"Hey Pancake-what song should we put on the blog??!!" says Mom.
"Candy Mountain!" Says she.
And so it is . . .
In the big rock candy mountain . . .
Saturday, July 31, 2010
"Hey Pancake-what song should we put on the blog??!!" says Mom.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Hands at heart center ya'll
I went to see a Buddhist monk recently. That story is here. You don't need to read it iffn you don't want to. It's all good and it's all free.
My task as of late, is to heal from my miscarriages. I am doing this because it's still there, the pain and yuck, hiding behind migraines and a sadness that ebbs and flows. And I want to heal. Because I am a happy and giddy person at baseline. Because my life is an embarassment of riches and I want to be here, lapping it all up, all the time. And because we are a month away from trying again and I don't want the lurking, crazy hurt to affect the next steps. The steps of getting nekkid and knocked up I mean.
Anyway, the first step us to show myself compassion. Give all my inside stuff a hug. This way, I can make peace.
It's kind of funny, practicing compassion for myself. I mean, I am what they call an "alpha female". Very much in charge of most everything I want for me and mine. It's kind of an illusion though. I mean, I'm not really in charge of anything. This is kind of a bummer.
The lack of mind control over this matter is apparent the more I deal and heal. I mean, after the first miscarriage I took a week off, cried with my husband and I thought I was done. Then the next one happened and I cried really hard with my husband and thought I was done. I had done what was needed to be done and I thought I was done but I was wrong. Again, bummer.
So I shh, I yoga, I pray and I feel. Different poses help things along. Like this pose, called the corpse pose. Or 'sleeping zombie pose' as I like to call it.
It is the hardest pose for me because you just lay there. And be still. You do this at the end of class when all your energy is supposedly spent. Only my energy is hardly ever spent. I am perpetual motion people. It's taken me SOOOO LOOONGG TO JUST LAY THERE! Five years of yoga and this is still my most challenging pose.
Part of the problem is that all the yoga poses that come before this pose, they stir the pot of internal energies. So when I lay there, all the energies are bubbling and sloshing. And then I have to lay there and try to be still.
And that's exactly what I did on Monday. I let all of it swirl and be crazy. And the funniest thing happened. I felt this unbelievable joy. Joy when I thought about the two positive pregnancy tests. Joy about former suddenly swollen c-cups. Joy because I had had morning sickness. Because I was pregnant twice recently. And it was our love, the love of our family growing inside me. AND THAT FEELING WAS EFFING AWESOME!
Touching the stuff underneath can pretty cool indeed.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Life can be incredibly messy and crazy. It can catch even the best of us unawares. This includes me.
Take for instance my recent bout of migraines. I had never had migraines before. This was no good. Then there my recent bout of feeling sad. People had been saying, "Holly, you just aren't your chipper self lately." And what they had said-- this was true.
So I went to a counselor a few weeks back. We couldn't find the origin of yon migraines or sad. So we chalked it up to work stress. Maybe the new birth control pills had something to do with it. It didn't even occur to bring up my miscarriages. She advised more yoga. And thus I went on my merry way.
So more yoga then. This resulted in me getting more emotional during yoga. THIS SUCKS AND IS AWESOME AT THE SAME TIME. Because yoga makes emotional yucky come out through sweat and the tears. They don't call it detoxifying for nothing!
Then there was this yoga visit. The one with the pregnant woman. The one were I lost it. It didn't occur to me that something darker might be lurking underneath.
An so, the lack of chipper persisted. The migraines, complete with facial numbness, disturbed vision and trouble speaking, these have faded. I still got headaches but I attributed this to stress. Really, nothing wrong here, nothing to see, move along.
Then, on Sunday I went to a five hour meditation retreat conducted by a Buddhist monk. He travels around the world and there he was, at my local yoga studio. I went to the event. I volunteered to sit in the front. Directly infront of the Buddhist Monk. Because really, in my mind, it was a matter of GO BIG OR GO HOME. And I am nothing if not a straight A student. I always sit in the front by the teacher!
