a chair in the sky

This morning, you could say, started out like any other.  Up and at 'em to get teeth brushed, utilize the bathroom and apply a scant cloud of makeup and blush, paint on mascara (thickened, I might have tried to suggest for its alluring appeal, but alas, my "seductive" application was due merely to negligence of washing my face the night before), fumbling to dress in the dark, and quick kisses to those awakening (Mike) before I embark on my day.  Also routine in my daily wake-ups lately, the internal groan of even rousing out of our delicious bed, after what can only be labeled as a "pathetic" rest.  My innate habits precede me, so not all of my poor sleeps should be blamed on the children coughing, kicking of the crib slats as they roll about, Mike's snoring, or Winnie's whimpering dreams from the floor below.  However, very differently today (and not an outcome for which I blame in the least), my less-than-desired amount of steady sleep was result of my excitement to make a three-year-awaited return to Tennessee to visit my older sister in Chattanooga.

I sit here in the middle of the airport food court, trying desperately to negotiate my way to the inevitable cuisine of a good burger and fries after 10 am.  Pretty sure it was the film 'Love Actually' that describes the kind of scene at the airport arrivals gate with love present all around.  I'm finding fortunately, it seeps into our departure gates, too.  And in the common areas.  And on the shuttle bus between terminals.  Among us patrons or staff or crew, you can observe the pleasantries that truly connect us, and which assist us in these journeys that can otherwise account to be stressful and overwhelming.

Undoubtedly, there are children screaming and wrestling about; passengers sprinting past, perhaps bumping others to get to the next gate; a cacophony of participants lugging their body weight and more through the women's bathroom line (oh yes, the women's bathroom - until they make more sense of it in offering a 2:1 ratio or increased family restrooms, we females bear the load).  But there is also the mother reading a book to her child at the table next to me, so as to keep him more calm as he devours a bagel and banana.  There is a group of women nearby, laughing like sisters about the predictability in how many bags they packed for a weekend trip.  There are the countless TSA and other airport workers, breaking from their duties to enjoy a needed break.  All experiences observed richly in diverse languages, and in various exchange of greetings.  This moment (be it my opportunity in a relaxed state of mind with a lengthier layover), this is how I view a wonderful world this morning.

Coming off of my first flight completing the introduction to Eknath Easwaran's translation of the Bhagavad Gita, I certainly find myself in contemplation and trust of that which surrounds me.  (See above.)  Unto myself, this view is my truth this morning.  And not just of what I perceive externally, but of who I am.  That 'innate-ness' which resonates within me.  Tomorrow, or maybe even later this afternoon, my energy may carry a different tune.  I'm learning that what makes us human is the accessibility to experiencing ranges, and slowly I am coming to terms with accepting but also thriving within this concept.  As nature shifts her seasons, so do we in the ways we handle ourselves, both to the self and unto others.

Be kind this morning.  And not just this morning, but starting there.  If you find it difficult to access, take notice and perhaps return to it when you can.  We all need at certain times a space in which first to breathe freely, before offering to someone else.  But, I believe in you.  I believe in your capacity to be kind.

Om shanti, namaste.

Curb-side Sentiments

Well, waiting in a running vehicle to best the little one's second nap.  What we wouldn't do for a little damn peace and quiet...I kid, I kid.  And not so "little one," but speaking of "kids" Ollie celebrated his first 365 days on September 1.  Another child survived us this year, and we him.  Had a nice little party for both O and big sister Elle; our connections in this corner of the world keep bringing love and light to our home.  Pretty lucky in our eyes.


On a day off celebrating days on, we all transition into some big changes this week.  Elle is moving up to her next room - the daycare shifts most kids around a typical Sept start, so good practice for kindergarten in two years (!). I myself am going back to full-time days M-F with both outpatient gigs at the non-profit and private practice.  Then, to add on more for us all, I initiate my yoga teacher training this weekend.  Om shanti, you might say - and I to the light in you - namaste!  Ever grateful to see the threads of knowledge continually in this tapestry of life...


