Me and Les Girls

Confident

2012-02-01T11:12:00.005-05:00

I'm really enjoying teaching my series Yoga 101: FUNdamentals at Shakti Yoga & Living Arts. (So much so, in fact, that Yoga 201 is coming up soon!) It got me thinking. Of course.

There is so much I am not good at when it comes to yoga. Yes, yes, and I know, "practice and all is coming," but we all want to be "good" at what we do, right? Well, I can't reliably do handstand, bind, or even step my foot forward in surya namaskar. Sometimes it makes me feel silly to announce myself as a yoga teacher when I can't do some of those sparkly poses -- or even some of the "easier" ones. But I do practice. And practice well. And as much as I love asana, I like my practice to be about the big YOGA -- not just the stuff on the mat.

Interestingly, I am pretty good at teaching. I was a teacher before I was a yoga teacher, so I came to the top of the mat with a bit of experience. A bit, mind you. There are so many incredible, long-time teachers out there to whom I bow. I am awe of their practices, in many cases. But if you are a great teacher, I'm really in awe. It means you are connected to your students, have that presence, that voice, and a great approach that is serious, but not too serious. And in some ways, that's really what I want to be as a yogini. The teacher that makes you want to come back.

A few in my Yoga 101 series asked what would happen when the series ended. Would they be able to come to my class? (I must have blushed with delight! What a compliment!) And then it hit me -- it doesn't matter that I can't do titibasana (yet). They don't care. They want to feel safe, soft, open, strong, challenged, and successful in their yoga. These gracious yogis have bonded with me enough to want to practice with me more. Well, right on. I'm confident we'll have fun on the path together and find the yoga we're all meant to share.

For me, teaching is a big part of my practice. Spreading the love, opening the door to yoga that someone maybe couldn't find, or worse, had been turned away from. I never really thought about that before. I am so lucky to have these students that help me rethink everything I do on the mat. I take that with me off the mat. Hari OM.

I don't know

2012-01-09T14:35:00.002-05:00

SO much.

Or, there is SO much to try/read/learn/practice/know. It's incredible, really. Lately, I've been thinking about how many of the things I've enjoyed doing in my life: singing, writing, yoga (heck, GOLF, even!) require lots of practice, study, and self-inquiry. I'm kind of a junkie.

I'm reading a book (finally) recommended to me by a fellow yogini, and it is just great. It is practical, historical, and key to moving my practice and teaching to the next level. I'm pretty sure I'm not one of those yogis whose hallmark will be doing lots of WOW! poses -- that's just not me. Though who knows, practice and all is coming -- but I digress. Rather, I like the idea of introducing students to and using in my own yoga practice on and off the mat the depth and breadth of riches that yoga has to offer. There is history, culture, poetry, anatomy, music and more to be explored. It is, in fact, what makes yoga such a colorful, wonderful thing.

Sometimes I feel lucky to not have the strongest, most flexible practice. Not being an athletic juggernaut on the mat in part allowed me to be open to the other elements of yoga: it's philosophy, language, music, ritual and more. And each time I pick up a new text about it, I am reminded just how much of a beginner I am, of how little I know. It's so freeing to approach life this way -- just being in the moment, empty and open to all that is.

Re-solve

2011-12-29T23:15:00.004-05:00

I was never good at algebra, or any math, for that matter. And maybe I'm not really good at solving problems in general. I don't know.

I hadn't really thought about making resolutions, or even about the new year that is upon us. Really, is there time for that? My friend Nancy, the Flying Yogini, got me thinking, though. She posted a little gem on Facebook about breathing through the letting go of things -- my paraphrase -- but you get the gist? It was about letting go. Practicing non-attachment.

I've been resolving to lose weight since I was about 12. I make the resolution every year -- even in the years I said (say) I wasn't making any resolutions. It has always been the thing I need to fix about myself. My self. Nancy's idea about letting things go in the new year somehow led me to the idea that resolutions are really new attempts to re-solve something. Solve it again. So maybe I would resolve to re-solve the weight problem. But I thought more about it.

And I thought about how I might let go of this. Let go of the resolution and the re-solution. Let go of the idea of fixing myself. Let go of the idea that I am less because there is more of me. Loosen the white-knuckled grasp. Let go of the attachments that bind me into this mindset, this heartache, this body. Because that's the yoga. The practice of just being, rather than just holding on.

Huh.

Then another gem from Nancy: "The universe is listening." Write it down, she says.

So I wrote it down here. I'm letting go. I'm not sure I even know what that means, but I have the year to find out.

And now I ask you -- what might you let go of?

It's that old refrain:

2011-12-12T08:13:00.003-05:00

The days are long and the years, short.

Six months since the last post? I can't imagine how that would happen, except for the runaway life.

The period since my last post reminds me of why sometimes the most important yoga is off the mat. Finding peace in my breath and in new ways of responding to things has been a challenge as life has swirled around me. As time and money come and go, being content with what I have seems too simple, but it, too, is a challenge. But I know how lucky I am. I know that I only have to tune in to connect to my practice, even if getting to the mat is a challenge. My girls are my yoga. My husband. My house. My chores. Teaching.

Life is the union, the yoga.

The days are long and the years, short

2011-07-13T23:13:00.002-04:00

It's really true.

Today is Lucy's third birthday, and it seems like it was yesterday she was born.

I know we all say that, but

Lucy's arrival was particularly special because I fought hard to have a VBAC and had it. It was a transformational day for me in that it seemed like for once my body was doing what I wanted it to -- just being normal. This was the fruit, I think, of my yoga practice taking off during my pregnancy. (And of course I was lucky to have the support of my dear husband and my awesome doula, Kim Collins--) I was deeply connected to Lucy as she grew in my womb, and I was deeply connected to myself in my first year of motherhood. Josephine had just had her first birthday when it was time for Lucy to join us. It was an intense time. Carrying Lucy to just shy of 42 weeks was intense. Labor was intense. Two under two was about to be really intense.

It was obviously the start of many things: my dear daughter's life, our life as a family of four, Josephine's life as a big sister. But for me, it was really the start of possibilities -- the importance of my yoga practice and how it could shape me had been revealed. All that intensity was possible because I had found something steady and comfortable in my life -- yoga. It's a kick now to watch Lucy giggle and drop down into a three-legged dog, her favorite pose -- one I know I did a lot of in my prenatal classes. Maybe it is a legacy, maybe not. But it sure feels like the seeds have been planted. I hope I can keep giggling as I try new poses and refine the ones I love. I sure got a giggle on Monday, when I lurched into my first assisted handstands.

With Guru Purnima upon us, I am so grateful to my many, many teachers -- yoga and otherwise. I've added a few new ones to the list this week, especially Amy Ippoliti and Sadie Nardini, who have infused new inspiration into my practice. But my most powerful teachers are my daughters, for sure. Their giggles and cries teach me something new everyday. Jai!

Reminder

2011-06-17T15:48:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, struggling to keep up with tweets, I was knocked down by this one:

“There is no such thing as an advanced variation. My body can not be more advanced than yours. It's just mine, and yours is yours.”

Whoa. Talk about changing my teaching in three quick sentences.

This came from Michael Taylor, a yogi I've followed for a while. In his profile picture, he’s rocking a pretty awesome pose. I’ve never practiced with him -- I’ve never even met him.

Though I am an active, vocal advocate for yoga for every body, I know I think of variations of poses in an hierarchy. And I know I have refered to them in the context of the hierarchy in my classes. Students who might have been turned off by this: please, please accept my apology.

Interestingly (or obviously, I suppose) I owe this same apology to myself. This hierarchical thinking about the poses has infiltrated my own practice, as well. I can hear myself thinking as I take a “prep” pose that someday, maybe someday, enough practice of the “prep” will lead me to the really cool “advanced” version, as if where I am isn’t good enough or doesn’t count. I’m going to have to turn that tape off -- I know it too well.

Of course, in yoga teacher training, like everyone else, I learned about the beauty of the beginner’s mind. But am I always able to get down with it and love it? Apparently not. It is so easy to be wowed (by others). And so easy to compare (mostly me to whatever is “better”). And even easier to discount (my own practice because it isn’t as awesome as _________). Easier to get my head out of my own practice and out of the moment. So I need to listen to Michael Taylor to pay back my practice the honor it is due. A more advanced practice does not exist. There is only the practice. My pose is just mine, and yours is yours.

Many people, myself included, begin practice with eyes closing and tuning into the breath. This begins to move the gaze -- the attention, really -- inward to what is important. Each of our hearts is the unique crystal of our own practice, the divine essence that we share with everyone and everything. Looking inward keeps our eyes off other people’s mats because it just doesn’t matter what is there.

When I read Michael’s tweet, I immediately thought of how it tied back to so many of the yamas and niyamas, yoga’s ethical guidelines. It speaks to Ahimsa in not thinking violent thoughts towards oneself, to Asteya in not coveting what someone else has, to Santosha in practicing contentment, to Svadhyaya, knowing oneself, and Ishvara Pranidhana, surrender to something bigger than oneself. And back to the concept of the beginner’s mind: in the start of each practice, we begin, and we are still beginning at the end. This openness to what is, this willingness to allow the breath to bring us into the pose (whatever version), without judgement, is pure love.

Just as I know my breath is mine and yours is yours, so it is as well with the asanas and all the other elements of the practice. We are not categorized or divided by how we practice, we are united by the very fact that we do it. Thanks for reminding me, Michael.

The List

2011-06-11T20:40:00.003-04:00

Inspired by beautiful fellow yogini Nancy at Flying Yogini, I started thinking about (and drafting) my yoga bucket list. It goes on and on and on already! Maybe too much, in fact, as my yoga journey got fired up a little later in life than some, and there might not be time for it all. But yoga is about being here, now, in the present, so I have to believe that the right items will be checked off my list -- as I know they will be from my friend's list.

But one item on my list sticks out to me: I want to have a more yogic household, a home and family more inspired by and in tune with the principles and philosophies of yoga I hold dear. What struck me about this item is that there is nothing to stop me from doing this RIGHT NOW. I am responsible (with my dear husband, of course) for the way in which we treat each other, what we teach our children, and how our house is kept. We are not just inhabitants of this house, we are instead the light of this home, together and collectively.

Let's be honest: a lot of times I don't feel like such a divine light and the home doesn't feel much like a beacon either. A home with two little children isn't all blissed out all the time. There are plenty of raised voices and crying, unhealthy foods, clutter everywhere, frantic movement. Not exactly like an ashram, if you know what I mean. But at the root of all the madness is our love for one and other and our gratitude for the great lives we have. And here is the seed of our yogic home.

So here I will begin to sow the seed and see what flowers forth. Maybe I just need an easy to do list to get things going. Here are a few things I think we can do to start:

- Be more conscious of how we communicate with each other, being mindful to honor each other as the divine beings we are

- Actively integrate seva, selfless service, into our family life

- Be on my mat more often: in keeping with that old saying Happy Mama, Happy Baby

- Incorporate a yoga practice (an age-appropriate one) into the kids' lives more regularly, and find ways to practice yoga with my husband

- Work to de-clutter our home wherever possible so we have fewer distractions and more peace

- Persevere in cooking the healthy, vegetarian food I love, even when it seems too time consuming or tiring

It's the start, I think, of something wonderful -- and it could grow into much more: a way for us all to be a part of and relate to the world around us in a most positive way. I have more ideas that might be a bit more involved, but I need to find a steady comfortable pose for our home life, so to speak. When we make adjustments in our asanas, it takes practice to make them flow. To deepen, we move to the edge and then back off just slightly so we can soften and sing. So it will be in making changes in our home -- it will take practice. But like Sri K. Pattabhi Jois said, "Practice ... and all is coming."

Down in the dumps

2011-06-07T23:45:00.005-04:00

No, no, not those dumps.

The other dumps. I'm dumping into my hips in lunges (and many other poses, of course), and it's getting more and more annoying in my practice. I'm finding it particularly inhibiting in lunges in Surya Namaskar when I have to step the back foot forward, and there I am. Stuck in the front leg hip. I have to really push off to move the energy and my body forward. No good. It certainly doesn't feel good on my tender ankle. In fact, it feels like yanking. And I'm pretty sure there's no yanking in yoga.