Beside, I reasoned, I am healthy and balanced. No worrries! Should be fun!-thought me.
Four hours later, after much deep breathing, examining within and singing bowls, the class had reached a place of down deep. We were in the state of openness and vastness. I felt really relaxed, like I had taken a big bong hit. Well, truth be told, I have never smoked marijuana, so I can only guess. Either way, I was chillaxed beyond compare.
Then this happened.
During this state of deep chillaxing, when people were discussing painful experiences and people that were hurting them, I felt it coming. Deep in mah belly, a storm was abrewin'. Much like the recent storms during yoga, it was a pattern of scattered showers and gusty winds. Nothing I hadn't shoved down before, nothing I haven't delayed until I reached my car. Piece. of. cake.
But Holy Christ almighty I could not hold this down. It was a veritable hurricane of twisty tornadoes pulsing forward. Paroxysms of tears I tells ya. I started wiping the tears and that made it worse. Soon I was just out and out bawling. I literally had to leave the room and do a big ole snot bubble cry in the ladies room down the hall. It wasn't pretty. I was hyperventilating.
I was so embarrassed I could have JUST DIED.
Then, I collected my ass and calmed down. I stood outside the bathroom door and contemplated leaving. Except my yoga mat and car keys were still in there, on the yoga studio floor. In the same spot I had sitting. In front of the Buddhist Monk. A+ student spot. I had to go back.
So, I climbed out of the fox hole, donned my helmet and went back in.
I really struggled to stay present during the last half hour. I could not lift my eyes, nor my head to make contact with the monk. I focused on keeping my tears down and not making a fool of myself again.
Afterwards, when everyone was packing up to go home, he approached me and offered a one on one session. I eventually took him up on it.
So, last night, it was me and him and his personal physician at her house. Having a follow up discussion on my basket case moment.
What came of it was this.
During the basket case event, I kept thinking about those birth control pills and what they meant to me. What they mean is pain and failure. Every day, taking the pills that made me feel this way. Only I didn't realize it and I didn't say it outloud. I haven't verbalized any of this. I had thought I was done with the pain of my loss, the pain of my miscarriages. This is not the case.
In fact, I had been living most days with huge cement blocks strapped to my back as I trudge foward through the mud. No wonder I was having migraines and sad. That stuff is heavy!
I have a lot of healing to do. I am still affected by my miscarriages. The pain of my loss, it is mighty and strong and still affects me every day. It is now my task to lean into it, to embrace all of it, the fear, the anger, the sad, the everything--because this is how I will get better.
And when I am better, I will cast off the birth control pills and jump around all naked with my husband and seek to create another life. I will no longer be in the kung fu grip of fear. I will find peace and calm and joy.
But first, I just have to put some shoulder behind my basket case and lean into it.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
He kind of looked like this poodle here.
Last night I went a woman's house with 10 other ladies. It was a gathering of 'The Women's Group' from church. We ate finger sandwiches, drank lemonade and watched a video of a woman preacher. The video lasted about an hour.
Then we talked a bit. Although, the actual discussion happens two weeks from now. But, being women, we talked about how we felt and what the message meant to us. And it dawned on me-this was the first time I have ever gathered with a group of people and talked about my growing faith. It first time I said these things out loud to someone other than my husband.
This rocked my world in no small way.
At the end, when we were all gathering our purses and putting on our sandals. One of the ladies came up to me and said, "This is my first night at this group, how long have you been coming?"
Then I said, "This is my first night too!", and I smiled.
Then she looked puzzled and said, "Oh Wow! I really thought you had come before, like you already belonged."
And on the way home it struck me, I already do.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Repo Men in Repo Men repossess artificial organs from people. People that have bought the organs, on credit, to replace their failing ones. Like buying a car. If the people fall behind on payments, the Repo Men come and collect the goods. Like falling behind on the car payments, only it's your liver or kidney they're coming for.
