Becca thinks you should know CPR.

Frankly, I do, too. I’ve been certified in the past. And although I once saved my mother from choking by performing the Heimlich maneuver while I was in high school, I am in need of a serious refresher.

I was reminded of that while waiting for Buttercup’s swim lesson one day. I read some of the writing on the wall. Every cut out newspaper article told of a drowning, a lost child, and a grieving mother. One especially heartbreaking story told of a mother who lost both of her sons in a neighbor’s pool.

Part of me was scared out of my mind. What if? WHAT IF?

But I’ll admit it. I remember thinking…That would never happen to me. I’m not those parents. I’m vigilant. I’m aware. She’s safe. I make sure of that. So I let myself breath and I moved on.

Until Becca sent me an invite to a mass CPR training class her in Tucson. I can’t commit due to the current craziness and a probable move, but I can do my part to bring awareness. So, like a good little blogger, I went to Becca’s blog tonight to get the deets and link up. And I read Darcie’s story.

Her son was in Buttercup’s preschool class.

Buttercup LOVES Jayce.

I’ve spoken to Darcie countless times waiting for the kids to be brought in from recess at the end of the day. She’s sweet, smart, well-spoken. Jayce’s eyes lit up every time he saw her waiting for him; an expected surprise. Mommy’s here. I Love her.

Jayce almost drowned in Becca’s pool. My heart is sick just to think of it.

And Darcie, I am sorry. For judging when I had no right.

Please, if you live locally and are able to attend, do it. And thank you to Becca for organizing such a great event.

 

 

 

I’m on a yoga kick.

My newest love is a bargain book I picked up at Barnes and Noble called The Body Shop Yoga: Natural Fitness for Body and Soul. For all of about $5, I now have a complete book illustrating a variety of beautifully photographed yoga poses and divided into categories such as Serenity and Vitality and Grace.

I only bought it because it was bargain priced, but after thumbing threw the pages and using the book on multiple occasions as a resource for my burgeoning at home yoga practice, I would gladly pay full price for this little gem. It’s beautifully photographed, easy to follow, well-detailed, and contains a comprehensive variety of sequences to follow. I like to choose two or three sequences every day and marvel at how whole I feel at the end of each session.

I’ve only been practicing for a few months now and already I can feel a difference. Not so much in a My Ass Looks Great in the Dressing Room Mirror from Every Angle Way as a I Just Feel Better way. And while the first might be a boost to the ego, the second is essential to my motivation to even give a damn about my ego and consequently, the size of my ass.

For me the focus is on finding the quiet in my head. A lifetime of inner critiquing emphasized by every single Clean Your Plate, Those Poor Starving Kids, Have another helping, You Might Want to think About Losing Some Weight, Sweetie familial and societal trigger is hard to overcome. Especially when that baggage comes with an eating disorder and a daughter who I am set to do everything in my power to help her travel the path of love of self, body, and spirit that I am just now finding.

I can’t pack up my mat and drive to a fancy yoga studio. It would be lovely, but life’s just too crazy for that right now. So instead, I wait for the day’s responsibilities to set with the sun, kick off my shoes, don my yoga pants, and close myself off in the spare room. It’s filled with already-packed and sealed boxes in preparation for our move and Buttercup’s play tent and stuffed animals. I also see a step stool, an unused lamp, and more empty boxes to pack more stuff.

I have just enough room to run my yoga mat against one of the walls with my book and iPod set up against the wall of boxes. And while I work to clear my mind and focus not on the uncertainty the boxes represent but on not falling on my face while practicing King Dancer Pose, a new thought brings a smile to my face.

I can only control this very breath. And the moment that comes with it belongs to me.

 

Another version of this post originally appeared on Bookieboo, a nationally recognized motivational community for moms striving for better health for themselves and their families.

 

My new friend Erin had her newest little baby recently and I got all misty just thinking about how my mammoth almost-four-year-old used to be as teeny tiny as that. Which made me also remember how exhausting the first days with the baby are the most wonderful and most difficult so I decided to make up some of gifts to send out.

Congrats Erin and baby Will!

I made up some lavender and cornmeal exfoliant and a bar of soap a body oil and a few other goodies for Erin and another set for my friend Mercedes Yardley whom I adore. Because I can’t mail a hug, I mailed this instead.

And even though Mercedes has to be one of the strongest women I know, I thought she might like a little luck in the form of a cute, three-legged pig. It’s a chanchito and said to bring good fortune to those it is gifted to.

Stay strong, my friend.

 

I stepped on the scale today.

And like the jackass hot chick trying to run from the chain-saw wielding killer in the campy horror flicks in high heels, I made one crucial mistake.

It might have been the plateau I recently found myself visiting. Or perhaps it was the week of looking at the clock at the end of the day wondering how I only managed to find the time to get my yoga pants on but not actually work out. Then again, it could have been the complete and total attitude readjustment I just realized I need to take care of. I mean, I went from Yay I Lost The Baby Weight to Sure Let’s Make Another Baby in the space of like, four blog posts. And don’t tell me that isn’t enough to make you all, Well, If I am gonna get fat again, anyway….

Hey, I’m only human.

And, it seems, the first idiot female to get slaughtered by the guy with the chain saw. She wears high heels while running for her life. Bad idea.

I got on the scale. And when I looked down, I decided running shoes are, like, totally so much more practical.

 

Love it or hate it.

Those seem to be the only camp divisions when it comes to Adam Mansbach’s new not really for children children’s book, Go the F*ck to Sleep. It’s really more of a I Finally Got The Little Bastards into Bed after Promising Them Ponies and Rainbows and Am Seriously Hoping I can Convince Them the Entire Conversation Was Just a Dream Because There is NO F*CKING WAY I am Buying Them a Pony and Amazon Doesn’t Have Rainbows Available for Free Shipping and Good F*CKING GAWD I Need a Glass of Wine Right Now kinda nights.

Do I even need to clarify which camp T-shirt I brought home?

My favorite page?

The eagles who soar through the sky are at rest

And the creatures who crawl, run, and creep.

I know you’re not thirsty. That’s bullsh*t. Stop lying.

Lie the f*ck down, my darling, and sleep.

Why? Because I have BEEN here. And honestly, so has every parent in the world at some point in time. The silently uttered F-bombs are optional, of course, but you’ve been there, too. In between the hugs and the kisses and But Daddy I’m scared’s and Mama I need to potty’s, a few How the hell long is it going to take to get this kid to f*cking sleep tonight’s start to work their way into the good ole’ internal dialogue.

Adam Masbach didn’t invent the wheel, people. He just wrote about it first.

Well played, Adam. Well played.

Social links powered by Ecreative Internet Marketing