I know what you're going to say. You're not working from your core. Well, duh. I know. Ever since the "quick" c-section I had four years ago, it is hard to access that core strength. And honestly, I hate the word core. Oh I know, there's no hating in yoga, either. But as soon as I hear that word, I feel like I'm in a screaming Jillian Michaels workout. I'm not a big fan of that sort of thing. More importantly, I don't want my yoga to be reduced to one muscle group. And yet my yoga isn't going anywhere without my abdominal muscles.

So today I revived a cue I learned from Debbie Kurilla, one of my YTT teachers. Hug in to the midline. I like this a bit better and avoids that other word. It's a little more imagery-based than just saying engage your abdominals. For me right now, I think that works. It's a little gentler -- after all, it's got a hug in it. Gentler feels good -- and feels far way from that workout-bunny paradigm. I had some success applying this cue to my standing balance poses -- poses that are particularly challenging for me. So let's see where this takes me.

Here's the thing: I know that my issue with my abdominal muscles is more than just an issue with the muscle fiber. Stuff has built up there -- the trauma of a difficult birth experience and probably more --to be uncovered and tended to with love. Thus begins that endeavor. As I know it is more than just my body, I know that more than just asana needs to be applied here. This calls for my whole yoga.

So I guess this is just a riff on my last post -- it's about honoring where you are, wherever you are. Or maybe it is the beginning of a much different deeper post.

I know everyone has these practice hurdles to jump -- wanna share yours?

Honor thy _____________

2011-05-18T16:38:00.003-04:00

I cut my index finger making dinner last night. Thinly slicing onions. It will affect my practice today.

I am nursing a posterior tibial tendon tear for going on eight months now. It will affect my practice today.

I have rheumatoid arthritis. It will affect my practice today.

My body is a map of discomforts -- the swelling at my ankle, cesarean birth scar, hitched right hip, uneven shoulders. It can make it hard to get to my mat. My body, being the instrument of my life, often takes a beating before it arrives on the mat to be an instrument of my yoga. And it will affect my practice today.

A few weeks ago, Al, one of my favorite teachers at Shakti Yoga & Living Arts, gave me a lift during his class. I was in urdhva dhanurasana, and he came to me with a yoga strap. He put the strap around my waist and gently eased me more deeply into the pose. I'm pretty sure I groaned. My arms and legs were working, my heart was wide open. I could feel all kinds of this-es and thats in my body -- those injuries, that stiffness -- adjusting. He asked me if it felt good, and I laughed and said, "Well, I wouldn't say that..." I'm pretty sure we all chuckled -- But I breathed into the new depth of the pose until it did.

One of my teachers doesn't like to address injuries as thus -- she likes them to be called sweetnesses -- or something equally loving -- to adjust how we feel about them. Corny? Maybe, but it can reframe something from pain to healing. It honors what is. Sometimes pain is. So we should honor it.

None of us like to honor what is "wrong" with us. Too bad.

Today is going to be one of those days when stepping on to the mat might not feel so good -- at least at first. This damp weather taints my knees with a certain sweetness that could get really juicy as class unfolds. Pressure on my cut finger will certainly remind me of those onions. It will affect my practice and give me new awareness about how to move, how to breathe, how to heal. I'm going to try to honor it with the flow of my breath and the openness of my heart.

What sweetness do you carry in your body? How do you work with it in your practice?

Tune up?

2011-05-12T14:03:00.000-04:00

I love thinking about my practice almost as much as I love practicing. Corny, I guess, but it is where I am in my yogic journey. Today a conversation on Twitter amongst fellow yoginis (thanks Sonia, Maria and Faern!) got me thinking...

Why do I practice (and teach) in silence?

I know that music in yoga classes has gotten really popular. I love music -- heck, way back when I was a singer, I spent hours in practice rooms trying to sound good. Never enough hours, though, I guess... But I digress.

In yoga, I find music distracting. If I'm teaching, it distracts me from the students in front of me, the theme and sequence I've developed for the class and from the mindfulness I like to demonstrate in setting up and holding poses. Music makes me want to sing along or keep the beat or sway, but I don't find this helps my yoga. If I'm practicing, music distracts me from my focus on exploring sequence, alignment, breath -- from finding my steady, comfortable pose and from trying new ones.

But I've written before about how much I love chanting. I utilize chant in all of my classes -- to open and close. I find it particularly moving -- especially in my prenatal classes -- to have all those voices unite in honoring their practice, thus deepening it. I have secretly wanted to teach a class with chanting throughout. I listen to loads of yoga music, but off the mat -- in the car, the kitchen, the laundry room. I somehow have this compartmentalized in my practice.

My asana practice for me is about focusing in on my breath -- the sound of me -- breathing -- being -- as I move. It is a break from the din of motherhood -- the constant noise of my beloved toddlers being toddlers. It is about being with myself (as uncomfortable as that may be sometimes...) and honoring the divine in me, in the room and people around me, and in the universe beyond us all. Somehow I haven't found a way to do that to a soundtrack. I know I'm going to get hate mail on this one, but I just don't want to hear anything as I find my Trikonasana. I want to hear Trikonasana.

Part of it, I suppose, is that my teachers don't use music and so as the lineage goes, neither do I. Purists? Perhaps. I'm not sure I want to pin that one on myself at this early stage in my yoga life. I'm going to have to think and listen more about this -- I love the idea of yoga-ing in different ways. This is obviously an opportunity for me.

Maybe I need to tune up. What do you think? What do you like to listen to as your practice unfolds?

Where does the time go?

2011-05-03T13:59:00.003-04:00

I looked at my daughter today as she walked towards the door of her preschool on picture day -- her first school picture day. She was dressed in her Easter outfit -- her own choice -- and she maturely walked in front of me, her white shoes click clacking on the sidewalk. "Where does the time go?" I thought to myself. "Who is this little girl? Where is my baby?" It seems like just yesterday I was ushered in to the operating room, terrified of so many things, to give birth to her. And now here she is, a walking, talking, singing, arguing, drum-playing preschooler on the verge of her fourth birthday. Who said that all-too-true thing about parenting -- that the days are long and the years short?

"When the breath wanders, the mind is unsteady, but when the breath is still, so the mind is still." -- Hatha Yoga Pradipika

Lately, the most important thing for me about my yoga practice is that is slows things down. When I breathe and that breath fires a movement, I can only be in the moment. When I still my breath, my mind stills. I love this. I crave it when I'm not on my mat and I'm swirling from one task to the next, just trying to keep up. There is no keeping up in yoga. If you are with your breath, you are right where you need to be -- and you are all that you need to be.

I'm not going to lie -- those of you who know me know that I have trouble slowing down, letting things go, being still, steady. I am prone to being unsteady, even falling -- surely this is to happen when my breath is unsteady. Even when I get to my mat and close my eyes to tune into my breath and begin to chant, it is a struggle to quiet my mind and bring my attention to the present. (Is this a struggle for everyone?) Sometimes it takes me more than one try to make myself comfortable in my breath, in the stillness, in the present. But I know this is the gift of yoga. Yoga gives you the fullest version of the present moment -- if you're willing to sit and open yourself to it.

So where does the time go? It goes. I don't want to miss too much of it, so I'm happily tethered to the thing that keeps me present: my yoga.

Holy Pufferbelly!

2011-04-30T18:02:00.007-04:00

When I was in yoga teacher training, I realized that I'm a pufferbelly. Well not really (although many would say I'm full of hot air), but I puff out my belly. All the time. I do it when I'm just standing around, but even weirder, I do it when I'm practicing yoga. Sometimes I do it when I'm trying to sleep. Not only do I not engage my abdominal muscles -- I actually push my belly out. It's more than a year later, and despite practicing and teaching regularly, I still do it. I realize I need to address this Samskara in order to continue to deepen my yoga.

I think this Samskara took hold during my pregnancies. Growing babies shifted my posture pretty dramatically, and somewhere between the birth of my first via cesarean and getting pregnant just three months later with my second, my slashed, weak abdominals got stuck: puffed out.

Pufferbelly is problematic in yogasana. The belly gets in the way in forward bends: Uttanasansa, Paschimottanasana. The belly throws off balance in standing poses like Vrksasana. The weak belly allows the hips to drop and makes it very hard to hold the legs up in Bakasana. (I have been practicing this daily in honor of my friend, The Flying Yogini!) The belly makes lifting the legs with ease virtually impossible for poses like Headstand and Handstand. I am astonished at how pervasive and difficult to reverse this Samskara is.

So what to do: draw in, hollow the belly, navel to spine. And again. With each pose. Be aware.

This whole thing has me thinking about habits: good and bad, when and where they take root, how to nurture the good and release the bad. The wonderful thing for me about my good habit (yoga) is that it revealed to me my bad habit (belly puffing). Rooting and revealing, I am on the path to myself. This is my yoga.

So what about you? What are your Samskaras? How do you address them in your yoga?

Happy Baby

2011-04-26T13:58:00.003-04:00

I have been blissfully busy with my family visiting for Easter. There were baskets to make, visits with the mall bunny, and of course, cooking up a storm for 15 on Easter Day. My dad and brother left for home yesterday, but my mom stayed on a few extra days to lend a hand with my little ones while my dear husband is away on business. I have a backlog of topics for blog posts that I hope to write this week when things settle down, but today I thought I'd write just briefly while everyone enjoys a rest and before I hit the mat for a short practice and meditation.

One pose I know I'll do today is Ananda Balasana, or Happy Baby. It reflects how I feel right now, my mom here to mother me while I mother my girls. But often it is a go-to pose for me when things aren't so rosy. Happy Baby pose is one of those poses that I think can be really transformational, especially when times are tough or just busy and stressful. There is something in the physiology of the pose that gives people a sigh or a giggle when they reach the outer edges of their feet with their hands. It is almost as if they didn't think they could do it. (And for those who aren't able to reach comfortably on any given day, a strap wrapped around each foot is an easy solution.) As the spine lengthens and the low back releases towards the floor there is a peace that settles in as though no tenderness had ever graced those muscles. With each exhalation comes more surrrender and more peace. And if the body gently starts to rock, there is truly that feeling of a curious baby finding her feet for the first time and just playing -- a sense of pure openness and joy.

When I teach, I often sequence it towards the end of a practice, preparing the bodies in the room for even deeper surrender in Savasana. Today though, I might open my practice with it, acknowledging how glad I am to be a bit of a baby right now -- but maybe I'll circle back to it at the end of my practice, too!

Chant this?

2011-04-19T15:24:00.003-04:00

One of my interests in yoga is chanting. I was first turned on to it at Kripalu in a session with Bhavani, in which she taught the basics of mantra meditation with and without a mala. It was great -- it was a full room, people were really open, and even some of the simplest mantras she taught took off.

I am thrilled to be attending Kirtan with Dave Stringer this week -- but truthfully, I feel like I don't know enough about this tradition...

In yoga teacher training, I was lucky to have guides from two different traditions -- one, of a more traditional, Sivananda lineage and one Anusara-inspired. It made for an interesting conversation, even with languaging differences and even some philosophical differences. We learned chants from both traditions, and I knew immediately it was something I wanted to work into my teaching. To me, a yoga practice feels a little thin without chanting. I need those vibrations to open and close my practice at least. The room always shifts beautifully when chants are invoked -- every person, every thing in the room, seems changed.

So I have been surprised in teaching, for a year now, how often people are hesitant to chant. Sometimes I am the only one singing -- not something I shy away from given my background in music. I am curious about other teachers' experiences with this -- do you offer chant in your classes? How is it received? Do you always do the same chant to encourage familiarity or do you mix it up for variety?

I'm also hoping to deepen my knowledge of this tradition. To that end, I hope you'll suggest your favorite chant resources. Oh -- and Sanskrit resources, too -- Books? CDs? Artists? Practices?

Give props

2011-04-14T15:35:00.006-04:00

My husband and I often share a particular giggle when he "sings" songs that are waaaaaaaaaaaaay out of his range. Think Rush. Journey. Gwen Stefani. I look at him, roll my eyes and (usually laughing and covering my ears) say, "HONEY! Not all songs are for all people!" And then he tries even harder -- and louder. Now of course, he could accommodate himself and sing the song down an octave, but that would be no fun, right?

