First Birthday Without My Mom

Dear Mom -

Today is my birthday. I'm 42, exactly 20 years younger than you were when you died. Maggie told me today she'll be 13 when I die. That means I only have 7 years left. I'm not all that concerned about her premonition considering her exact words were, "When I'm 13 you're going to die and can we have chicken nuggets for dinner?"

You'll be very glad to know Dad did a good job today. He called me this morning and offered to sing Happy Birthday, texted me later and his birthday card arrived in the mail today. Thank you for the check and yes I know it's to use on something just for me! No groceries or gas in the car. I already have a yoga workshop in mind I'll put it towards.

You'll also be glad to know Kim has taken over your job of forgetting the time difference and texting me very early in the morning. Not just on my birthday. Many early mornings my phone beeps and wakes me up before I'm ready. I tell her it annoys me but it makes me smile because it reminds me of you.

I made myself a chocolate mayonnaise cake for my birthday. I used to call you every year for the recipe and I remember last year you yelling at me to write it down. Did you know then I wouldn't be able to call you this year?

I almost started to cry making the cake. Not because I was making my own cake, and not because my little helpers were making a mess, but because you weren't here. I'm still kind of mad at you about that. And then when I was making the icing I hit the wrong button on the electric mixer and powdered sugar went flying everywhere. It's kind of funny now, but not then.

The cake didn't even taste that good. Maybe because I just wasn't into eating a cake I couldn't call you about, or maybe I'm just finally done my "leave me alone, I'm grieving so I'm going to over eat binge". Oh yeah, I've been on quite a binder. You wouldn't be so happy about that.

But my new friend Wanda told me it's how I grieve and I need to let myself do that. She keeps asking me if I've had a good cry and I'm sorry but I haven't. It was actually her idea that I begin writing letters to you.

You'd like Wanda. I wish you were still here so I could tell you about her. Although it's very interesting that she came into my life right after you left me. What's that saying? When the student is ready the teacher will come?

You taught me a lot, Mom. And not just about baking cakes. I guess now I need to move on and learn the lessons your death is supposed to teach me. Because eating this cake isn't teaching me anything except how many bites does it take to get a sugar headache.

It takes four.

Last year you would have told me that.

Wordless Wednesday "Music Is My Life"

Warning: I was laughing too hard to take really good quality video!

(Yes I know it's not Wednesday. I've been trying to get the video uploaded since yesterday)

Easter Bunnies - Cuddly Contentment

I have a rule that nothing else that needs fed or poops is allowed in my house.

Right now we have six kids, two adults and two big dogs that live here. That's a lot of food and a lot of, well, that other stuff. Last summer I broke that rule when I allowed dog #2 to enter the house ( You can read about new puppy here! ). The rule is back in force now and kid #1 was told no he is not bringing home a cat, kid #2 was told no he can't save his money to buy a parakeet and when kid #6 asked for a bunny for Easter, well, I kinda sorta said maybe.

I didn't just say maybe, I became obsessed with getting the kids a bunny for Easter.

Now, before I get slammed with comments about how many bunnies are bought at Easter and then given away, how irresponsible it is to buy a pet just for a holiday, etc - relax. Read back a few paragraphs. Any living creature that enters this house gets very well taken care of and doesn't get kicked out when I get bored. Geez, I haven't even threatened to kick out the teenagers. Yet.

So I decide a bunny is a wonderful idea and I begin making plans. I even drove down the road where there is a  guy who sells chickens, rabbits and ducks to see how much a rabbit cost. (It's the South, people sell all kinds of things on the side of the road).

I called my husband to verify he could have the hutch built in time for Easter.

Him: Why am I building a hutch?

Me: Because we're getting the kids a bunny for Easter.

Him: Why are we doing that?

Me: Because I want to.

Ohhh, there it is. I want to. I want.

So much for living the yoga. That pesky second niyama is rearing it's head again. Santosa - the practice of contentment. Instead of being content with my already full house, I heard the word bunny, bunnies are cute, I want a bunny!