And for what it's worth, fall equinox is upon us, and this time of year just has me in a jitterbug/happily flustered state:  the apple picking, the pumpkins, the sweatshirts, our 5th wedding anniversary.  For that glorious weekend my folks will be here to care for the beans while Mike and I have our first non-kid weekend ever since kids.  Like, as in 3 years.  Ummm, can't wait.


So I hope your "Sunday" Labor Day is a culmination of the calm before school or seasonal shifts or perhaps just long legged pant wearing again.  We have enjoyed our garden offerings, but I do so look forward to the crisp morning frosts and lattes with girlfriends even more!

wrītan-ernity leave?

Hi again.  And oh, hi.  Nearly a 3 month less-laborious but newborn-lengthy sabbatical from the blogosphere this time.  Almost the end of July and just soaking up summer by working, increasing the enjoyment of two extra solo-days home with the kids (I think), and figuring out life-ness and how to open myself to that unknowing feeling.  Annnnnd scene.  Or end of streamofconsicousness (for now.)

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Who owns yoga?  I ask this question to myself as a student and as a future teacher.  CANNOT WAIT to embark on my teacher training journey at Blue Banyan Yoga in Mt Airy section of Philadelphia.  The tutelage to occur under Sophie Simpson and Jake Miller.  In conjunction to their fantastic direction, the school offers auspicious leaders and experts including acupuncturists, anatomists, and other healing educators.  The psyche behind the postures to be included deeply in this year's adventure.  I am simply not someone to quit "schooling" myself.  Call me the Van Wilder of my day - I don't want to live without obtaining knowledge.  Learning through formal and informal instructions to be ever present in my life.

But, okay for real - who owns yoga?  Is it me, the student-to-be-trained?  Is it the leaders of their studios thus far?  Is it Krishnamacharya?  Is it anyone or anything at all?  I tell you what I think.  Yes and No to all.  Like universe, like the practice of yoga, balance to all answers and questions.  Influx and output, there is no absolute here.  Yoga is mindfully "the practice of tolerating the consequences of being yourself" (Bhagavad Gita/and or scriptures inference...)  My drive to gain more knowledge and awareness of this art is a sought dream I get to achieve soon; yoga has been a conversation and outlet through which several more family and friends have discussed with me as of late.  To that end, it explicitly brings me pride in being a part of this phenomena.  Inwardly, I find the increase and trend of yoga to be tempered by those of us who "live" yoga in its concepts, and not just the physical components or asanas of it.  Although, re-read that last one for me.  "...I find the increase and trend of yoga to be tempered by those of us who 'live' yoga..."  Again - "those of us".  "OF US."  Judgment, much?  How could I be an owner of yoga when personal judgments fly subconsciously upon anybody else who incorporates it into their lives?  Forget postures.  Forget breathing.  What about flexibility?  In mind and spirit?  What of that glorious balance upon which yoga stabilizes its core, upon which I as a student and especially as a future teacher am supposed to cleanse such judgments of others?

Who owns yoga?  It's not an animal or mortgage to own.  There is no end or termination to it.  Perhaps one of the few blessed entities as such.  Its 'soul' purpose orients around noticing ourselves, around accepting and becoming aware.  To confront it as a tangible item, that is not noticing.  That is not being aware.  So, perhaps not who owns yoga, but instead to whom does yoga belong?  Maybe the answer is each of us.  Any of us.  All of us.  Union of breath and body, the physical and the energetic, we each carry within us the spirit of yoga's powers already.  If we choose to access it mindfully in asana or meditation or Ayurvedic qualities, so be it.  And so be blessed.  This practice belongs to me.  It belongs to you, too.

Om shanti, namaste.

MAY DAY

Well, May 4th.  But in any case, it feels like spring.  And therefore I suppose my "revamp" of the ol' blog was in order!


Write soon ...

Opposites Attract?

Lately, my husband and I have not been on the same page.  About a lot of things.  Work, the kids, house projects.  And this has been one of the most beneficial times of our relationship.  Confused? Let me explain...


I've often heard that opposites attract.  And yet, in finding a mate one usually hopes to be with someone that shares similar values and ideologies (possibly outright opinions).  Maybe that's selfish as it can be someone we can manipulate, or maybe it has to do with the fact that we want someone on our side, some security in our own neuroses..  Sure, the search could prove somewhat selfish or conceited; but if we look deeper into what often makes a partnership work - or mine for all intents and purposes - it's less about the selfish similarities and more about the shared differences.