This happens all the time in yoga. Poses seem out of our reach -- literally. We can't reach the floor, our other arm, head-to-knee. But there is a solution for that in yoga: props. So often I see fellow students or my own students not take a prop they really need. I get it that you're there to push your edge, but often, using a prop actually moves you deeper into the pose. And not only that, but more importantly, using a prop can protect your body from the bad alignment (and karma) that will come from jamming your body into a pose -- this isn't comfortable and steady like it is supposed to be. There are so many examples of using props that could make your practice really soar. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but here are just a few:

A blanket, folded, under the heels during malasana, supports feet and ankles (thus protecting the knees), making the deep knee bend accessible while the heels are still in contact with the ground.

Blocks, used under the hands in uttanasana (especially the first ones of the day), give something to press the hands into. Start with bent knees, slowly straightening them, lifting the hips. (This gives so much more stretch than bouncing your fingertips two inches from the floor in hopes of touching it!)

A strap, used to draw the leg back in supta padangusthasana (or heck, even pigeon or bow) will ultimately make a deeper expression of the pose possible.

Even in wonderful, peaceful sukasana, many people need the support of blankets. With a clean fold, sitting right on the edge can encourage the hips to open and knees to drop while supporting the low back, allowing the torso to sit taller. Check out Cora Wen's awesome blanket-folding tutorials on YouTube.

As teachers, if we really want to make yoga accessible to everyone, then we'll offer students appropriate props. It makes practice safer and more fun. I often use props when I teach -- some that I really need and some that I don't -- to show that using a prop isn't cheating or weird or anything less than real yoga. Sometimes I'll have everyone work with a particular prop. As students and practitioners, we are to honor our body in what it needs and use the block, blanket or strap when necessary. It doesn't mean that you'll have to use that prop forever -- or maybe you will. It's a practice, not a destination.

It is about being open, I guess -- open to what is needed and what possibility might unfold -- and being true to yourself, wherever you are in your yogic journey. It would be nice if we could all sing along with those Rush tunes. I can actually, but I'm flexible that way. Binding in parsvokonasana, not so much -- yet.

Third time's a charm

2011-04-12T15:33:00.004-04:00

It took me three tries today. I rolled out my mat at 6 this morning after finding myself awake and not feeling like going back to sleep. But I was tired and my joints were sticky, so I put the mat away and enjoyed reading a few YIOM blogs instead. I rolled it out again as soon as the girls went down for their nap. I felt good in Sukasana and enjoyed a meditation, but I could get my mind focused on how to move next. I was thinking about my desk and about ten projects I "should" be working on...

But I kept thinking about what Lorin wrote at The Vegan Asana, and I listened to myself with the mom face.

It took me about an hour, but I went back to my mat. I decided to start with Trikonasana, my favorite pose because -- well, because it's my favorite. I disregarded all the information and ideas I have about a proper sequence, and I just moved from one pose to the next. I found myself moving in a pattern from standing poses through lunge to heart openers and back. It was weird, but it was what felt good. I hit a bunch of juicy poses besides Trikonasana -- Sphinx, Parsvokonasana, Downward-facing Dog, Plank, Chaturanga, Bhujangasana, Vasisthasana. Of course I made it to Stork, too, and even toyed with Natarajasana briefly. But I realized my ankle wasn't feeling so great -- maybe the humidity or shift from yesterday's warmth to today's cooler weather -- or maybe just because. So I did a long Prasarita Padottanasana and made my way back to my folded blankets for more quiet.

I'm more focused now (look, I wrote this post!), and I think it will be easier to focus in on my projects. So listening with a mom face worked for me -- I won't forget it the next time I'm avoiding my mat! Thanks, Lorin!

Balance

2011-04-07T20:49:00.002-04:00

I struggle with balance -- in yoga, in life, in everything. So needless to say, the standing balancing poses are generally not amongst my favorites. Add in the ankles -- one with a big fat tendon tear and the other just terribly weak, and you have a recipe for -- well, falling over.

A couple of Saturdays ago, I took a wonderful Anusara-inspired class with my teacher Debbie Kurilla at Shakti. The class was all about balance (oy), and her apex pose was stork. I immediately shuffled myself to the wall, to practice the pose in a way that wouldn't draw attention to my wobbles. And I've been obsessed with the pose ever since. For me, it is so different from Vrksasana or Natarajasana, because there isn't a weird angle to add to the difficulty of the balance. Rooting the four corners of my standing foot into the ground, thigh bones back, shins forward, activating my abdominal muscles, lifting the bending leg with care and awareness, activating and flexing the lifted foot, lifting the arms into urdva hastasana, engaging the shoulder blades firmly on the back while releasing the trapezius muscles -- I'm sure I'm leaving out a slew of crucial cues -- but you get the idea --

For once, I'm having fun with a balance, and I'm just going with it. I practice it in the shower, while I'm at the sink doing dishes, waiting in line at Target. I'm wearing a big 'ol brace on my ankle, so I think it is safe, but who knows... did I mention that I'm actually having fun with this pose? Fascinating. It makes me wonder how I can find fun in the other areas where I feel I lack balance --

In the dark

2011-04-05T13:46:00.005-04:00

Confession: having wonderful, inspiring conversations with fellow yoginis sometimes makes me blue. Sometimes I feel resentful, envious, ashamed -- or just dark. And I know all that just isn't yogic.

My daily yoga practice varies dramatically, and as a result, so do my abilities. My body isn't what I'd like it to be, my abdominal muscles still a weak mess from the blowout of having two babies in two years. My poses aren't pretty. I can't balance on either foot reliably -- and certainly never on my right. I wobble. A lot.

So I find myself in a dark place with my practice. I feel like a bit of a fraud, to tell you the truth. But I keep showing up on the mat. Fumbling. Trying to hear the teacher I am to others so I can be led. I bail out of poses too early and then go back in. I engage whatever I can. I release what I can't. I ground. I lift. I bend backwards to open my heart. I bend forwards to look inward. I make space. And breathe. I move my body so my mind will still. And you know what? It works:

Suddenly, it doesn't matter if I'm in the dark. I'm looking towards light.

Yoga and baseball

2011-04-01T15:05:00.002-04:00

Those of you who know me know that I love baseball -- and my team is the Chicago Cubs. Don't groan. I know.

Yoga can be very helpful in rooting for a team like the Cubs. Think about it -- practicing contentment, practicing non-attachment, even practicing ahimsa -- all help me be an even better fan. All these practices can make a wait of over 100 years for a championship bearable -- even enjoyable. Just as this year's season gets underway, I am breathing and trying not to get too excited. I will enjoy every pitch I get to watch -- especially the ones thrown at Wrigley. Even if my baseball season ends in September, our team of yogis will have been brilliant just in their attempt.

Back to class

2011-03-26T14:24:00.002-04:00

A lot of my yoga is home practice. I teach regularly, as well, but that is not practicing, even when I get to do some asanas with the group. Home practice can be a struggle -- squeezing it in during an ever-shrinking nap time, closing my eyes to the messes here and there that beg for my attention, and turning a deaf ear on the phone. Home practice is, in many ways, the real essence of yoga -- focusing, listening to your inner teacher, looking within.

But for me, it is sometimes hard to balance that soft-focused inner gaze with pushing myself. So today, I went back to class with one of my teachers. I'm not sure it was harder, per se, than one of my home practices, but I paid different, more attention to things. Hearing someone else's cues, working them through my body, was a treat. Never mind that I didn't hear a kid for 90+ minutes -- that in and of itself is a huge shift -- but today listening to an outer teacher gave me fresh perspective.

Where was my mind? Instead of thinking about the sequence, which I would do if I were practicing by myself, I was at the four corners of my feet, my thigh bones moving back and my shin bones moving forward ever so slightly -- heart center moving forward -- hips relaxing into alignment -- to so many places was my attention moved. It makes me look even more forward to my next home practice and finding those same places on my own.

Time flies...

2011-03-25T14:47:00.001-04:00

when you're flying. From motherhood to yoga and back and around again. It is a wild ride sometimes, but a beautiful one. The views are awesome: my sleeping munchkins, my toes in uttanasana, my husband rocking out, or the view from upside down in sirsasana.

In the last year, my husband changed jobs, my older girl turned 3 and the younger, 2, and I completed my 200-hour yoga teacher training. I'm teaching classes at, Shakti, and carrying the yoga love into Newark Public Schools with Newark Yoga Movement, and practicing whenever I can.

Mothering is its own special kind of yoga: a mix of love, breath, balance, strength, surrender, boundaries and openness. I'm sure I'll come back to this idea a lot as my practice as a mom and a yogini continues.

The only good thing

2009-11-15T14:39:00.001-05:00

about my family living far away is the excitement when they visit. Their plane just landed, and they're on the way! I wish I could keep the house clean for more than 37 seconds, but oh well --

Week in Review

2009-11-05T16:29:00.002-05:00

Well, it might have been more fun to be in London this week -- though not at Michael's meetings -- but my four-night solo gig with the girls went just fine. Of course, I am very lucky to have had a couple hours of babysitting each day to allow me to run a few errands and get to yoga, but even the nighttimes weren't too bad. Of course I can do this. It's just that it's not nearly as much fun without my husband -- we sort of chose to get into this together, you know? Tonight marks his return, and I'm already tracking his flight on the Virgin Atlantic website. I hope he is resting and rocking out to some tunes on his new iPod shuffle. Just a couple more hours, and then we'll celebrate with a pizza, a couple of welcome-home gifts, and hopefully a good night's sleep all around.

The Sleeper

2009-10-29T07:41:00.002-04:00

Lucy likes her sleep! Lately she has been sleeping in -- or sometimes taking jumbo naps -- and she looks like the happiest little clam doing it. It's funny, though, because she doesn't particularly like going to sleep. One difficult element of two kids, 13 months apart is sleeping -- especially since ours share a room. We bathe the girls together, but then they have their own separate go-to-sleep routines, Josephine in her toddler bed and Lucy in our arms. So Lucy hasn't learned to fall asleep on her own yet. And there's not a great way to do this, as far as I can tell. I'm not a believer in crying it out, and it wouldn't work anyway, since Josephine would be trying to go to sleep in the same room. What to do, what to do?

I'm thinking of this as my husband is getting ready for a 5-day trip abroad, and I'll be solo for bedtime routine. I would prefer for one of us to sleep in her own bed, but how will I make that happen with two babies, two bedtime routines, and only one me?

Double duty

2009-10-01T08:10:00.003-04:00

It's cute, yes. But really I just find it easier. That is, dressing the girls in matching -- or similar -- outfits. In terms of shopping, I just have to pick out one outfit and get it in two sizes. Then, when they're running around naked like little banshees, I don't have to think twice about what they should wear. Oh, and it makes it easier to keep the drawers organized, too! So it's not really that I'm so clever and matchy-matchy. I'm just lazy.

I am still tired.

2009-09-23T16:49:00.003-04:00

I've been tired since I was nine months pregnant with my now two-year-old. I was still teaching at Arts High in Newark, struggling to keep comfortable in a school with no air conditioning and an elevator that required a key (that I didn't have). I walked laps in the hallway on my preps to stay active. That seems like it was a very long time ago. Since then, I've become a mom for the first time, found out I was pregnant again when I had a three-and-a-half month old, become a mom for the second time, and juggled a toddler and an infant for over a year. Okay, so I guess I should be tired.

For me, this has been the downside of having children later in life. No regrets, for sure, but I wish I had my twenty-nine year old energy right about now. I just can't catch up. As soon as we have a night or two of everyone sleeping through the night, we have three of no one sleeping through the night -- of everyone sleeping somewhere other than where they originally went to bed. Of sleeping in the armchair. (Which, by the way, I find almost as comfortable as our Tempurpedic.) I am pretty good at waking up quickly and jumping into action, but you can only do that so many times before you start just spacing out during the day...

Yes, yes. This too, shall pass, and then I'll long for when the girls were little and wanted to cuddle and sleep with me.

