunshine to get out for a walk. There’s this housing development one street over, and at the end of the cul de sac is a drainage pond where some ducks congregate. Potamus loves the ducks, and got really excited when we headed in that direction. He kept shouting “duck! duck!” (which actually sounds more like ‘duh! duh!’).

Halfway down the block we came across a pile of rocks. Fascinated, Potamus spent the next 20 minutes stacking and unstacking rocks. And I let him. This rock stacking is actually a zen practice that you can google (and see amazing pictures) from around the world. But it was hard for me to stop and just feel the sunshine on my shoulders. I kept thinking ‘but, we’re on a walk, to see ducks,” because that’s my personality…goal oriented (mostly) and not always about the journey.

I’m trying to slow down. Because when depression and anxiety ramp up in my life I usually try to fill myself up with a lot of things that actually numb me out. And so instead of focusing on the ducks and whether he’d be disappointed if we had to turn around for dinner after only walking 100 feet to the rock stack, I let myself be in the moment. There was nothing more exciting for him than that moment. He was right where he needed to be. I was right where I needed to be.

Take some time today to stack the rocks my friends.

How yoga is improving my life

This week is midterm break for my students, and so my schedule is much more relaxed. We meet with each student individually, but these meetings only take 15 minutes or so, which means I’m done by 2:00 pm at the latest…and am off on Thursday. This relaxed schedule is freeing up time to practice yoga earlier, and so when I dropped Potamus off at grandma’s house, I decided to amble on down to their bathroom to weigh myself. While I rarely jump on the scale, seeing the numbers are merely one portion of overall health, I was SHOCKED to find that I am now at 214 lbs, which is only 5 lbs away from my postpartum weight (okay, really it’s only 2lbs away from my postpartum weight, since I LIED to my midwife about weighing less at the start than I really did. For shame…)

Somehow I have managed, in the past 2.5 months, to lose close to 15 lbs. I really think that the 3-4.5 hours of yoga in a sweaty hot room has really contributed to this overall weight loss. But beyond numbers on the scale (of which I am excited, not going to lie), I have also noticed other things. Like how shitty I felt after eating Jack N the Box for lunch today. And not shitty because I was beating myself up about it, but shitty because let’s be honest, Jack N the Box tastes like garbage.

Additionally, I cried on the way to work today. Not full on ugly cry, but I definitely felt emotion and it expressed through tears. I can’t solely contribute that to yoga, because it’s something I’m working on in therapy, but having all those hours a week where I have to focus on the mind/body connection is certainly helping me tap into the emotions and express them…and express them in a non judgy way.

You know how I bragged the other night about making dinner? Um, yeah, I did it again. Same recipe…ish…which means I’m sorta getting the hang of it, and feeling confident. It was lemon pepper papardelle noodles, and some chicken, and mushrooms, tomatoes, garlic and shallots all boiled together in the veggie stock and water. Topped with grated parmesan chese. While it won’t ever take the place of my love for marinara, it was pretty darn delicious and felt amazing that I stepped AGAIN outside my comfort zone and cooked, rather than simply heated things up. Also, I wasn’t too worried about the outcome, and that relaxed approach is much more mindful and like how I approach the difficult yoga poses that I do each week.

My weight has dropped, but I overall feel stronger and more flexible. I’ve been throwing Potamus around during our wrestling sessions in the living room. My clothes fit different and my mama belly pooch is firmer, though sweetly still dappled with the stretch marks. Overall I feel confident, like I can face a lot of things. And maybe that’s the antidepressants talking, but I’m gonna attribute a lot of that to my new yoga practice.

Have you started any new healthy way of life lately? How has it rippled into other areas of your life?

Anxiety

In the first three days of the week I had the sum total of 14 hours of sleep. That’s about 10 hours less than normalish, and way less than the ideal. It wasn’t because Potamus has been sleeping poorly, he’s doing good despite his teething pain, it’s that I’ve felt the rise of anxiety once again. I haven’t yet figured out why I get these moments of utter stuckness in the anxiety loop. I know I begin ruminating, literally obsessing, over whatever the anxiety-trigger is, and the spiral goes on until I fall asleep from utter exhaustion.

I know what I could do and it’s not working. I’m on meds. I do relaxation exercises. I get up and walk around. I tell Boof I’m anxious. I practice yoga regularly. And the anxiety is still there. It hangs around despite the sunshine. It lingers in back alleys of my mind, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and wearing a faded leather jacket he probably picked up at the Goodwill. And then, just as soon as it comes, it goes. I get good sleep a few more nights, and it comes back. I just can’t figure it out and I know that in trying to figure it out I’m trying to control it…to say if XYZ happens then I will do ABC and the anxiety will go away. But I haven’t figured out the magic formula, and so I wonder….

What would it be like if I just accepted that the anxiety will be there, and I don’t know when it will come or go, but my life won’t be free from it. Would that help? Or is trying to use  mindfulness once again trying to control the anxious spinning thoughts? And, if I am to just accept the anxiety, how do I go about doing it?

How do YOU handle anxious or worried thoughts?