Last night, Mike and I had our first date in over six months.  It was a couple of margaritas and churros ice cream, and it was glorious.  As we reconnected amidst the vibrant colors and Mexican flair of the restaurant, we reminisced about life before kids, before the house and talked about our 'self selves' pre-family.  The memories pleasant enough led us quickly back to making sure we would not go back to those times, if only to help our own relationship grow.  Buying a house did not make us a better couple outright, nor did having kids make us a stronger one.  Ultimately, we discovered talking last night that we were developing in our relationship wonderfully in part to these life changes and more so because of the way they split us and our time.


I will be pursuing yoga certification next year, and into the spring of 2016 I will be spending every weekend at the studio (yup, every weekend).  Mike will be responsible for being with the kids by himself for a much larger percentage than myself.  Like, a huge percentage more.  This is how I view it, and when I presented the application as such, Mike just looks me in the eye and ever so deftly recites, "we're not tit for tat, Carly."  So I apply vigorously, accept happily, and now anticipate gleefully the opening weekend come September.


There may be a time in our future relationship when Mike is the one in graduate school, or pursuing his own life goal that "eats up" more time.  There were many days this summer when too pregnant to do much else than sit pregnant that Mike got Elliot to the park, or out for a walk.  I cook most nights, even if Mike can grill a mean turkey burger.  I tidy up at the end of our days, and M doesn't really like me near the washing machine - it's his chore.


So we're not 50/50, and I think it's been great.  I definitely always thought we'd be better for it being more even, but just as the universe balances herself out, our roles and jobs are a yin-yang relationship helping create wholeness without expectation.  I could argue that unlike the universe, we have to work at it a little bit.  Sometimes six months go by and we hit a "roommate rut," and only through consciously putting down our phones and looking one another in the eye do we dig out of it to rejuvenate.  But I guess Earth goes through it too - in seasons, in weather, in landscape - it's always growth.  Even out of the dust a flower can bloom.

snapshots

(E, this one is more or less for you, pretty girl.*)


When I was pregnant with Oliver this summer, one of my neighbors and I were talking - particularly about what it might be like with the two kids:  Me, "utter chaos, right?!" and my sweet, sweet neighbor, with the experience of transitioning from 1 to 3 after having twin boys post first-daughter, she smiles, "it can be crazy, but oh the moments you will have are priceless."


This, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call a 'snapshot.'  Both the moment in time chatting with Lisa, but also the concept that life is compiled of little moments not to be taken for granted.  I heard a quote this this New Years, "days go by slow, but years go fast."  How true!  Take a look at your calendars, it's already the final week of January...Ultimately, what she told me was not new, but hearing and listening are very things.


Something else I mentioned to her as a potential nervousness was the unpredictable timing of juggling both; re: feedings, play needs, NAPS.  After all, Elliot is generally a champion sleeper, what if the little one's Zzzzs caused her grief?  Or us??  Again, so poetically, Lisa reflected something then, which today reared its lovely sentiment to me for nearly the first time in almost 5 months of having a second child: "oh, you will love having that special time with Elle - being with her in those precious moments alone will be different than it has ever been the last two years."


What do those Internet memes always say?  MIND BLOWN.  There have been a few keys indicators of this righteous statement just this weekend.  Today, Elle speaking softly but oh so fervently to herself while building an imaginative Lego tower.  Mike and I tiptoed around like house fairies to hear her monologue run with characters ("Prince" and "Princess") and scenery ("horsey' crib").  Elle was also sick on Saturday with a 24-hour bug.  I may regret saying this, but give me poop over throw-up any day.  Blech.  After nearly 6 hours of sheet-stripping and back-rubbing, we brought her downstairs to let the last bath hair dry a little before getting back into bed.  As we snuggled on the lone couch cushion unscathed, I asked if I can brush her hair.  I figured this could provide a little familiarity of comfort; lately she has been noticing when I get 'my face' on in the mornings and asks for her share of blush and powder too:  "Makeup for Elliot, too, Mama."  So I asked about her hair and Elle wiped some of the bangs from her brow, looking up doe-eyed to question somewhat deliriously, "for tangles then look in mirror and see so pretty?"  Okay, I'm crying now.  During those aforementioned mornings, after I "apply" her dose of rouge and mascara, I send her to the door-length mirror in Ollie's room to see what it looks like and exclaim, "Oh! How pretty!"  I guess that stuck - and so now I'm crying.  I'm crying while my poor babe is just trying to catch a break from the chaos of this flu bug.