Yoga meets you where you are

2009-09-14T11:02:00.005-04:00

is my mantra. And really, I keep saying it over and over to myself. I'm trying to believe it. In just a couple of weeks, I'm starting the yoga teacher training program at Shakti Yoga. I'm really excited about deepening my practice and learning how to share it with others. I see lots of potential applications for it: teaching bigger people (you know -- folks (like me) who are intimidated or turned off or not accommodated by the perfect-body yogis), teaching people with chronic pain, teaching inner city kids who need a stress relief tool to help them succeed in school and the life beyond, working with moms-to-be. A lot of people feel like they aren't welcome in yoga or don't know how to approach it, and I'd like to change that.

But here I am, having trouble believing my own mantra. My body hurts from my rheumatoid arthritis, and I can't quite see how I will be able to practice or teach since I can't bend my knees or move my ankles or flex my wrists. I wonder what the others will think of me and my big, stiff, inflexible body. I don't want to be a curiosity or that poor woman who can't move. Yak. It isn't a competitive thing; I just wonder what it would be like to be another kind. It's the point -- I know. Yoga will meet me where I am when I move with the breath, when I breathe in and let my om join the sound of the universe. Maybe I should shut up and roll out my mat.

Surfacing...

2009-04-15T16:06:00.000-04:00

It is hard to be away for a long time. So I'm coming back.

Happy Birthday, Dr. King

2009-01-19T08:09:00.002-05:00

Thinking of you today reminds me of why I became a teacher, and thinking of tomorrow's historic inauguration of Barack Obama reminds me that (some) progress (even a little) is being made every day.

It's amazing to me that your day is still one of those sort-of holidays. Congress originally enacted the day as a day of service, but many companies don't recognize this day at all. Oh, and then there's Arizona -- the state that didn't want to recognize Dr. King. This day should be returned to its original dual purpose: to honor a man who gave of himself to change this country and to encourage all of us to do something too. Our President-elect has called for this spirit of volunteerism to be renewed today, and many can't participate because they work for companies that think their business is too important to take a break for a day.

Since my job at the moment is to care for my two babies, I can't be out painting a school or picking up trash at a park. I will spend some of today, however, working on the volunteer project I've had for many years now -- reading the writing of inmates at a state prison and (hopefully) encouraging them to enact progress and change in their own lives. What will you be doing?

We've opened our society to people of color and ensured that their civil rights are secure. This doesn't mean, though, that racism is a thing of the past. I'm sure Dr. King would acknowledge how much more work there is to do. Think of all the snide remarks you hear -- I'm still shocked at how common it is, actually. People who fancy themselves educated who still don't think of people who look different as their equals. I'm lucky I grew up with different values (better, I'd argue) that didn't allow that sort of prejudicial talk -- or, more importantly, think.

So what to do? Be the change you want to see. Go on now!

Dear Phone Gods,

2009-01-11T11:11:00.003-05:00

Where is the f#*&*@g old cell phone that Josephine wants? I can't find it, and I've looked in what seem to be to be all the obvious locations in this dump of a house. She's in her crib, but won't settle down until she has this old phone. It's funny -- she liked it for a long time when she was younger, but then she wasn't interested in it at all for a long time. UNTIL someone let her take it to bed with her a few nights ago. And now she won't nap without it? Oh, if only you understood how we have struggled for regular sleep habits with this dear baby. Toys are not good sleep buddies. You must know that. That's why we invested in the Lamby as transitional object -- as a sleep symbol the baby could understand, if you will. Well, now she's been crying for over an hour for the broken down old cell phone she loves again as a toy. She must be awaiting a very important call. Someone will have to take a message.

As if I didn't have enough going on with two under two

2009-01-06T12:00:00.003-05:00

We're having our kitchen renovated. Can you say dust, noise, money pit -- NIGHTMARE!?!? Two crying, pooping, hardly-sleeping babies just wasn't enough for me.

Yesterday was day 1, and it actually went better than I expected. We've set up a makeshift kitchen in the dining room, and we're counting on frozen foods, takeout, and the kindness of strangers for the next three weeks. Last night, we actually had homemade vegan chili that I'd made over the weekend. I have a few more meals like that stashed in the fridge, but after that I'll be phoning it in.

We have a carpenter who seems very understanding of the small children situation, and he not only does his best to clean up, but he even takes a few minutes to chat with the babies so they aren't freaked out by him. Nice, huh? There really isn't a good way to get these things done, but it doesn't help to have creepy people around. And now? Amidst demo, both babies are asleep, the little one in her bassinet and the big one on the floor of her room with her giant plush puppy. Was it the noise? I hardly ever get this lucky without reno!

Bite me

2008-12-11T09:33:00.002-05:00

About a hundred times a day. That's what it seems like anyway. I know that toddler biting is a very common problem, but I'm not finding it easy to deal with. The firm "NO BITE" that all the books and websites say to give only stops her in the moment, and she's back with a mouthful of vengeance pretty soon thereafter.

I know she does it when she is tired or frustrated or over-excited, and I try to keep those times to a minimum. The fact that she's been teething for the vast majority of her brief life to date doesn't help either. I've found that consistent napping helps tremendously, but it's not really solving the problem.

Honestly, it's not that I worry about having bite marks all over me; I do, however, worry about her biting her little sister. It's only happened once so far -- right smack on the little one's head no less -- but it could so easily become habit. More importantly, I guess, I worry about her biting some other kid in one of her activities. We go to a library group and a music group, but in both of those situations, I'm there to watch her and participate with her. At my gym however, she's in a big play room with lots of other kids while I'm trying to lose an ounce or two of the fifty pounds of baby weight I'm dragging around with me. The woman who cares for the kids is very kind and on-the-ball, but how could she manage every little thing?

So does the biting go away with the teething? It is just a natural phase of life, an outlet for the pains and frustrations of being a baby?

All it takes is an egg and...

2008-11-26T09:42:00.009-05:00

Thanksgiving is a wonderful holiday. This year, I am particularly thankful for the blessed Friday after, a day my husband gets to spend at home with me and les girls. (Well, he's actually spending it at home installing flooring in our basement, but you know what I mean --) I celebrated the extra whole-family day by making a big hunt breakfast, as my mom and dad like to call it, complete with eggs, soy bacon and homemade pumpkin muffins that I somehow managed to bake while making dinner two nights ago. (Hello? Domestic goddess committee? I'm over here...) As I finished scrambling the eggs and Michael was scooping up Josephine to put her in her highchair, he paused so she could see what I was doing, and said "WOW, look at Mama's nice eggs!" Not a beat (pun intended) went by before we both cracked up (ditto) thinking about how this is the first November in two years that I haven't been pregnant. I told him to get away from me and my eggs -- it's not that I don't like the rapid-fire babies we already have, but I'd like to take a year off!

Bad Mama

2008-11-24T22:06:00.004-05:00

So we've already determined that I'm a bad mama because I let my almost eighteen-month old watch TV -- just Sesame Street -- but TV nonetheless.

But I've been thinking a lot about the research that says that children shouldn't watch any TV before they're two. What I have noticed is that my daughter's language capabilities have skyrocketed since she started watching it. I don't know if it is the style of talking that is prevalent on the show or her comfort with the characters or just the sheer excitement of the presentation of letters, numbers and words. I haven't noticed that having it on has had any negative impact on my now four-month-old either. If anything, she gurgles and giggles more when she hears her big sister talking. For example, Elmo's World did a segment on bananas, and at the end of it, he sang "The Banana Song" to the tune of "Jingle Bells," and days later, Josephine is still singing it. And every time she does, her little sister cracks up. The day she saw it, Josephine RAN to the kitchen and wanted a banana -- shrieked with perfect diction in perfect rhythm of the song. She learned to count to four in another episode, and now she lines up things and counts them. In fact, I think she may be nursing a major crush on The Count.

So what's so bad about this small TV habit? Are the researchers issuing an overly cautious caution so that dumb parents don't strand their kids in front of COPS or 24 or some other less educational, overly sexual or violent programming? I suppose I should read the research before I go and spout off about it, but done responsibly and in moderation (ummmmmm like everything in life) it seems more than fine to me. Media is a huge part of our culture, and don't we need to show our children how to integrate it into life without becoming a couch potato?

I am an educator, but I can't say that day-to-day life in our home would have taught her the counting -- and certainly not the sheer joy of landing on "FOUR!" the way Sesame Street has. I can't say that I would ever have thought to sing "Jingle Bells" using only the word banana. I'm grateful for the intelligent, timeless programming that is offered by PBS -- it's a great crutch for a Baby Buncher like me -- and it's really fun for my babies.

A haircut

2008-11-18T23:06:00.003-05:00

has never been one of my favorite things. As a gal with long, curly (read: frizzy) hair, I always dreaded the snips that made my hair curl up, frizz up even more. Until I found Ouidad. I've been having my hair cut by the lovely Vincent at Ouidad for I think 10 years or so -- he, like all the stylists there understands the whys, wherefores and how-tos of curly hair. I had my haircut for the first time since before Josephine was born (yes, that's right, about eighteen months) on Saturday. Vincent was surprised to see me -- not with one baby, but with two, since the last time he saw me I was eight months pregnant with the big one. Vincent and Ouidad and lots of folks in the salon oooohed and aaaaaahed at the babies. It was a nice homecoming, and we laughed at how Josephine's hair seems to be curling up, too. I think I actually enjoyed this haircut. The haircut was a loss of a lot of dead weight.

I haven't been taking care of myself. I mean, obviously, I've been busy, but I mean I really haven't been taking care of myself. I've struggled in the last four months to do the basics: eat well, exercise, get dressed, brush my teeth. None of my pre-first-or-second pregnancy clothes fit, because if you remember, I was only not pregnant for two and a half months between babies. I'm not one of those women for whom the weight just fell off when I started nursing. And if you are, I really don't want to hear about it. I started the week last week by joining a gym -- my friend and birth doula belongs there, and if it is cool enough for her, it is cool enough for me. I've actually been going, and of course I'm still fat, but I feel better.

During both of my pregnancies, my hair grew like crazy. It was coarser, thicker, and it grew long over those eighteen months. But when it all started to fall out for the second time after the second baby, it didn't look or feel good. My hair had atrophied like my sorry limbs, and atop my mushy body I had scraggly -- but very long -- hair. It almost didn't curl it was so tired. Vincent was kind; he didn't lop it all off in one fell snip. He knew that would have made me faint. He gingerly cut off inches -- maybe ten, maybe eleven, I don't know -- until I felt light, light light. It was a wonderful feeling -- better than going to the gym. Better than putting on a real bra after wearing a nursing bra for how long? Yeesh.

It's a trek for me to get into the city for my haircuts now that I have two under two, but I'm not going to put it off from now on. That feeling of buoyancy, that lightness -- it might be the best diet yet.

Are you a buncher?

2008-11-11T14:32:00.003-05:00

I am -- as you probably know if you've visited my blog before. My babies are a mere 13-months apart. Since I've been a borderline shut-in since the arrival of the little one, I've stayed sane by reading about other moms with babies close in age. Baby Bunching is a fabulous site written by real moms who have kids all bunched up. There are tips for bunches and links to other mama bloggers like me. If you haven't checked it out, you should. Even if you're one of those moms with 2, 3 , 4 or more years between your kids, you might find some cool tidbit!

And to my fellow bunchers -- cheers! But make it a mocktail if you're still nursing!

Baby Proofing III: Packing Tape

2008-11-09T16:32:00.003-05:00

OK, seriously. We haven't done a good job of baby-proofing our home. I often find an outlet cover somewhere other than an outlet, thanks to some 17-month-old smarts. She'll often stand by an outlet -- touching it -- and say "NO!" clearly imitating me. Nice. I'm dreading what I know she will teach her little sister.