The parts they repossess
There are a number of themes in Repo Men. There is Jude Law and his lifelong friendship with Forest Whitaker. It also brings up the question, "What role does your job play in forming who we are?" Also, if our job is to slice people open and remove their organs, "What does your job say about you?"
Jude Law about to cut open a client to retrieve the goods
First, let's discuss Jude Law. I don't know much about him except he hosted SNL recently and did a bad job. But, I'm not kidding when I say, dude made this film. He was efficient and left me gob-smacked. I forgot it was him towards the end. I know, I was shocked too.
Jude (Remy) and Forest (Jake) are brethren. They grew up fighting and drinking together. They are war buddies. To have a war buddy is to have a bond like no other. It is closer than brother, closer than kin. In fact, Jake seems to have an issue with separating who he is and who Remy is. In his mind, they are one. But, this will come up later.
Remy with Jake, two peas in a pod
Remy has other friends though, a wife and a son friends. This is a problem. The wife does not like Remy's job, which is a weak point in the movie. I mean, the wife knew what he did for a living before they got married right? Or maybe he started the repo job after they were married?
Either way, being a Repo Man is part of him. The creepy slicing and dicing, late night hours and questionable morals and all. So really, it's her deal to figure out how to deal with it. Instead, she kicks him out and gives him the stink eye.
Remy getting the Stink Eye by his wife
At this point, Remy has a decision to make. He chooses to do one more repo then move on to save his marriage. This one last repo involves taking a heart. Which means he'll have to stop the client's heart with a defibrillator. Only something goes wrong. He ends up getting shocked himself.
Remy Takes a Hit
I kid you not, I did NOT see this next part coming.
The shock fries his heat. He needs to have it replaced. That means he has to buy a heart on credit. My jaw was on the floor during this scene. I did not see it coming. Remy accepts the heart and the 24% interest rate on a $800,000 loan. If he stays a repo man, he can make bank. But, with the new heart comes empathy. Rendering him unable to further slice and dice his clients. He falls behind on his payments.
He is now out of time. He goes on the lamb and finds the bird below. She lives on the outskirts too. She has about 150 different organs inside her, all overdo. They become squatters and he begins to type out his life story on a old fashioned type writer. All the while there is must tender loving between the two. Tender, loving, sexy, love making fun. Their kisses are warm and made me blush.
Remy and the wounded bird
Needless to say, the Repo Men come and find Remy. Irony. Irony still when the Repo Man they send is Jake. This begins a lot of kung fu fighting between the Repo Men, Remy and the bird. In fact, the film contains massive amounts of martial art fighting, often with knives. There is a critical mass of cutting up and slaying. However, it is done in such a way that every slice, every stab, every punch and pummel, all of it is achingly beautiful. Saw this was not.
The fighting was modeled after the Filipino martial arts style. That is to say, each blow was delivered with intent and meaning. Each fillet of the knife was surgical and steel bound. It all had grace and rhythm. Which makes sense, the film was based on a book called, "The Repossession Mambo".
Remy and one of copious knife fight scenes
This brings us the final theme, "What role does your job play in making up who you are?" and "If your job is slice people open and take out their organs, what does this job say about you?"
Several times throughout the film, Remy and Jake reassure themselves that while their job can be tough and distasteful, "A job is a job". This is a manifesto that spurs them on. It is the salve spread over their bleeding conscience.
Only Jake takes it a step further. He finds moral righteousness in upholding the laws that bind his clients. The clients he fillets. He finds further strength in his friend Remy, who feels and acts as he does. Only, after Remy's wife forces his hand, and Remy starts to sway to the other side, Jake begins to come undone. It all comes to a head in the final scenes.
There's a whole twist at the end that I won't reveal here. And there is so much more I'm not revealing here. This film is rich with all the themes and a true review would take more than just this post. Needless to say, the film left me breathless and crazy. Which is what a film should do, if it's doing it's job.
So please, watch this film, you owe it to your family, you owe it to yourself.