If I were to take an honest look around the house, almost all my possessions fall into the "want" category. I wanted this mac, I wanted that yoga mat, I wanted new puppy and for a brief while I wanted a bunny.

In Holy Cow, my current Twitter Yoga Book Club selection, an Indian man explains to Sarah why Americans always want so many things: (What's a Twitter Book Club? )

"We Indian people, we look at the people more poor, more low, more hard than us and we be thanking God we are not them. So we are happy. But you white peoples, you are looking at the peoples above you all of the times and you are thinking, why aren't I be them? Why am I not having that moneys and things? And so you are unhappy all the time."

There will be no live bunnies in our house this Easter. Instead I am content with the animals we have now. I don't need anymore.

Now those chocolate bunnies - I can't promise santosa alone will keep me away from them!

Crying Because of A Man: My Mom Would Be So Proud

If you are even remotely involved in my life you know by now Elephant Journal printed an article I wrote about the Yoga Book Club on Twitter.

In case you are the one person who has been hiding in a cave I haven't found yet to tell, you can read it here: My first Elephant Journal article! See that's really my name and picture!

A couple weeks ago Bob Weisenberg, Elephant Journal Yoga editor, emailed me and asked if I'd be interested in writing a story about the book club. At first I shouted YES. Then I sat down and wrote a proper, calm, cool and collected email response saying of course I would write something as time allowed.

Then I did nothing for 4 days, paralyzed by fear. Who am I to think I can write for Elephant Journal? Never mind I have a college degree in print communications, never mind I began my career days as a newspaper reporter and freelance magazine writer. That was years ago.

But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about my mom.  In one of our quiet moments together before she died, she told me how proud she was of me, how much she loved me and to get off my ass and start writing again.

Yep, that's my mom.

So finally I sat and I wrote and I emailed it off. And Mr Weisenberg - the Bob Weisenberg - said he loved it. He liked me,  he really liked me! Well OK, he liked my writing but I think if he spent enough time with me he'd like me too.

He said he'd not only like to print the book club article, but offer me a regular monthly blog on Elephant Journal.  Did you hear that mom? I got off my ass. I took a chance. And it worked.

Does this mean I've passed the Elephant Journal litmus test for coolness? Does it mean I'm a hipster yogi? I'm letting myself believe it does. (No worries about my head getting too big. I have six kids who right now are complaining about the gross dinner I made that will keep me very grounded.)

But mom's not here anymore for me to share this with her. And when I picked up the phone to tell my mom that the Bob Weisenberg from the Elephant Journal liked my writing, it hit me that mom really is gone now. Damn. She would be so proud of me.

So I cried because it feels so good to be writing again. It's been a piece of me that's been missing for too long now. And I cried because Bob Weisenberg validated that missing piece. And I cried because cancer stole my mom from me. And now another piece of me is missing that no one can ever replace.

So I shall keep writing. But first this cool, hipster yogi needs to go squash a dinner boycott. Mom would be so proud of that too.

Stress and Sniff

Jennifer time has been missing lately.

Jennifer time is time to drive the 45 minutes to the closest yoga studio and take a class, or get a pedicure, or browse a bookstore. Alone. Only Jennifer is invited to Jennifer time.

I've been really busy lately teaching, training, and other assorted projects and I was feeling that sense of impending doom that comes when I'm being pulled in too many directions.

So this morning I cleared my schedule and began the drive into town. I left my house in plenty of time, but didn't take into account the leftover road damage from yesterday's storm. So with stop lights not working, I sat in traffic.

At first I was calm. I enjoyed the radio and caught up on my Twitter feed.

But my car still wasn't moving. At this point I'm not even sure I'm going to make it to class on time. And there is nowhere on this road to just turn around.

Warning - potential complete meltdown approaching.

I hate that I live so far away from a yoga studio! I hate this town! I hate this state for having such bad weather all the time! I hate this radio in this car! I hate I hate I hate!