But today, I've found an area of baby proofing in which I have apparently excelled: packing tape. I used to keep it -- you know, the kind with its own dispenser/cutting mechanism -- in our hall console, so that I could quickly tape closed the hundreds of returns-by-mail I make from my little online shopping habit. (Oh come on, don't tell me you don't do it -- I don't believe you.) So anyway, when I went to tape up some too-small stuff to send back, it wasn't there, and I remembered that I had moved it because Josephine found it one day. But WHERE? Can I find it anywhere in my mess-of-a home? No. And I've looked in all the obvious and not-so-obvious places. My desk. Michael's desk. The buffet. The pantry. I still can't find it. But Josephine hasn't found it either, so I guess my strategy worked -- baby proofing is as easy as a little forgetting.

Then and Now

2008-11-06T16:47:00.003-05:00

Watching the beautiful events of Tuesday night in Grant Park, I thought of my dad covering the 1968 riots that happened in the same place. I asked my dad to write about this juxtaposition; here is what he wrote:

Personal histories are forever and indelibly marked by momentous events.

I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news of John F. Kennedy’s assassination or when I witnessed man’s first walk on the moon. I hate to admit it, but I even remember where I was when I heard of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s death. The event was seared in my mind when I got home and found my mother crying.

I thought of this as hundreds of thousands jammed Grant Park recently to witness the debut of America’s first African-American president-elect. They were mostly young people filled with hope and enthusiasm. They cheered as tears welled in their eyes. It was a time, a place and an event not to be forgotten.

I remember being in a different part of that same Grant Park some 40 years ago. There were plenty of young people in the park that night, too. But they were jeering, not cheering. I was there because it was my job to be there as a reporter for the Chicago Daily News. The Democratic National Convention was being held in Chicago that year and Vietnam anti-war protesters had gathered in the city to make their voices heard.

They were shouting and chanting. National Guard troops were lined up along Grant Park--often called “Chicago’s front yard”--in an effort to contain thousands of protesters. I saw police, wearing light blue helmets, arrive in busses. They started swinging their truncheons as soon as they hit the street and encountered anyone in their paths. A teargas canister came rolling down Michigan Avenue in front of the Conrad Hilton Hotel.

The crowd of young people massed in the park across from the fancy hotels, and their voices grew louder. “The whole world is watching. The whole world is watching,” they chanted as television cameras recorded the events for all to see.

Citizens were shocked at the actions of the police. Senator Abraham Ribicoff came to the podium in the convention hall and accused Chicago of using “Gestapo tactics” in trying to silence the protestors. Mayor Richard J. Daley, a delegate to the convention, shook his fist at the senator and shouted profanities at him. A government commission later described the event as a “police riot.”

I will never forget that week of the Democratic National Convention. It was so different from the jubilant scene of the other night.

I have returned to the vicinity of Grant Park dozens of times since 1968, but I wasn’t there to witness this week’s election celebration. Like millions of other people across the world, I was at home watching every minute of it on television.

Although I wasn’t there in person this time, I was able to see the hugs and high-fives, the smiles and the waving of the “yes we can” signs, the absolute joy of it all. It was a totally well organized and planned event that came off without a hitch.

And maybe the best thing about the triumphant celebration was this reality. The whole world was watching. -- Joe Cappo

To My Daughters

2008-11-05T00:30:00.003-05:00

Tonight, as you sleep in your cribs, our country elected Barack Obama as our next President. It is an unprecedented achievement for him and for our country as we take a giant step forward in terms of true equality. I am thrilled to know that our country is changing course, and I am hopeful that this means you have a better chance of growing up in a peaceful, prosperous country. Your father and I supported Barack and worked on his behalf, as we knew how important this election was. I hope you will both be active in working towards a better world when you are old enough to choose to as well. America is beautiful because of the people who live here, work here, dream here; I hope you will be a part of keeping our country beautiful. I pledge to work on your behalf until you are able to do so for yourself, and I will do it with my mother's pride and joy. Although you girls are my world, America is my country, and tonight -- and for at least four years to come --I will be heartily waving my flag.

With all my love,
Mamma

Yes We Can...

2008-11-04T07:51:00.000-05:00

IF we all get out there and VOTE!

Election Eve

2008-11-03T13:50:00.002-05:00

Honestly, I can barely write today. I'm a ball of nerves about tomorrow's election, so I'm looking forward to going to our local Obama office later this afternoon to make some calls to folks in neighboring Pennsylvania. Please, please, please vote -- wherever you are -- especially if you're voting for Obama. This isn't a done deal yet.

Why is this important to me? Why am I so amped up about this election? Is it just my infatuations with Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow? Hardly...

Several years ago, I left my job in publishing to become a high school English teacher. My goal was to inspire kids to learn something -- hopefully something useful. I taught in the Bronx for two years, and I have just recently resigned my position in Newark, NJ to take care of my own babies for a few years. I could write a whole series of blogs about what is wrong with education in America and in particular in our urban areas, but I'll save that for later. To (over)simplify, there are many things that kids need, but mostly they need hope and some dependable people. I found that I was sometimes the only reliable adult in my students' lives. In the classroom -- often without the books or supplies or air conditioning that my students needed to do as well as the ones in the fancy suburbs -- I would find myself telling my students that they could be or do whatever they wanted in life as long as they worked for it. Heck, they could even be President! But was it true? Did I actually believe it? I'm not sure. I've been a progressive pretty much my whole life, I think, but in retrospect, I think my line to my students was mostly wishful thinking. Barack Obama has changed all that, and it makes me tear up just thinking about it. I really can look a student in the eye -- no matter the color of their skin or their gender -- (thank you, too, Hillary Clinton) and tell them that it is possible. I'm looking forward to being in the classroom and having that moment again.

I'm not just supporting Barack Obama because he says he's going to pay teachers more and my union tells me he's the right choice for us. I support him because he has moved our country's civil rights battle to the next level. I support him because he understands how to organize people for action. I support him because he is thoughtful and his speaking reflects that. I support him because he hasn't gotten mean, nasty and negative -- and because he doesn't need to. I support him because he personifies hope for me, my students and my own children. Won't you join me?

Tearful goodbye

2008-10-28T09:17:00.003-04:00

Josephine has never been a baby who cries when I leave her. These meltdowns were always reserved for her dad, making the beginning of his daily commute to the big city difficult for everyone involved. It used to make me sad that she wasn't sad to see me go, but I reassured myself that it was healthy -- and really a wonderful thing-- that she was so comfortable with the caretakers we have for her. In fact, Josephine is just a friendly, open little creature. At our music class last week, as we were all putting on our shoes and jackets to leave, she made eye contact with and ran over to the nanny of one of the boys in the class. She held up her arms smiling and said, "Up!" to this almost-complete stranger. Once up, she rested her head on the sweet woman's shoulder and sighed in delight.

So I was so surprised yesterday when my sixteen-month-old Josephine burst into tears as I got ready to go to the grocery store. She was in the care of her beloved Aunt Li Li, so I would never have expected it. She waits all day for Li Li's arrival, and I am chopped liver as soon as she walks in. But dissolve into tears she did, trying even to walk out the door with me. She looks so particularly tiny when she weeps, and I am always surprised at the size of those tears in relation to the girl. I tried to comfort her as best I could. As I drove off, I thought back on how it used to make me feel when I'd leave and she'd be smiling away. Now I was sad, much sadder indeed, at her momentary despair. As an educator, I know all about that whole object permanence thing, but it doesn't make much difference in a moment like that when it is your own child feeling the anxiety.

Things go in cycles, though, I guess. The last thing I saw as I averted my eyes from Josephine's sad face was Lucy's big grin as she bounced in Li Li's arms and I pulled out of the driveway.

Is it okay in bloggerland

2008-10-24T10:27:00.000-04:00

to change the name of one's blog? Hmmmm...

Tag! Six Things

2008-10-22T16:08:00.003-04:00

I’ve been tagged by my dear friend, birth doula and fellow blogger, DoulaMomma! So I’ll step into the blogosphere confessional and reveal six things I haven’t discussed yet on my blog. And watch out, you might get tagged next...

My six things:

1. It’s obvious from this blog that I’m a baseball fanatic, but you may not know that my fanaticism can be stretched into whatever sport is in season. I love it all, I must say, baseball, football, college basketball, golf, tennis – uh, politics. Well, you get the idea. I’m not one to watch much in the way of television dramas or sitcoms, but I do subscribe to all the special sports packages my cable company offers! P.S. The World Series starts tonight: Rays vs. Phillies. Not exactly what I was hoping for. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

2. Even though Josephine isn’t two yet, I let her watch Sesame Street. This has created an Elmo craze – she points to everyone she sees on TV – Cookie Monster, Paula Deen, Wolf Blitzer, ANYone and says in total excitement, “ELMO!” Fortunately, she’s a book hound, so I’m not as yet worried about sacrificing her literacy. I know, I know – bad mommy. But hey – try having babies 13 months apart and see what you resort to!

3. I am a coupon addict. There! I've said it! Shopping is a good way to get the babies out of the house and keep them contained for a spell, so we often make an outing. Since my job is being at home right now and doesn’t seem to generate a paycheck, I try to be valuable to the household on the expense side. Hence, mad coupon clipping! How much can I save while buying stuff we need? Fun game!

4. As you may know, I love yoga. It feels so good to me physically, mentally, and spiritually. But here’s the thing: I suck at it. Seriously. I am no Shiva Rea. More like Roseanne Arnold, I’m sorry to say. I’m very grateful to my friends at Shakti who don’t laugh at me.

5. I have a long list of to-learns: sewing, knitting, Sanskrit. I have to do them on my own, though, since I already have two useless master’s degrees and a post-grad certificate.

6. I find motherhood joyous, but a bit isolating. I’m really grateful to everyone who supports me and keeps in touch: my husband, my awesome family, my sisters-in-law, my friends, and my fellow bloggers. Thank you.

Now for my tags: I tag Howard Park, 1 Year Apart, The Fox Factor, sleeping beauty, waking up, Unfinished Dad, and Half As Good As You. You all should make a post referring to this post, reveal your own 6 things & tag 6 others!

Well, isn't that funny

2008-10-19T13:41:00.004-04:00

For all of you two-under-two parents out there, you know what our weekends are like. The occasional outing gets mixed with hours of tag-team baby care: feedings, diaperings, book readings, play-in-the-yardings, nappings. It isn't exactly a recipe for getting things done. I always think that I'll get some relief from the weekday frustration I constantly suffer of looking at a room I just picked up or vacuumed and realizing it needs to be done again. And I am not a maniac neat freak -- I just need to be able to walk across the room without tripping or be able to sit without crushing something. But this break never comes. In fact, the mess of the weekend trumps any weekday because we are still foolish enough to attempt to do something.

Yesterday's endeavor was to put together the new crib we had delivered for the little one and rearrange the nursery to accommodate the two cribs -- yes, that's right -- when you have children born 13 months apart, you need 2 cribs! My husband valiantly assembled the crib (which turned out to be HUGE!) and together we rearranged the furniture (with the babies in their cribs) so that everything fit. While the tiny room does look like some kind of clearance furniture depot, it is DONE. There are all kinds of refugee items floating all over the hallway -- toys, storage boxes, wall hangings -- but let me repeat: the task is DONE. The pride was overwhelming -- we couldn't believe ourselves.

As we settled down to sleep last night, we were hysterical. Where were both babies sleeping? In their newly finished room? Of course not. They were in our room with us.

Two under two: when one is sick

2008-10-17T18:21:00.002-04:00

What do you do? Well, for one thing, get used to the crying. Last night Josephine woke up with a fever in the middle of the night and was just howling. We ended up bringing her to bed with us after giving her some Tylenol, but she would periodically wake up in fits of tears. This, of course, awakened Lucy, who then decided she was hungry. So they sort of alternated cries, and soon it was 2:30, 3:30, 4:30 and so on. There is a reason they make babies cute, you know. It's for times like these, when there is no break in the crying and a parent's sense of humor has run out. Good times!

I love Donna Brazile

2008-10-14T15:04:00.005-04:00

Have you seen this clip? If you're not voting for Obama, I hope it's not because of the color of his skin.

A lesson to learn

2008-10-14T10:10:00.005-04:00

Here's a link to a great piece about this year's collapse of the Chicago Cubs. Rafer Weigel is an old friend now anchoring the sports desk at Headline News; he's making his dad proud. Enjoy!