Dental Meditation

This week’s topic over in my Zen Pen writing group is Breath. And there’s nothing more conducive to practicing deep belly breathing than sitting in the dentists’s chair. Yes, there I was, folks, with 37 tools jammed in my mouth, the dentist cracking jokes and the hygeinist chatting about celebrity gossip while my teeth were drilled into oblivion. And how I managed to not freak out, was to focus on my breath. In through the nose, out through the nose, feeling the belly rising and falling.

Historically I never minded the dentist, but with spotty dental coverage and laziness on my part, I have come to sort of…dread the event. Not because once I’m there I’ll freak out, but just because I hate the fact that my teeth have gotten cavities so bad that I have had to get a root canal (during pregnancy) and that what I used to take pride in has gone by the wayside. I get to go back next week to have the other side’s cavities all filled up, so yay, I’ll get to do some more belly breathing meditation.

Have you ever found yourself meditating in a strange place? On the bus or in the dentist’s chair or in traffic?

Resistance is Futile…

The waves are coming. Don’t try to fight them.

I can recall a hot day, sipping chai with my favorite Ukranian (link, in case you read Russian) in Delhi. We called ourselves “The Revolutionaries,” and were discussing the difficulties of ‘thinking a lot,’ that is, being interested in philosophy, religion, history and politics…the basics of  our ideas around trying to save the world, or at least, trying to impact our small little corner. I remember her saying, “life is difficult,” and being impressed (or baffled?) by those we saw around us who just…lived without seeming to analyze everything to death. These people seemed happy with their lot in life, though, of course, I’m leaving room for that to be an illusion, too.

I’ve noticed, lately, that the straining and analyzing I do is actually causing suffering in my life. Now I’m not advocating becoming a doormat, but I have realized that it’s taken a good 6 weeks for me to really find rhythm with this whole…play-at-home-mom-summertime gig. There’s been nights of “FUCK YOU” to Boof, where I text in anger, or grump when I have to get up YET AGAIN TO BREASTFEED, and the long, hot days where all I focus on is making my kid another damn meal.

There’s something about the straining for something to be different. The resistance to what simply is, without labeling or judging it as good or bad. When I’m sitting at home with my kid watching another episode of Jake & the Neverland Pirates, why do I strain and grouse and grump about what society thinks about stay at home moms? Why do I feel like I have to have ALL THE IDENTITIES happening at one time? Because, when I surrender to what is, this moment of being at home or this moment without Boof around, or this moment of being hot outside by the “pool” (aka a bucket of water), I am actually so much happier.

There’s been several moments this week where I’ve felt this contentment. Content is something that I really strive for, and can tell that people around me are possibly perplexed by it. I think I can read a tone of…apprehension when Boof texts, expecting me to be pissed that he’s not home NOW. I’m sure my bitchy resistance mood will return, but for now I’m just going with the flow…not fighting what is. Not trying to judge what this moment is compared to moments that could be.

Zen-mer Break

wear red lipstick to clean

Zen-mer. That’s my intention for the next three months off from work. Though zenning out will NOT include endless slothfulness. While I had no intention of tackling large projects until July, my first day off was so blissfully relaxing that I actually found myself doing random things like organizing my underwear drawer, three loads of laundry, and beginning to clean out the bathroom cabinet so we can remove it to paint the wall. I did all of this while wearing red lipstick, because, who doesn’t want to look fabulous while cleaning?

Actually, in addition to the red lipstick, I wore black leggins and a black tank-top, channeling my inner Grease goddess. Maybe the rock-n-roll attitude doesn’t seem to jive with zen-mer, but yeah, it felt relaxed and lovely at the same time. I think the whole CHOOSING to do chores, rather than HAVING to do them was the difference. And knowing that I could just relax if I wanted to, was delightful.

Sitting…hardest thing ever

I could do the power poses, like chataranga to plank and back, no problem, but sitting, that was the hardest thing ever.” -Boof

A long discussion about the culture of working out, what workouts we feel geared toward (it was mostly a rant against the Crossfit obsession from Boof’s perspective) led me to say that yoga is really where I feel at home. I’ve been running, but yeah, yoga feels right. And when I do it consistently I see amazing strength and flexibility in body AND mind. And Boof encouraged me, because he said, “Yoga is the hardest workout I’ve ever done, and you’re built for it. It  comes naturally to you…the flexibility and balance. I could do power poses all day, like chataranga and plank and back, no problem, but sitting, that was the hardest thing ever.”

We were getting ready for bed, and so I let the conversation dwindle, after laughing about how right he was about the sitting part. Though he was talking about the physical. With years of playing intense sports like football and running on the treadmill without stretching, his body is strong, but also tight. He cannot sit “criss cross applesauce” on the floor on a normal afternoon, though after 9 months of yoga with me, he was able to. But it got me thinking about the other aspect of sitting, the mental, emotional and even spiritual act of…just sitting…that is, in fact, the hardest part of yoga.

Sitting.

Sitting.

Not doing anything.

Not faceboooking, or blogging, or thinking of facebooking, or thinking of blogging. Not getting up to clean the living room or giving in to the urge to watch the latest DVR’d episode of The Voice. Just sitting.

My husband thinks I’m good at it, that it comes naturally to me, and maybe he’s right in the physical sense, that my legs are flexible, but he’s wrong in so many ways. Sitting is hard, and I struggle with it, probably more than he realizes. My mind is like a manic hamster on redbull.

Because sitting is the hardest thing ever.