credit: Kim Jones Photography

On Saturday, my almost-five-year-old tried to be quiet. And sneaky. And a secret keeper. He sat at the kitchen table, spooning up his honey-sweetened yogurt and cereal combo, and I could see his little wheels working. His thoughts are like carbonation; you can see them bubbling up as he wiggles and fidgets, and then he just lets them spill right out. He is just not a good container for all of that thinking to stay on the inside.

I was not very far away from him when I heard him “whisper” to my husband, “WHEN ARE WE GOING TO GO PICK UP MOM’S FLOWERS?” My husband looked at me with disbelief, which turned to an apologetic face, which finally resigned in a grin.

Sometimes, you just gotta go with it.

Rewind a day before to the “whispers” in a postpartum class that I am oh so honored to teach. Whispers-turned-sighs, slight smiles on the faces of new mommas who uttered soft phrases like, “Oh, I needed this,” and “This feels so good to my body.” Some of those whispers turned to tears. Little quiet tears that told stories of “I’m tired,” and “I’m so in love with this new person,” and “I’m really glad to be here.”

credit: Kim Jones Photography

Fast-forward to last night, deep in the middle of it, when I heard across the baby monitor little whimpers and lots of shifting around. There was a fever taking over the body of our 14-month-old. Those bottom molars are coming in and there were whispers of “something’s not quite right with me” and “please, please, wrap your arms around me and snuggle me away from this pain.”

Whispers are our way of releasing the deepest stuff. Stuff perhaps too fragile to weigh down with loud words. Stuff perhaps too precious to yell. Stuff, like tiny butterflies needing two hands to lift them up into the breeze and open their wings to the sun.

What would you whisper? Tell it to the wind…the grass…your best friend…your dog. Be brave and bold and really dig down deep into the stuff that is just trying to wrestle itself out of you. Ask the questions that need to be asked. Let out what needs to get out. And ever so importantly, beg to be held by those who are waiting to hold you.

Go on…

credit: Kim Jones Photography

Related posts:

1. Yes or nope.
2. Ode To My Electric Toothbrush.
3. Yoga baby.

It’s been immensely interesting to me that each day of the intensive has had a different vibe to it. On the first, we were all a little nervous, getting to know each other’s stories, and feeling expectant (yep, a word not just for the moms-to-be…) about the workshop.

The second, well, the second I didn’t get to stay for very long (more about that here), and today? Today was a day for laughing.

After our morning meditation (which for some reason was extremely challenging for me today – I was the master of fidgeting. Ugh.), Marcia Solomon (Yoga Workshop teacher and Sanskrit scholar) led us through the correct pronunciation of asanas. It was beautiful and familiar but difficult all at once. It was, as Marcia described, “vinyasa for the tongue.”

After our Sanskrit lesson, De led us through an asana practice for the second trimester.

And then there was more laughing.

Mostly because of our guest speakers, doula presenters Karena Lindell and Lee Macik, but also because of this speaker, Cynthia Morris, certified Life Coach.

There was a difficult point during today, however. Linda Sparrowe, editor-in-chief of Natural Solutions magazine, talked about grief and depression around losing a baby. I have to be honest, while today was very fulfilling and enlivening, this particular topic caused me to pause. For a couple of hours, actually. This, oh this, reached down deep inside to touch a very tender part of me. A tucked away part. A not forgotten part. Our baby who wasn’t. And even though we have three beautiful boys, it was powerful to remember that time and know that compassion lies in the ability to surrender to the process of letting go, which Linda so delicately confirmed is very different than giving up.

This is where yoga is a refuge. A place where emotions can pass through us and we can be soft and open as we are ready and as we feel safe.

I’m so thankful for this place. And I’m so, so very thankful for the ability to laugh and to love and to exhale joy.

And for the opportunity to hold ourselves as tenderly as we hold our babies.

Related posts:

1. Walk as though your feet are kissing the Earth.
2. Deliciousness.
3. A little setback.

Ok. Where’s my mom when I need her?

My response: “Well, He’s so big that He can be in all of the churches all at once.”

Immediately, God turned into a superhero. “Oh!” my son went on, “I get it! He’s so big that he shoots out little Gods and they go everywhere!”

Interesting, I thought. “So…He’s like sunshine? There’s one great big sun and it shoots its sunlight out everywhere to take care of everything?”

He agreed. I love his little big mind.

This turned into a fascinating conversation of light and dark, and how even though there are times when we don’t have the sun directly, we have it indirectly in the light of the moon and stars and the reflection of the sun. (We didn’t get into the large balls of gas, because this was a pleasant conversation with my preschooler that for once, was not about gas.)