Some Children Are Left Behind

2008-10-12T23:13:00.003-04:00

I had a delightful surprise comment to a post a few days ago, from someone who knows one of my poems. It was published in a small literary journal written for and by teachers called The Teacher's Voice. You can find out more about it here. If you've ever wondered if it really is important to read to your children or speak with them, know that it is. Model the use and beauty of language whenever and however you can; my experience as a high school English teacher showed me that this can't be underestimated. One of my happiest moments as a mom (and writer and English teacher) was when my daughter first carried a book to me to read to her. I almost fainted. Anyway, here is the poem:

Fill In

The blanks are too numerous

and some can't be filled in.

I don't know if I can teach

you this language, now, so late.

I don't know if I can teach you

that this is a middle without

a beginning that makes sense.

I can't fill the place of those

who left you here, like this --

I can't tell you everything

you missed while you weren't here.

I've been punk'd!

2008-10-09T08:47:00.002-04:00

By my two daughters, ages 16 months and almost 3 months! The little one started sleeping through the night when she was just shy of two months old. We thought we were clear of the bleary phase of parenting a newborn. But now? She's back to being up between three and four a.m. I awaken to the sound of her sucking her fingers or trying to roll over in her bassinet, and then I'm basically up for the diaper change, the feeding and whatever follows.

And then there is the big one. She has always been a good nighttime sleeper; she's slept through the night since she was about three months old. Give the child a bottle and a snuggle, and she was down for the count. But now? She's up in the middle of the night too -- some kind of nightmare or separation anxiety or something. At 3:15 this morning, not even Dada could do the trick, so I finished feeding the little one then moved into trying to soothe the big one. We were both up from about 3 on with just a few winks of sleep until it was time to arise at 6.

I know they always say this part doesn't last forever, but it sure seems like it will, especially in those slow-crawling early-morning hours. At least they're not lonely for me; I get to share them with my husband and beautiful girls.

Dodgers 3, Cubs 1

2008-10-05T23:38:00.002-04:00

Tears. The Cubs are swept 3-0 by the Dodgers in the first round of the playoffs. I guess one hundred years isn't enough to wait. Now we wait again for next year.

The Fall

2008-09-30T23:42:00.004-04:00

So it's finally here: the postpartum hair loss period. It's coming out handfuls at a time in the shower and in a steady stream of ones and twos and fours all day long. Every time I look at my daughters, there is a hair of mine to pluck from their shirts or one to untangle from their fingers. Today it looked like a vicious one was cutting off the circulation in the little one's pinky toe. They tickle my back and my arms as they get loose and prepare to fly away -- thank goodness the house will be swept clean tomorrow. Imagine that my body went through this growing and shedding routine twice in two years. Seems like it must've taken a lot of energy, no? Maybe that's why I'm so tired. Anyway, I've gotten used to my doubly thick mane, but by this time next week, I might look like the baby who gave it to me.

Heaven is...

2008-09-28T12:26:00.001-04:00

the first time you hear your new baby laugh. Michael was cooing at the little one, and she just started giggling. She sounds just like her big sister. To die for.

Welcoming Myself Back to Bloggerville

2008-09-26T14:23:00.004-04:00

A few things I didn't post about in my absence from you:

1. The Cubbies clinched the NL Central Division. No, I am not getting excited yet, but I'm a BELIEVER. Thank GOD my cable package includes WGN, so I could watch the excitement at home! My dream is to see my dad's face after the Cubbies win the World Series.

2. We had a great vacation at the beach with my family. The babies loved being with their Grammie and Grampy and Uncle Stunna. So did we alleged grown ups. We got to go on our first date in I-don't-know-how-long -- thanks for the babysitting! I got to go to yoga four times -- ahhhhhhhh. I was inspired to met Carmel and Dina and Margie at Yoga Anjali who helped jumpstart my practice out of pre/postnatal boredom. If you ever have a chance to visit them, do!

3. The financial crisis: oh, you mean if you're greedy and get so crazed with it that you lose your sense of balance, it'll probably come back to bite you? Ummm. Yeah.

Considering a VBAC? Having your first and feeling anxious?

2008-09-10T11:34:00.006-04:00

Come join Ires Wilbanks and me for the Childbirth Support Group at Shakti. The group is for those interested in vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC) and anyone interested in non-judgemental support during their pregnancies or through the postpartum period. Run by mothers, for mothers, we will also host guest speakers who are specialists in the birthing community. It will be the third Sunday of each month, starting Sunday, September 21 from 3 -5 p.m. in the main yoga room. Bring your baby! Bring a friend!

This group, originally run by Elizabeth and Marta, was a tremendous help to me when I was preparing for my VBAC, so I'm pleased to have a role in its continuation!

Further information available on the Shakti website.

Math

2008-09-08T20:46:00.003-04:00

Here is some scary two-under-two math: two pregnancies in two years = 50 pounds. What, you say? Didn't you lose the baby weight the first time round? Well, no, actually, it would be mathematically impossible, since I was pregnant again by the time the big one was just four months old. So back to the equation: two pregnancies at 25 pounds each = 50 pounds. That's heavy. They say 9 months on, 18 months off -- so does that mean that it will take me 36 months (3 years) to be somewhere in the vicinity of the weight at which I started? Daunting, to say the least. I've been thinking about this for a couple of days now, and I still can't quite wrap my brain around it.

Reds 4, Cubs 3

2008-09-07T17:26:00.004-04:00

Kerry Wood blows a save (with the help of Ronny Cedeno booting what should have been a simple double play ball to win the game), and the Cubs sorry streak continues. Two errors in the bottom of the ninth? A closer walking batters and giving up hits? Sigh. Vintage Chicago Cubs. This is why we don't get excited in April, May, June, July or August. It's just too early, especially if you've waited one hundred years to win a World Series. I remember feeling this way when I was first pregnant with my older daughter. That turned out okay, so maybe I should be hopeful?

Baby Proofing II

2008-09-05T20:37:00.005-04:00

As I nursed the little one, the big one came over to me and handed me one of the outlet covers. Hmmmm -- more proof.

Don't waste your vote

2008-09-05T09:08:00.003-04:00

This morning on the news, I listened to a disgruntled Hillary Clinton supporter say that she may vote for John McCain or not vote at all because she has been so hurt by the Democratic party's process. Look, I understand that she is upset that her candidate didn't get the nomination (this time), and I agree with her wholeheartedly that the DNC needs to overhaul its process so that we don't have such a long, drawn-out, divisive primary season in elections to come. But she -- and any other HRC supporters out there considering the same -- have to listen to Hillary herself. You have much more in common with Barack Obama than you have with John McCain and his ultra-conservative running mate Sarah Palin. Unless you have suddenly become pro-life, pro-gun, pro-drilling in protected lands, anti-sex education, believe that the war in Iraq is God's work and want a president who has voted with George W. Bush 90% of the time, you have to support Barack Obama, just like Hillary does. Don't you remember the last two elections and how close they were? Hillary Clinton has urged you to make sure we put a Democrat in the White House this November, and I beg you to do the same by showing up to vote for the person the DNC has put forth as its candidate. Get involved in the DNC. Write Howard Dean nasty letters about the process that upset you so. But for goodness' sake, don't waste your vote.

Baby Proofing

2008-09-03T10:49:00.006-04:00

Yeah, sure, we have the requisite outlet covers and baby gates to protect our little ones. We even have some nifty cabinet locks, which keep them away from the nasty items under the kitchen sink which seem to work well and oven locks for the two doors of our 1956 Roper range -- oh wait, we haven't installed those yet.

Thankfully, Josephine didn't start out this lovely Wednesday by putting her head in the oven. Even Sylvia would want her to wait longer. She did however, select as her first toy of the morning, a bottle of yellow food coloring. Yep, you guessed it, the kitchen floor is yellow. Josephine's jammies have yellow spots all over them. Her hands and feet are yellow -- as are mine. Lucy was spared, thankfully. How would I ever explain two yellow-dyed babies?

You're probably thinking that this episode inspired me to close the pantry door and keep a closer eye on my young toddler. Well, the pantry door is closed.

Less than an hour later, while I nursed the little one, I see the big one playing with the tiny -- virtually useless -- drawer on an end table in our living room. When I ask her to come to Mama, what do I pull from her mouth? A screw. Great. She also has in her hands the rest of her bounty from the drawer: two boxes of matches and a battery. Since I've taken the screw away, the battery is the next best item on which to chew. Mmmmm. Yummy. The matches? They are nothing more than little rattles -- the little wood sticks make a great shaky noise in the cardboard box.

Why are these items randomly stored in this end table drawer? Just the haphazardness of our pre-parenting days, I suppose. Most of our dangerous items reside well out of the reach of little hands nowadays, even if it is a pain in the neck for us. But baby proof? The only real proof here is that children are never as safe as you'd like them to be, that something always lurks. There is only so much control we can have -- we have to hold on loosely and guide as best we can, hoping that we've at least taken away the most hazardous hazards and that our children will learn how to keep themselves safe.

For an interesting view on the idea of control and how it applies to parenting and politics, read my friend DoulaMomma's blog from yesterday. And if you don't read her blog regularly, you should!

Tears

2008-08-27T14:03:00.003-04:00

All of the family photo albums my parents made when my brother and I were little kids include classic shots of me in tears. I guess it is pretty funny in retrospect, but it sure didn't seem so at the time. Now seeing my daughter in tears makes me wonder about the frustration kids must feel so often growing up. Trying new things -- failing -- sometimes succeeding -- it must be stressful. Since I've been a mom, it seems clear to me that this frustration is why we don't remember being babies. Learning to eat and walk, growing teeth, climbing stairs and furniture and falling on our butts or our heads -- the stakes are too high for it to not be monumentally frustrating. So once we learn it, we forget it -- or the process of it, anyway.

Some people say they don't remember the pain of childbirth. Maybe this is a similar thing -- it is so meaningful that we don't want it to live in our memories negatively -- we want it to be filled with the tearful kisses and joy of holding that new life for the first time.

Can't we all just get along?

2008-08-25T23:30:00.002-04:00

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080826/ap_on_el_pr/cvn_clinton

Are we trying to lose this thing? Do we want another four years of what we've had the last eight?

Triumph!

2008-08-21T16:26:00.002-04:00

I got out of the house today! Ok, ok -- I know all of you who are not encumbered with two under two have no idea how BIG this is -- just humor me for a second. My next door neighbor, who has a newborn and a 2 1/2 year old and I, with my newborn and my 14-month old, loaded up our double strollers and walked to Milo Borden Park. The babies slept in their strollers and enjoyed the shade and the breeze. The big girls got to swing and climb and slide and run around. The mammas chased and spotted and gabbed. Not a bad effort, I must say. We even laughed as we panted our way up the hill that had been a pleasant downward roll on the way to the park. It felt so good to be out in the sunshine and to stretch my legs. I feel like I've been sitting for months. The kids looked adorable enjoying what might be one of the nicest days of the summer. Pictures, you ask? Oh, gimme a break! I was lucky I remembered to bring the children.

It's never just black or white

2008-08-20T17:33:00.004-04:00

Isn't it funny how some people are still afraid of the idea of having a black president? Here is a good read, written by a student in my dad's graduate opinion-writing course at De Paul University. Check it out!

Paranoia, not so concealed

2008-08-16T18:00:00.002-04:00

In the news yesterday was a story about the Harrold, Texas school district, which will allow its teachers to carry concealed firearms "to deter and protect against school shootings when classes begin next month." As an educator, I am shocked and disappointed. Schools have long been gun-free zones, and the group behind the decision to allow teachers to come to school packing heat suggests that this is the cause of some of the school shootings with which we are all too familiar. Funny, I don't remember any of the disturbed teens referencing this federal policy as the reason behind their rampages. I do remember kids who clearly had serious problems that went unnoticed or just avoided. The story says that the district researched other options. I wonder what those might have been? Has the Harrold, Texas school district already maximized its security efforts with guards and metal detectors? Has the district initiated a robust intervention program for students who display signs of trouble? Was it just easier and cheaper to tell the teachers to defend themselves with guns?