Friday, July 16, 2010
At yoga there was a pregnant woman. Really pregnant, like seven months or so. I've heard about her before. When I announced my pregnancy, the yoga teacher said, "Oh, we've got another pregnant woman in the classes." She was a month ahead in terms of due date.
I've seen her in the halls, going to the easier classes. Subconsciously I've been keeping track of her. Because she was the other pregnant woman in the class. Then she was the only one.
And there she was today, next to me in yoga class. All big and round and pregnant.
Then, at the end of class, when we were all done, she was happily chatting about her ultrasound.
I don't want to say I was unbelievably sad with her next to me. I don't want to say I couldn't talk myself out of the sad and the tears. I don't want to say I had to leave instead of joining in the joy.
Yet there it was.
This song gave me great comfort during my first pregnancy, when I was so sick. It got me through and really helped me. And now it'll help me today, when I'm non pregnant.
Take care all. :)
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Here's the link to this pick. Thanks for the stupid conscience Earl!
Got to work yesterday and seriously, I wasn't working right. Because the night before Mac woke up at 3.30 am and was crying. Then he started yelling--"i DON WANNA GO TO BEEEEDDDD!!!" He was laying in the hall in front of his room. And I'm all like, "Sweetie, you are in bed. Go back to sleep!"
That is called "parenting with your eyes closed." And sadly, yelling this out does not produce the desired results.
This wakes my daughter up and now everyone is up. The kids are on our bedroom floor. We don't let them sleep in our bed anymore. They are big kids who buck and snore and one of them talks in his sleep. Plus they are hot little people, like a heating pad pushed on high. So on the floor they go. But even on the floor they still make so much noise. Back to their room they go.
Meanwhile, Mr. Hall had taken his phone downstairs because if he wakes up in the middle of the night, he has to calm down to go back to sleep. The phone is our alarm clock.
Next thing I know, Mr. Hall is leaning over me, "Babe, it's 7.55, wake up". I bolt out of bed, splash water on my face, get dressed and am out the door by 8.05. My first patient is at 8.30. I need to motor.
I'm sadly without a stitch of make up. This makes me sad. I'm starving for breakfast.
Then I get work and realize it's the first Monday of the Month. The clinic is closed for our monthly meeting. I don't have patients until 12.30. DAMMITT!!
Then I realize, I volunteered to present one of my cases to the doctors at my work. It wasn't my turn to present, but I volunteered. BAH!! I usually have my act together, all professional and prepared for such things. This is NOT THE CASE that day. Again, I am not wearing lipstick and I feel discombobulated.
I start to talk and realize MY MOUTH IS NOT WORKING. I am in full Spaz-a-troid mode.
I have to slow down and purposefully sound out words like, 'schizophrenia', and 'he had a poor response to risperidone.' I am literally forcing the words out of my mouth. My brain feels like a bunch of loose papers stacked in messy piles, strewn all over the place. I can no longer fight the obvious. I take a deep breath and stop talking. I look them right in the eye and say, "My kid was up half the night. Sorry, my brain is still re-booting."
And they laugh and understand. Which is great. We have a great working relationship, the doctors and me, the psychiatric NP.
And there ya go. That's all I have for today! :)
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
the image maker of the image above, can be found here.
So, thanks for all your advice on yesterdays post.
Turns out, the solution was presented to me. And I was pissed. Pissed because I care about the local neighborhood punk kid. Pissed because I prayed for him. Pissed because I dedicated my yoga practice on Monday for him and the inner struggle I have for him. Pissed because I wrote whole post about my inner turmoil.
There was another act of taking another neighborhood kid's stuff. Another act of taking some kids stuff and destroying it. Only this time, it wasn't a skater kid his size and his age. It was a girl of five, younger then my daughter. Again, the local punk kid, he's ten. He took the little girl's toy and smashed it because he was mad.
And THAT'S IT. Enough.
He is no longer welcome at the House of Hall. I have told Pancake that no, he is no longer welcome. If he comes, he will be turned away. If he persists, she is to get us, her parents, and we will make sure he goes back home.