When he asked why we aren’t able to see the stars during the day, I paused. Sometimes, you need the dark to see, I said.

Sometimes…you need the dark to see.

We’re emerging from our shortened days of the dead of winter. That time of year of introspection, tucking in, being quiet. On these very crisp evenings and cold nights, there doesn’t seem to be anything between me and those stars and that moon; it looks as though I could reach up and pull them down from the sky. It makes me feel really big and important but very small and insignificant all at once. I remember a few years ago getting up at 2 a.m. to climb Long’s Peak, and about two hours into the hike, I looked up and sat down hard. I had never seen so many stars. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. There were so many of them I wondered how they stayed up there without crushing me down here. And then, within an hour or so, they faded away and disappeared, the presence of them gobbled up by all of that sunshine.

Even in our darkest night, there’s light waiting to burst through. It’s waiting, reflecting, combusting. My yoga practice is teaching me this patiently. My cranky back is beginning to welcome backbends again and an intense twist to the right happens more freely. And as this unfolds, my heart center is urdhva mukha-ing (you know, not just upward facing but even lifting toward my top palate!). Those little pinholes of starlight are sure to give way to full sunshine soon, I can just feel it.

And I’m so, so very thankful.

How are you shining?

Related posts:

1. Ode To My Electric Toothbrush.
2. The art of whispering.
3. Yes or nope.

I hadn’t used it in a couple of weeks in favor of my new dentist-provided old school toothbrush. Since I was feeling pretty feisty, I pulled out the electric one and fired it up.

Oh man. It barely spun. Oh no!

I turned it off, then turned it back on, and it gradually started to build up some momentum. After my allotted two minutes of scrubbing and polishing, I turned it off and smiled “that” smile in the mirror. You know the one. The I’m-gonna-see-how-clean-my-teeth-look smile. And I have a big mouth, so I can easily see all of my teeth. Yes, all of them. (Fact: In high school, my anatomy teacher measured all of our mouths and I had the second largest in the HISTORY of the high school. And it was the oldest high school in the city. I was simultaneously horrified and proud all at once. I’m sure the picture of the inside of my mouth still hangs in that classroom to this day.)

The point?

The point is this. So many times, I’ve dragged myself onto my mat, barely able to get my appendages and muscles and bones to cooperate. Sometimes this is after only a few hours from my last practice, but more honestly, sometimes it’s after weeks or a month. I seem barely able to spin enough to get everything going in order to “scrub and polish” within my practice.

I’m happy to report that most of the time it all still works. Some days not as fluidly. Other days without missing a beat. And at the end of practice, I can smile that goofy smile.

I have passed the smile on to the next generation. You're welcome.

You know the one.

Related posts:

1. Sunshine and stars.
2. Yes or nope.
3. The art of whispering.

my son, saying a resounding "YES!"

About two years ago, our then near three-year-old had this hilarious habit of asking

questions and then immediately asking, “Yes? Or nope?” And we could really get him going with it. If he forgot to ask yes-or-nope, we would ask “yes?” and he would say yes-or-nope over and over and over and over and over and, yeah, you get it. It sent us, as well as innocent bystanders, into fits of giggles nearly every time.

So imagine that little pull of my heart strings when I opened an email from Anusara teacher Hillary Rubin that discussed a more timely idea of yes-or-nope. Hers was a reminder that when we come across a “no,” a “yes” is happening at the same time. There is a shift that we all too often don’t see, because we’re attached to the “nope.”

This hit home with me this past week as I was on a girls-only day on the slopes. Wouldn’t you know it, about the second or third run in I fell hard after hitting some ice and smacked my rear end in the same spot that I had badly bruised about six months before. A spot that I thought had healed was still taking it’s sweet time to get back to 100% and I was so afraid that I had really done some damage with that fall. And to make matters worse, I did it AGAIN on the next run.

The next day, with my tailbone between my legs (well, actually, it had jammed over to the left a bit and knocked my sacrum off kilter), I went to my chiropractor’s office and begged for mercy. In tears. Tears. Not tears of pain, because it truly only hurt on impact, but tears of anticipation of the impending answer to my question: “Should I still snowboard this season?” Her recommendation was, simply, nope. “Do you ski?” was her next question.

Nope.

BUT. I have new skis! They were my Valentine’s Day gift from my husband last year (yes, two days before our second baby was born, but that’s another story). And my “yes” door opened. I’m going to take a lesson. My thighs will be roasted and I will curse the day I got those skis, but I’m going to do it.

Finding the “yes” can be empowering, don’t you think? Can you be more open to the “yes” in your life?

Yes? Or nope?

Related posts:

1. That’s so rad.
2. The art of whispering.
3. Sunshine and stars.