What kind of a lesson is this for students? I have always felt as an educator that my most important job was to demonstrate to my high school students appropriate adult behavior, civility, manners, and compassion. It would never occur to me, despite the fact that I've taught in two tough districts -- the Bronx, NY and Newark, NJ -- to carry a gun. My protection has always been treating others with respect. And you know what? I was respected in return. This is the lesson that I want my students to learn, not that they can "protect" themselves if they carry a weapon.

Let's hope that Harrold, Texas is the first and last district to make such a poor policy.

What day is it?

2008-08-11T14:15:00.003-04:00

Sitting up with Lucy in the early, early morning hours, I was thinking about why I have trouble keeping track of what day it is. It's pretty simple, actually: weekends are no longer days off. Obviously, being a mom is a 24/7/365 kind of job. But since the schedule never changes (or since there never is a schedule -- I'm not sure which), all the days are the same. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. I don't have that feeling of dread anymore that was the staple of late Sunday afternoon and evening; I used to get it right around the time the second NFL game started. I don't have to switch gears for the Monday morning rush and then again for the Friday getaway. It's all the same, sweatpanted, barfed-on, baby-snuggling bliss.

On the flip side, my husband has to go from day job to night job on weekdays. Weekends are like the second job that doesn't pay well but gets you to the next paycheck. Even though he never stops being a dad (obviously) it's almost like moonlighting. Don't tell the boss if you need to be out one day to take care of family business. Try to appear to have had 8 hours of sleep and a good workout when in reality you had 4 hours of sleep and did 547 laps around the upstairs trying to ease the gas bubbles out of the newborn's belly. I suppose it is a workout.

People hold weekends sacred because they can let it all hang out. Since mine hangs out all the time, the need to day-worship has disappeared -- and so has some of that great anticipation of free time to come. What am I doing this weekend? All the same mundane diaper-changing and feeding things I did Monday through Friday -- hopefully just in the company of my husband.

Pop-up books

2008-08-06T18:23:00.004-04:00

Josephine loves pop-up books and lift-the-flap books. Anything by Karen Katz is a favorite. She is obsessed with a Strawberry Shortcake pop-up that requires the reader to sing along with some tinny tunes. (I confess to hiding this one from her, but of course, she's already figured it out.)

Lately her goal seems to be to muscle the flap or pop-up right out of the book, but still, these are the ones she very seriously carries to me each day to read to her over and over again. I recently read The Crawly Caterpillar to her, and it reminded me so much of my recent pregnancies and births:

The Crawly Caterpillar

by Judith Nicholls

Underneath a droopy leaf,

something small and yellow lay.

Who was waiting in the egg,

and who just flew away?

Something wiggled, wriggled, jiggled,

then crawled out on leafy green.

It nibbled, gnawed, and guzzled,

until the leaf could not be seen!

It nibbled, gnawed, and guzzled.

It grew and grew and grew!

"I'm sleepy now," said the caterpillar.

"I know just what I must do."

She turned into a chrysalis

and hid there, dark and still.

She slept, she dreamt, she waited;

she waited there until...

Her hiding place split open.

Out she crept with folded wings!

She spread them wide and wondered,

"Just what are these fluttery things?"

She raised them high, then higher

into the summer sky,

and sang down to her garden,

"I am a butterfly!"

Resting up

2008-08-04T17:10:00.002-04:00

...for Monday Night Baseball! Cubs vs. Astros, 7 p.m. EST on ESPN.

Family dinner

2008-08-02T23:33:00.003-04:00

My husband, my two daughters, and I went out to dinner tonight. Mostly, Michael just wanted to get me out of the house. We attempted to go to the new branch of the Village Trattoria in South Orange, NJ, but we were not impressed by what we found when we got there. Basic pizza place. We decided to split and head over to Arturo's in Maplewood -- also a pizza place, but so much more. The special pasta was fazzoletti with locally-grown organic beet greens and parmigiano reggiano. Come on! Why eat anywhere else? This pasta was perfect -- hand cut and beautifully cooked. The greens were soft but smoky from a little red onion (or maybe it was shallot) and the whole dish a bit salty from the parmigiano. mmmmmmmm.

Only slightly better than the food was the sight of Josephine assisting her father in demolishing Arturo's famous margherita pizza (not available for delivery due to quality control issues -- I LOVE this place). It was a large pie. As soon as Josephine ate the bits of pizza we gave her, she would motion to the pie and grunt. Repeatedly. Until she was given more to devour. (Similar to her dad, I must say.) Usually Josephine has piles of food in her bib and highchair after a meal, but not tonight. She also gobbled up two of four handmade ravioli. She ate as though we starve her at home -- and we don't. I guess she really is our daughter, huh?

Of course I didn't have my camera with us. I took some cell phone pictures, and if I can figure out how to get them off of my phone, I'll post them. Until then, go to Arturo's and get yourself whatever the genius there has on special and one of those margherita pies, too.

Hey Chicago!

2008-07-31T23:15:00.003-04:00

I never knew I could love a broom, but today I do. Cubs sweep the Brewers in a 4-game series. Is it a coincidence that I did a crossword puzzle (whilst on bedrest awaiting Lucy's arrival) that included the clue "baseball team that last won the world series in 1908"? I mean seriously, folks. It is still to early to get excited.

Good times

2008-07-26T10:45:00.003-04:00

It is a rare moment here in the Gallo household. Everyone is asleep except me. Josephine, now 13 months old, went easily to sleep for her morning nap. It only took two rounds of "Twinkle, twinkle" and five minutes of rocking -- possibly a lifetime best for the child who doesn't want to miss a thing. Lucy, now 13 days old, fell asleep on her Dad's shoulder after passing enough gas that she could lay flat in her bassinet. My husband crawled into our nest, and now he, too, sleeps.

It is strange to not be holding anyone, to not be nursing a baby or getting someone a snack or a bottle or a clean diaper.

Don't get me wrong: these days since Lucy's arrival have been joyous. Her birth was a journey I shall not soon forget, and her arrival a true turning point in my life. But there is something about being just me -- just me -- and having time (and two hands) to do something -- anything -- that seems almost naughty. My goal for the coming months and years of being home with the children is to find more of these moments. It is no small task with two under two -- even with all the help I get -- but so worth it.

While I was writing this, I heard the bell of the knife sharpener outside. This is an event I wait for all summer -- taking my knives out to his van and watching him sharpen them makes me excited to cook yummy things. But I let him pass today so I could write this -- I can always call him to come back. It's not as romantic as the surprise visit, but I couldn't risk puncturing the near silence of nap time.

My bonnie lies over the ocean

2007-10-22T00:01:00.000-04:00

A funny:

One of the songs I thought to sing to Josephine was "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean." I had the first part down:

My Bonnie lies over the ocean
My Bonnie lies over the sea
My Bonnie lies over the ocean

But then I couldn't remember the melody of the next line. I knew the words, but I couldn't attach them to the right notes. I could also remember everything after that one hateful line:

Bring back, bring back
Bring back my Bonnie to me, to me
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my Bonnie to me

Egads! It's not exactly a difficult tune. This is, I thought, my personal idea of hell. After all, I have a Bachelor's and a Master's degree in opera singing. But I could not, for the life of me, think of how to sing the line "Oh bring back my Bonnie to me". This discomfort made me sing it even more incorrectly -- and over and over -- in an attempt to find the melody. I could almost hear it, but for some reason I couldn't get it out of my mouth.

So finally I called my dad -- known for his twist but not so much for his vocal stylings -- and had him sing it. Well, he didn't quite have it either, but we went back and forth and back and forth, and I finally found it. We laughed about it, and he, of course, wondered about all that money spent on voice lessons and college degrees -- sigh. It took me another two days of singing it wrong then right to finally be able to do it consistently. What a triumph.

I was so excited to sing it to Josephine and to rock and sway with her just like the very ocean itself. I could imagine her big toothless grin and fancied it might even earn me a giggle. I sang it for the first time correctly straight through and what did she do? She burst into tears.

Big shots

2007-10-09T18:16:00.000-04:00

For the second time in four months, I held my daughter as the pediatrician gave her three vaccinations. These two moments have been, by far, the most unpleasant of my brief experience as a mom.

First, I should say how much I like our pediatrician. Besides his excellent credentials and the glowing references from other moms, he's just a nice guy. I remember thinking when I interviewed him that he's a person I wouldn't mind seeing just a few hours after giving birth. He makes time for as many questions as I have and doesn't make me feel stupid -- other doctors should take note. He's really fast with the injections, but it doesn't make it any better. Josephine lets out wails unlike any other in her repertoire, which widens by the day. Part of it is clearly shock, because until that moment, she is being cuddled and played with -- but part of it is just plain, ol' physical pain. She turns red and hot. She remains fussy for days.

The pediatrician believes emphatically that the benefits of vaccines far outweigh the risks. He dismisses the possibility of a link to autism, the rate of which is much higher in New Jersey than in other states. He even endorses the much debated cervical cancer vaccine for young girls. I am not looking forward to making a decision about that -- the commercials for it turn my stomach. I have seen the pharmaceutical salespeople pitching it to my primary care physicians, and I'm just so skeptical. The next big shot for Josephine, however, is the MMR (measles, mumps and rubella), the vaccine most debated by the mothering community.

The television actor Jenny McCarthy has recently written a book about her experience in dealing with her son's diagnosis of austism. I am eager to read her book and weigh it as Josephine grows through the vaccination years, especially since we live in New Jersey. Once dismissed as a blonde bimbo and now dismissed as a wacko-mother, Jenny believes there to be a strong connection between a vaccine and her son's autism. Her general theory, as I understand it, is that a kid's system is like a big pot. Each kid has a certain amount of toxicity, allergens, etc. that will fit into her pot. Once that pot overflows, symptoms of the autism spectrum can occur. The medical community is in a huff, of course, but doesn't this theory on some level make sense?

Lately in medicine, it is what we don't know that bothers me, or rather the fact that we clearly don't know something but are given instructions as to how to deal with it. Doctors seem too eager to say that this or that is the prevention, the treatment, the cure -- even though we don't really know. We are given prescriptions upon prescriptions without looking deeper and wider at the cause of dis-ease. We are given definitive instructions based on approximated analyses, and frankly I'm not satisfied. I wonder why so many are.

As an infant, my daughter can't speak for herself, but if she could, I know she would tell me she doesn't like being vaccinated. It's not that she's worried about the trace quantities of thimerosal; it just hurts. This alone isn't a reason to avoid it, but are growing autism numbers more convincing? We just don't know. What's a mother to do? I know that I will put off the MMR for as long as possible. That way maybe her pot will be big enough to take the toxin whallop it delivers without overflowing-- and maybe by then I'll be strong enough to rock her through the pain feeling more confident in my decision.

Tears

2007-10-06T23:14:00.000-04:00

I admit it. On the night the Chicago Cubs won the National League Central Division, tears came to my eyes more than once. For only the second time in my life, I would get to root for my beloved team in the postseason. It was the beginning of a dream come true. I watched the players spraying champagne, hootin' and hollerin', and talking about eleven more wins. I heard them answer all the easy questions that follow a win. I should have known better. I did know better.

The Cubs 2007 postseason appearance was brief. They were a three-game wonder. In 2003, Steve Bartman took the blame for the end of their run. So who gets the blame this year? Well, let's see. The pitching staff that couldn't throw strikes when they needed to. The offense that ended the NLDS with a .194 average. There were nine runners left on base by the Cubs in Game 3 as they lost 5-1 to the Arizona Diamondbacks. They hit into four double plays in the loss that left them swept. There were no clutch performances. For years Cubs fans have been asking the front office to spend some money on personnel, to keep up with the Joneses -- I mean the Yankees. So this year we got some big-bucks players. And what did they do in the three games that mattered most? Not much. We saw Lilly giving up homers and hits and walks. We saw Soriano striking out -- a lot. Not even D. Lee could save this sorry scene. Not even Sweet Lou.