I'm no longer practicing my yoga breathing but instead fighting the urge for primordial screaming.

Finally traffic starts moving and my non-yoga mantra becomes "slow down, this road is always full of cops".

I pulled into the studio parking lot with 3 minutes to spare. I ran thru the studio door, quickly signed in, kicked off my shoes and roughly rolled out my mat. I was full of pent up negative energy and ready to jump some chaturangas.

Instead, the teacher started us in meditation. And I melted. My breathing slowed, my anxiety calmed and I actually felt some peace. The rest of the class was a gently flowing practice that allowed my heart to open and my mind to clear.

During savasana the teacher placed lavender on our shoulders. The smell was all I needed for my final descent into yoga bliss.

Driving home I felt completely yogified. And then my cell phone rang.

It was the high school geometry teacher. Again. Kid number 1 has a lot of missing assignments. Again. He has detention this week to make up the assignments. Again.

As I hung up the phone, I turned my head to the side and sniffed my shoulder.

Ahh, lavender. I took a deep breath and smiled.

Change The Voices In Your Head

You're so mean, when you talk, about yourself you were wrong. 

Change the voices, in your head, make them like you instead. 

-- Pink F'ing Perfect

What happens when you get what you've wanted for so long? Do you jump for joy and shout it from the roof tops? Or do you get paralyzed with fear and question your worthiness?

I get quiet and scared and make mental lists of why it won't work out anyway.

Why do I do that?

The voices inside my head tell me I'm not good enough. And I believe them. 

At about midnight last night my iPhone beeped with an email that had great news. My first thought was oh no.

Why do I do that?

Today I got on my yoga mat and had a good practice. I moved, I breathed, I was confident.

Then somebody asked me what my good news was and I said oh it's no big deal. I played small.

Why do I do that?

Some days when I'm having trouble settling into meditation, I'll repeat the So Hum mantra. So Hum: I am that. Inhale So, exhale Hum.

I am that. I am worthy. I am loved. I am valuable. I am confident. I am secure. 

I am that. So Hum.

I deserve this opportunity. I've studied, trained and worked for it. I am ready. I accept it. I am. 

Pink F'ing Perfect Official Video

No One Gets Turned Away From Yoga - Welcome to YIOM

Today marks the beginning of Yogi's Inspiring Oneness Month. A totally made up movement by the lovely Vegan Asana to gather together a bunch of yogi's to write about yoga and it's impact on not only their life but the life of all those around them. (Read the original idea post here Vegan Asana YIOM ). It's a way to reinforce we really are all connected and my words and actions affect others.

As the universe usually works, I was reminded of this interconnectedness just this week.

I had an elderly woman ask to take my regular weekly yoga class. At first glance this woman was not a candidate for an all-levels group yoga class. She relied on a cane to walk, had inner ear balance issues, arthritis, osteoporosis and a host of other issues.

But my policy is no one gets turned away from yoga.

As I taught the class to my regular group of growing-stronger-everyday yogis, I would show my new friend how to modify what we were doing so she could do the same pose in her chair.

Over and over again I would say "those of us on the floor will.... while those in the chair can ..."

As an added twist, one of the moms brought her son to class with her. So we have a 70-ish year old woman in a chair, a handful of 20, 30, 40 year old women and a 6-year-old boy all doing yoga together.

How cool is that?

At one point I wanted to grab my iphone to take a pic, but my brain was too focused on making sure everyone was able to participate in the practice.

Admittedly, it was a slower-paced class than normal and I did have some self-doubt that my regulars might have been annoyed by the difference.

Instead, almost every one of the class congratulated the woman for doing yoga from her chair and encouraged her to come back again. One even told me she realized at one point that while she was looking in the mirror at her own pose, she realized she was also looking into the mirror of her future self.

At one point we were all little kids who could easily touch our toes. And at some point we will all need some physical modifications and a little help to get up and down from our chair.

But for that hour in that room, together we moved and breathed and let the yoga connect us.