So my neighbor was right - I heard it now thinking back - such snapshots are temporary and fleeting.  Grab each one!


[Author's sidebar:  I do struggle with comments towards my kids like "pretty" or "smart" or "cute" ad nasueum, because I don't desire constructs like these for them to be solely identified - by me, or anyone else for that matter.  But in a pinch of what my heart feels to be truthful?  No problem :) ]

What if your bed was round?

Remember the old adage, "I got up on the wrong side of the bed?"  So, I pose:  what if you consciously make your bed round??


You can probably guess where I'm going with this as it's the New Year, and 2015 calls for reflection and visions of new goals/perspectives as any switch from December to January tends to do.  I thought about this concept, this circular mattress idea of sorts, just this morning when I arose from my bed.  It was a rough night sleep-wise.  For our non-scheduled 4-month old, he does generally well waking up just once during the night, getting a feed, then putting himself back to sleep until a more appropriate (mama-and-papa-appreciated) morning time.  Even Elliot has been letting us sleep way past 6:00 these days; so, last night as Mike and I are settling down around 9:00, heading up to read and get our own shut-eye, the little bugger puts on a wimpy little whimper, I bust down the door, interpret Ollie's mews as calls for nursing, pop him on/off the boobs as fast as I can and hop into our delicious flannel sheets.  I figure, "Yes!  I am amazing!  He will surely sleep now until 3:00 or 4:00 - maybe even all the way through!"


I get a solid 2 hours before I am awoken by Mike's snores/hap-hazard breathing as he's getting over his own cold, mixed with my attention span being roused as Oliver has in fact (and much to my glee), not woken up, but alas my mama-brain switches for the rest of the night to any inkling, any decibel on the monitor.  In fact O does wait until 4:30 to eat, to which I grumble internally, "Seriously, bro?!  Couldn't wait just 1 or 2 more hours at this point??"  Note:  it's really the flannel sheets I'm desperate to stay snuggled in.  They're outrageous, and I highly recommend a set if you don't have one.


Beyond fortunately, and I mean that, Oliver goes back to sleep after eating again in the wee hours, and I flutter my lids open to his grunts around 6:45.  To say all this and recognize in general how sweet I do have it, I also say this.  I did not want to get out of bed this morning.  Between 4:30 and 6:45 I had maybe 15 consecutive minutes of undisturbed dozing, with a majority of it stuck on the mama-brain phenomenon, and yes, Mike's god-awful state.  I mean, poor sickly husband, you.  :)  He's a deep enough sleeper, even with NyQuil in his system that I can gently (aggressively at times) nudge him and he'll unconsciously roll over and relieve my ears for a few minutes at a time.  So no, I was not ready to get out of bed.  I had fed the boy twice, knew I would have to wrestle him, Elle, and Winnie for their morning meals, and I really did want to give Mike the break his body needed, but I was just so.  damn.  tired.


Then it clicks.  Call it dumb luck.  But I think it was proper physical, chakra-oriented, introspective alignment the second my bare feet hit the proverbial cold wooden floor:  "I choose to get out of this bed happy, with purpose, and acceptance of today's adventures."  This sentence swishes between my ears so soundly, I didn't give it a second thought, and sure enough my spine stayed straight, I fixed about my hair in a quick ponytail, and marched on out of our room into the day.  My bed became round, and I didn't have to wake up on any other 'side' of it other than how I made it so.


The night's circumstances?  Garbage.  My attitude surpassing them?  It's an innate, human privilege that we should be so lucky to remember that we have:  and that is the power within ourselves to choose how to feel, and subsequently act within what we can control.  Happy New Year!  May all your future mattresses be round...