After I wrote my first blog about my life as a Cubs fan, my dad emailed me to correct two items. First, he reminded me that I misspelled pennant because, of course, as a Cubs fan I haven't had much practice in writing the word. He also reminded me that I am not a third-generation, but a fourth-generation Cubs fan. This is quite a legacy. My great grandfather, Giuseppe Ciacioppo, was a rabid Cubs fan, and, my dad writes, "was alive when the team last won the World Series, and according to legend was at a World Series game, standing in the pastoral outfield." Lucky Giuseppe. We're all lucky that Wrigley Field still stands after all the subsequent losing that has taken place there. We have to be careful that the Cubs aren't sold to someone who doesn't understand that we don't need a nicer stadium or a move to Texas or somewhere else. We just need eleven more wins.

My newborn daughter is named Josephine, after my maternal grandmother who was a big sports fan, too. But her name clearly has more history than just that. My father's name is Joseph, and for those of you who aren't paesans, Giuseppe is Joseph in Italian. She's a legacy, too -- and, I might add, a fifth-generation Cubs fan. My dad had suggested that maybe the Cubs were meant to win it all this year -- for how else could they win their division with an 85 and 77 record? But maybe the gods have made us all wait so that Josephine would be old enough to understand and celebrate such a feat with us. Or maybe ninety-nine years just isn't long enough and we need to wait that perfect 100 years for our next World Series. You see, I am already thinking about next year. As a Cubs fan, I have to believe in next year. So I do.

I'm not usually a group activity kind of person,

2007-10-05T15:10:00.000-04:00

... but I've been wanting to try one of those baby and me yoga classes. Yesterday, I happened to meet a yoga teacher as I searched for a copy of The Motherhood. The yoga studio was known to carry it, so I stopped in. After helping me find the publication, the warm Erica Furman looked at me and said, "You should come to yoga tomorrow!" So this morning, Josephine and I headed out to Shakti Ma Yoga and Living Arts. ( www.shaktinj.com) I was the first to arrive for the class and a bit early, but I was immediately made to feel comfortable. When I lived in the city and practiced yoga, the rules -- those written and unwritten -- could be overwhelming and intimidating. None of those vibes were in the air at Shakti.

For moms like me, transitioning from a career to maternity leave can be a strange and sometimes lonely proposition. It was neat to see seven moms like me -- looking a little weird in either their too-big maternity clothes or their too-small regular clothes -- enter with their babies and prepare for an hour or so to connect. The babies ranged in age from seven weeks to about five months. We were encouraged to play with our babies as we practiced, to stop and nurse and/or change diapers when necessary, and to include the children in poses when we could. And it was wonderful.

Let's face it. I'm fat and unstylish at the moment, but as I practiced, I felt true beauty well to the surface. As I laughed and giggled with my daughter -- who couldn't figure out why on earth mommy was doing all those crazy things -- I felt great. Even though my muscles and joints were stiff and slow to find each posture, I was happy to be where I was. Surrounded by women experiencing some of the same rites of passage that I am, I was supported. Erica led us through eight sun salutations that left each of us with a glow. I could feel my loose abdomen tightening as I connected with the earth and the sun and moon above.

By the end of the class, many of us were nursing. Babies who had gotten grumpy and fussy were calmed. We OMed together to close. Erica invited everyone to hang out and nurse as long as we wanted. A few of us did and chatted a bit. Josephine nursed until she fell asleep on a soft purple pillow. I think we were all pretty content. There was something about this group that was just what I needed -- something that helped me connect with the world and also with myself.

Scratch that: October baseball is the best baseball

2007-09-28T23:36:00.000-04:00

Cubs clinch the NL Central with a 6-0 win over the Cincinnatti Reds and a Brewers loss to the San Diego Padres. Life is good -- for now.

The Sweatsuit Alternative

2007-09-28T17:57:00.000-04:00

I'm a little upset with Tim Gunn.

As a Project Runway fan, I was excited to see his new makeover show, Tim Gunn's Guide To Style, debut this month. I was particularly interested to hear his silhouette advice to women with fit difficulties -- this seemed tailor made (pun obviously intended) for women like me, those of us not blessed with the 5' 10" 125-pound body. The show's promos suggested a kinder, gentler version of TLC's What Not To Wear. So far, it certainly hasn't been a grand slam. Both Tim and his cohost, supermodel Veronica Webb, seem a little stiff yet; perhaps there are some first-season jitters to work through.

One of the ideas behind the show is that a woman's closet needs ten essential items. I love this concept, and the closet cleansing through which Tim and Veronica coach their guests. Most of the women I know have the tendency to buy too many poorly made, ill-fitting "fashions" that don't necessarily flatter them. The cleanse leads women to keep the clothes that make them look and feel terrific. Many of the essential items are expected: a skirt, a trench coat, a blazer, etc. As someone who has a tendency to buy too many grey t-shirts and the daughter of someone who buys too many turtlenecks, I like the idea of having a shopping (or closet-purging) list of must-haves.

That brings me to "the sweatsuit alternative." In the two episodes of the show I've seen, the women are encouraged to find something to wear in place of a sweatsuit -- and in both cases the alternative was a short, bare dress. WIth all due respect, these women -- one a working mother of three and the other a pediatrician -- need comfortable clothes for running errands or doing housework or just hanging out with friends that don't require strappy designer sandals and specialty undergarments. My guess is that Tim has never tried to heave his strapped-in-the-12-pound-car-seat child into the back seat while balancing a stack of slippery, plastic-wrapped dry cleaning. Doing this while managing to keep a strapless bra from slipping down to my waist would probably qualify for the 35+ Summer X Games.

I don't know if the show is too NYC-centric or just out-of-touch with what real women actually do during the day. Perhaps both are true. I don't know -- even when I lived a more fashionable life in Manhattan, it would never have appealed to me to run errands in a halter dress. The fact of the matter is that women need functional clothes infused with a touch or so of fashion that fit well and wash well. I wish that one of these women had challenged this particular outfit, or at least questioned it. Ladies, how are those little dresses working out for you?

Perhaps I really have lost track of the fashionable me, but I don't think so. When I'm wearing cargo capris (a no-no, according to the experts) and a t-shirt in a pretty color that hugs my curves, I can still look pulled together while having a place to stash a half-consumed bottle, a paci, and my car keys. I feel beautiful when I see my husband gazing at me as I hold and nurse our daughter, not when I'm wearing uncomfortable shoes that might make my legs look longer. So where is the middle ground? I would love to have Tim and Veronica help me clean my closet and shop for clothes that fit me properly, but I'd need something that really is a sweatsuit alternative rather than a pipe dream.

September baseball is the best baseball

2007-09-20T11:13:00.000-04:00

My husband is not a very good Cubs fan. He wants to be, but as a Yankees fan, he just doesn't understand what it's like to wait. And wait. And hope. And believe -- and then to be let down. Way down, usually. I am a third generation Cub fan, and so I'm more than accustomed to having my hopes dashed, or as has more often been the case, for there to not have been hopes to begin with. For the last ninety-nine years, the Cubbies have only rarely been in a pennant race, let alone in the playoffs.

Last night, the Cubs won a nail-biter in the ninth, as Bob Howry struck out two to give the team a 3-2 victory over the Reds. I enjoyed every pitch of that last inning like it was the World Series. In a way, it was the World Series for me. How many times in my thirty-seven year life have pitches meant so much? As the battle for the NL central continues, every game counts -- the Brewers sharing the same goal as the Cubs -- the penant and a spot in the 2007 post-season race. In a way, the Brewers are just as unlikely as the Cubs, since both teams are barely above .500, but the Brew Crew started the season hot, hot, hot. It is thanks to their slide, in part, that Lou Piniella and the Cubs are even in the conversation.

It's possible that my friends who are Red Sox fans can understand what this is like. Watching the Cubs is a thrill and torture all at the same time. It is a game-by-game, inning by inning journey, taking nothing for granted. Think about it: in recent history we've had two of the greatest pitchers to accomplish nothing (Prior and Wood), the unsung pitching hero who finally gets his due (Zambrano) and a closer who, well -- has trouble closing (Dumpster -- oh, I mean Dempster). We had -- dare I even mention him -- Bartman. Don't get me started about Rothschild or Hendry. I'll just get too mad. So the Cubs finally spent some money on players in the off-season, and now we're blessed with Lilly, Soriano, and DeRosa, to name a few. But did this get us an easy ride through lame NL Central? Nope. That would defy the ninety-nine year story line and the Billy Goat himself. Who are we to hope?

My dad thinks that maybe this year the Gods have ordained it. He grew up in the shadows of Wrigley Field and often attended games with my grandmother. He's waited seventy-one of the ninety-nine year drought. Last year we bought him a paver to commemorate all that waiting and hoping. So maybe he's right? What else could have kept the Cubbies in the race?But here's the thing -- even if the Cubs do win the division -- it's that or nothing as the wild card is way out of reach -- think of all the great teams they'd have to beat to win it all. The Diamondbacks. The Mets (if they don't blow it). What ever slugging team the AL puts forth. Oy. In April, it seemed like the Brewers had been chosen, but now I'm not so sure. The Cubs have had some great comebacks this year -- is momentum building? Maybe Harry Caray is up there working some kind of voodoo. I don't know. I just know that I cringe every morning when I check the standings. It's crazy, but I am still, dare I say it? Hopeful.

Barf is the new black

2007-09-14T15:55:00.000-04:00

When I finally got dressed this afternoon, after wearing my nightgown and robe for the better part of the morning, I put on my favorite black maternity t-shirt. Within 5 minutes, Josephine had spit up on it, leaving a gooey, smelly wet stain from my shoulder to my boob. I am gorgeous: I wear the glow of new motherhood accessorized with the stench of barf and the drag of excess weight. Fashion means wearing something that has a waistband with a button rather than elastic, but let's be honest: I prefer the elastic. My maternity clothes remind me of one of the happiest times in my life, in addition to being the most comfortable, forgiving garments ever created. Maternity clothes are not the tent dresses of yesteryear; many highlight and celebrate the bump with bows and arrows (and worse), so even those of us who started out Rubenesque can feel cute. sexy, and beautiful when we're expecting. It's hard to give up these clothes.

Let's be honest: society allows women to be heavy for nine months times the number of children she has. Fat outside of those guildelines is very much frowned upon. Somehow, after giving birth and while we're nursing (and in some cases, recovering from major abdominal surgery), we are to quickly morph back into our pre-pregnancy shape. I'm warned on a daily basis to lose whatever I've gained before I get pregnant again for fear it will make pregnancy even more taxing next time. So after having a difficult time conceiving, I am in awe of what my body produced, and at the same time, but impatient with the aftermath. In the three months since Josephine was born, I've been taught to hate my body all over again.

It's interesting. I never once felt fat when I was pregnant. Even at nine months, teaching in an un-airconditioned school, my feet so swollen I could barely walk, I never felt fat. I was encouraged to eat, and my burgeoning belly was celebrated by all, friend and stranger alike. But after baby arrives and as time goes by, baby weight becomes a more complicated issue -- and they don't make postpartum clothes.

I guess I don't have an occupation

2007-09-13T11:01:00.000-04:00

...according to the list of options, anyway. I didn't see an option for someone who works in the home, cares for children, procures supplies to feed and clothe the family, prepares meals and all the other stuff a stay-at-home mom or dad does. I wonder why? My friend Liz, who also works in the home, says her business card should list her as CEO of her family. Another friend told me that some moms get business cards that list their position as parent to their child -- so mine would say "Josephine's Mom." Hmmm.

I am a teacher, by the way; it's just not my current occupation. For the last two years, I've been at Newark's Arts High School, and the two years prior to that I taught in the Bronx. On maternity leave, I'm still a teacher; my class is just much smaller. It still shocks me that one infant can be more exhausting (but also more satisfying) than one hundred twenty-five freshmen. I love this job. But seriously, the books about parenting don't tell the whole story -- and I found the same to be true of the pregnancy and birthing books. (More on this later.) I also found this to be true of most of the books I read on pedagogy. It's just that with people, there are so many more exceptions than there are rules. This is what makes parenting interesting. We don't all start out the same, so it is unlikely that our paths will be the same.

So I'm back to thoughts on my own path. Where am I? At home, for awhile, I suppose, and in the most wonderful profession not listed on the drop-down menu.