It vexes me still but at least now I have a solution. She will pursue other girls and boys her age, kids that have parents that care. Parents that guide and hold their kids accountable.
And I will still pray for that kid, I'm not going to put my daughter in harm's way. Because it's only a matter of time before he turns on her.
And that's that for now.
Let us breathe and turn our attention to brighter things. Funnier things. Things that include mah na ma na.
Ok everybody now, let us sing!
Thanks everybody, have a good night!
Monday, July 12, 2010
Welcome back to You Make The Call-where Mrs. Hall has an ethical dilemma and you can help her with it!
There a number of kids in my neighborhood, including my own-- Pancake (girl age seven), Mac (boy age 3.5). Two houses down there are a few boys, ages 7-8, heavily into skateboarding and even have a ramp in their driveway. None of these kids are the local punks.
In fact, I would love it if Pancake hung out with the boys. But they are rough and skateboard and well, Pancake is ok with roller blading and riding her bike, but really, my girl enjoys playing then stopping and looking at flowers. The boys down the street are go go go go go!! So, hmm.
THEN there is Chris. He is ten. And becoming attached to Pancake. We have always had reservations with Chris. Chris is always outside, always running around in the neighborhood. His mother, who is fat and large and lazy, often will stop by looking for him. Because she doesn't know where he is half the time. I don't think she cares. Which is fine. Everybody comes from somewhere. And sometimes where we come from-- is not so nice.
Except Chris is sometimes not so nice. You can tell the boy has no training or social grace. I often find him playing in the street, walking around not being careful for traffic. He'll just walk into our house if the door is open. He will ring the door bell six times. We've told him several times this is not acceptable behavior. And he comes over a lot. Every day, at least 2-3 times a day. Because his Mom doesn't want him in the house during the day. He asks for meals.
There have been questionable behaviors. Like when he bummed a dollar off of Pancake to buy something at a garage sale. This is no good. But he tried to make up for it by giving Pancake one of his Wii games from his house. When we opened it, there were bugs inside. Dead bugs, but still.
Then THEN there is his little sister Autumn. She is five. She is often with him and uses Mac's tricycle because she doesn't have her own. Their fat, lazy Mom doesn't watch her either. All day they are outside, being ragamuffins. And beginning to latch onto us. And for the most part, I've let them. I feel soo sorry for those kids. At least for Autumn.
Yesterday Chris had a run-in with the other boys down the street. He took one of their skateboards and tried to hide it. Then he tried to burn it in his fireplace. He was either trying to destroy the evidence that he took it or he was trying to destroy it because he was mad.
blink. blink. blink.
He was on our front porch when I heard the skater boys yell out to Chris, "Next time you take my stuff my Dad is calling the cops!" The Dad must have been really pissed.
And really, this shook me up something fierce. Because Chris is following the trajectory of mini-criminal. Because--if don't have parents who care and nurture you, you don't learn how to care for you or the things around you. So if you get mad, or if you want something, you just take it. And if your Mom doesn't bring down the wrath of God for such an act, you don't learn that stealing and burning stuff is wrong.
He will learn though. Contact with the police is a very good way to learn.
SO here's the dilemma. What the hell do I do with Chris? He hasn't done anything wrong with Pancake. He hasn't taken anything of ours. And. He responds to us. He responds to Mr. Hall. He craves a Daddy and Mr. Hall has some to spare.
Plus, Pancake likes him. She enjoys hanging out with him and Autumn.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I got really drunk last night.
I've always prided myself on being the type of person who doesn't start out a story that way, yet, there it is.
Last night I made myself a cosmo from this bottle after the kids went to bed. Only, we didn't have a cosmo glass.
We do have a big brandy sifter (like the one in the photo uptop) and thus I used that.
We put in a movie. I sipped. I probably should have stopped when my lips got tingly and numb. But there was still half the sifter left. Then the top of my thighs started going numb too. Then everything got really funny. I was giggly and floppy and sexy all at the same time.
It was really, really nice. And funny. I am normally a very VERY giggly girl, but get me a little sauced and I laugh 50 times more. It was really nice being drunk.
Because the day before I went to yoga, the yoga with the heated room.
Before we began class, the teacher said, "Please take a few minutes to dedicate your practice today. Think about whatever brought you to the mat and let it be your purpose for the next hour." So I closed my eyes and chose 'healing'.
It was a really hard class. It was the advanced class and I was really working hard at the poses. Plus the temp is like 100 degrees and sweat was pouring off me. Then there was this pose, the half pigeon pose.
During that pose, while my chest and head were laying on the mat, that's when the teacher spoke up. She likes to read from a book call, "Meditations from the Mat".
She said, "Yoga teaches us to accept ourselves as who we are. We are perfect just the way we are. We do not need be more than we are."
Yep..... THAT'S WHEN I STARTED SOBBING AND CRYING AND DAMMIT RIGHT THERE ON THE MAT I LOST IT .... Of course I had to hold it in and do all these silent sob vibrating chest bobs. But, all sorts of stuff was coming out.
It's the "We do not need to be more than we are." That got me.
Because I have spent the last six or seven months in this race to get pregnant, stay pregnant, recover from my miscarriage, then another try for another one, then lose that pregnancy. And now I have to wait three months, then two to try again.
I have been measuring my life in ovulation cycles and 28 day calenders. Only I don't have to. I don't have to put all this weight on myself. I can just be. I can just be me with my awesome two kids and husband is beyond the best and I can just be.
Because I don't have to be more than I am. I don't have to be pregnant or waiting until I can try again, checking off the days.
I can just be me, because I don't have to be more.
AND THAT MY FRIENDS, that revelation right there, that deserved a round of drinks indeed!! :)
drinks are on me!
Monday, July 5, 2010
This is Sergeant Hall and son Mac. Our family spent the day on the Air Force Base while Sergeant Hall worked with the F-16 fighter jets. He snuck away for a bit to come play with the kids and grab a quick kiss from his wife, me, Mrs. Hall. There's photos of that too.
It was a family day on base- there were lots of bouncy houses, bean bag toss and sno cones. All in support of us, the military families. Then we all sat on the hill and watched the jets taking off, making ferocious jet noises. Then the fireworks started. It was a beautiful day. Lots and lots of pictures.
I was so moved by all of it. Got a little weepy being near the other military families. It's hard loving a military man. But it's part of why I love him. He is serving others, serving our country.
This will be the last family day. Sargeant Hall retires this year, his 20th year in the military. I am so proud of him and all that he does. And that photo up there, pretty much says it all.
So, that was my 4th of July, how was yours?
Mr. Hall and I were watching Kristin Stewart (the girl up there, in the middle) on David Letterman the other night. She plays Bella, the female lead in the Twilight series. She was there prompting Eclipse, the latest movie in the series. I was literally bouncing up and down in the love seat I was so damn excited.
Because yes, I am a Twilight fan. SHUT UP.
Again, the clip is rolling . . . .
Mr. Hall: Yeah, I don't think she can act, I mean, look there she goes, scrunching her face, now she'll bite her lip . . .
Mrs. Hall: SSSSHHHHHHHHUUSUUSSSHH!!!!!!
I clamp my hands over his mouth and sit on his chest to stop the commentary, but I can still hear him making psshaww noises and being all snobby about it.
The clip ends . . . .
Mrs. Hall: GAAAHH!@!!!! WHY do you make fun of this sooo much?? I don't think you get it. You have never EVER been an awkward teenage girl pining away for a guy! You don't know what it's like! I mean, when you're 16, you live or die if the boy you like looks at you in class that day. I mean, it's such drama being an artsy teenage girl. And the boy, oh my god, the way we pine after boys is downright Shakespearean.
Mr. Hall: But, those vampires, they don't have fangs, they don't drink human blood. HOW DOES THAT MAKE THEM VAMPIRES??
Mrs. Hall: YOU ARE MISSING THE GODDAMN POINT JEFF!!! The whole point of the series--it's all Romeo and Juliet, all consuming love, gobsmacking love, the paralyzing love that teenage girls feel when they fall in love. Plus, at sixteen you start having to grow up. It's really hard and confusing. You just want someone to understand you and pay attention to you. Someone to take over your life with that all consuming love. That's how it is, especially for artsy over sensitive girls. Like I was, like Bella is."
Mr. Hall: So, the werewolf guy, he doesn't wear a shirt 90% of the movie because this is modern Shakespeare?
Mrs. Hall: uh. Look. He runs at a high temperature ok? Like 108 is his body's temperature. He's hot so he doesn't wear a shirt ok??!! And KNOCK IT OFF!! I never make fun of your Battle Star Galactica Ok? I mean, I don’t really understand a lot of the Sci-fi stuff in that series, it kind of goes over my head.
Mr. Hall: That's because Battle Star Galactica was written for adults.
Mrs. Hall: THAT'S NOT FUNNY!!!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
The downward facing dog pose (I can almost get my heels to touch the floor!!):
When I was at yoga I smelled the weirdest smell--dog food. I mean, the yoga studio is on the third floor of an old office building down town.
So I thought, maybe the teacher brings her dog, puts out some kibble, and I look around looking for a bowl while doing the extended triangle pose and the half moon pose.
The Extended triangle pose (I love this pose because it kills my inner thighs-thus rendering the thigh master a non-needed item in my life):
And the smell gets stronger and I'm like WTF?? Am I having a stroke? Then I remember, it's a burning hair smell people smell before they stroke out--not dog kibble.
The half moon pose (The key to this pose is keeping abs tight, because THAT'S WHERE THE BALANCE COMES FROM-not your feet) I just figured that out recently, makes a huge difference:
THEN I SEE IT!! I am directly in front of a vent. Someone in the building must have a dog.
WEIRD AND FUN ALL AT THE SAME TIME.
AND OH YEAH. The teacher is from Finland and had the same accent as the Swedish chef from the muppets. WHICH WAS EFFING HILARIOUS :)
good times, good times.
Now get out there and GET BENDY!!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Here's the thing.
Pancake is the our first born and likes to be bossy. Plus, she has the emotional control of a seven year old, because that's how old she is. This comes flaming out while bike riding with the rest her tribe, The Tribe Called Hall. We ride to Gramma's and back. Four miles each way, on a paved bike trail, next to a busy country road. It's awesome, this ride.
So there we are, riding in a conga line of me, her Daddy and her baby brother Mac. He sits atop the pull behind bike. This is a line she likes to lead. She has a wee two-wheeler, it has one speed. With her streamers a flying, she muscles to be in front.
She gets obsessed with being in front. We use this obsession.
We gently follow her, and then push a bit, like we are trying to pass her. She pedals harder and yelps. It's a game she enjoys, she laughs and digs in, being stubborn. We often yelp along, accusing one and other of farting or being a butthead. Good times, good times.
Sometimes, she takes things too seriously, like when we try to climb a hill. If we try to pass her on a hill, she starts freaking out, then the yelping turns to howling. She starts to sob and snot bubble. Then she starts to hold her stomach, complaining that she's hungry. Maybe she'll hold her leg, saying it hurts. I don't give in. I ignore this. Whining will not get her out of hard work.
Each ride she gets a bit tougher. Less whining, less yelping, less howling. And last night, there was no stopping her. Even on the big hills. That was huge. Because when we climbed the biggest hill, the hill she always stops on, she didn't. We got to the top I pulled up next to her, she was huffing and puffing, all silent and smirky. Then I said, "Pancake, sooo PROUD OF YOU!! You did it!!"
Then she shot me a look and dug in, peddling faster and faster to get in front again.
I am so unbelievably proud of her. I was just bursting!!
Oh sweetcheeks, Mommy loves you so much, you're the best little girl in the whole wide world. :)