80 miles an hour

I don't know what I would do without my morning commute.

Some people have genius ideas in the shower; my great thinking time is at 80 miles an hour on 75 north.

I car dance, I sing, I drink coffee, and I think.

And last week, I cried.

Seriously, I'm not competing here, but...I think I win for "ridiculously bad week" last week.

I said see-ya-next-summer to spending all day every day with my boys, said good morning to 5 a.m. alarms, said "Are you kidding me?" to a bout of hand-foot-mouth disease, and oh yes--said goodbye to my first and favorite dog.

And that morning commute was for pity parties.

But I didn't stop.

No.

Life didn't stop.

Like the next breath, the moments just keep coming, and you just confront them and what they contain.

Joy? Laugh. Beauty? Smile. Sadness? Cry. Anger? Fume.

And you never deny the emotions. What good is denial?

So in the middle of last week's chaos, I concluded that going back to teaching yoga at a regular time slot in a studio with candles and music was not in the cards now, and I'm not sure when it will be again.

And this epiphany happened in the car.

The most beautiful thing that has impacted my life (and probably helped me survive last week) needs to go on the back burner.

My energy (what's left after teaching smelly teenagers in non-air conditioned classrooms that feel like pea soup) needs to go to the two little people who call me "mom."

Will I go back? Yes. When I actually am ready.

But here's the truth: I don't need to be standing at the front of a yoga studio with my iPod plugged in and candles all around to be a yoga "teacher."

Yoga is so. much. more. than that.

Today an email popped into my inbox and declared a local yoga studio in Cincinnati is closing.

I only took one class at Shine, and I very much enjoyed it, but hOMe is convenient, and, well, home.

But the owner of Shine expressed where her energy needed to be--with her growing family--and she expressed that yoga goes beyond the walls of a studio.

And that's how I feel.

It's patience in raising my kids; it's creativity in my everyday job; it's offering positive words when everyone else is negative; it's choosing to speak kind words, think good thoughts, and find quiet space; it's remembering to breathe when life seems overwhelming; it's setting the example--living truth--in hopes that others say, "Yes, that's how I feel."

I haven't given up entirely though...

At 80 miles an hour this morning, I knew what I needed to do (great ideas! Yes!).

So I sent out an email to my co-workers, and I offered them free yoga, once a week, in the four walls of my classroom.

It's energy too good not to share.

And then the time I would miss my boys while at the studio on a weeknight I reinvest in furthering my yoga studies--workshops, classes, retreats--to continue being a student and to become a better "teacher."

So I push pause. And I watch my studio "teacher" self stand still--at 80 miles an hour, she looks completely at peace with her thoughts.

To appreciate the good.

Because it was just one of those days

4:30. Wake up to old brown dog peeing the entire Mississippi River on duvet. Throw duvet in trash. No. Watch husband throw duvet in trash.
4:40. Jump into scary episode of Law & Order.
5:30. Late. Blame a second episode of Law & Order.
6:45. Get to school early to work. Can't log into computer. No one to fix it until 4:00.
8-11:30. Begin graduate level course work Inservice. Lament that there are no donuts.
12:00. Choke on soup. Screw up vocal chords. Commence talking like a Wookie.
1:00-3:01. Continue graduate level course work Inservice.
3:36. Spend 6 minutes in standstill traffic because someone spilled gravel.
4:24. Eldest son removes seatbelt three miles from home. Begins dance party in back of car.
4:26. Arrive home to AC repairman, who is approximately 35 minutes early. Greet him in Wookie voice.
4:28. Open door to find Mississippi River tributaries in laundry room. Cringe when eldest declares "It smells like pretzels!"
4:35. Replace snack. Tell eldest to not feed this one to the dogs.
4:36. Listen to AC repairman talk about his divorce.
4:39. Mop up dog urine round 1.
4:45. Call vet.
5:00. Conclude that yes, I do have hand, foot, and mouth disease and good grief it hurts.
5:10. Mop up dog urine round 2. Use vinegar. Listen to eldest declare "It smells like ketchup!"
5:45. Head to gym. Exercise day away.
7:20. Drink a Christian Morelein OTR. Marvel at its ability to make Wookie voice disappear.
7:30. Make dinner (Mexican quinoa? Yes please.) Watch husband feed youngest. Be entertained by eldest. Resolve that these days are necessary to appreciate the good ones, and that no matter what, life is good--stinky and owie, but good.

Beachy.

It was just like old times.

Except this time, there was alcohol.

Cue our first family vacation in seventeen years. Our gift to our parents for their twentieth wedding anniversary and sixtieth birthdays was a summer vacation reunion. We put ourselves back in Myrtle Beach, brought the rafts (and boogie boards, which didn't exist seventeen years ago), grandkids, board games, and significant others; ate at a few ancient restaurants that are still there; and survived a tiff or two.

But my most favorite parts...there were three:

1. My mom and stepdad arm in arm on the beach, while all four of their kids splashed in the ocean, completely overjoyed that they had everyone in the same place to gaze upon and love on.
2. Cooking incredible meals in the kitchen with my equally incredible sisters. 
3. Sitting around with my family after those incredible meals, playing games, and watching them all play with our kids. 

It was the absolute best way to end the summer: sunshine, warmth, love.

Future Astronaut

I miss being able to just nuzzle his head into my neck and kiss the top of his head, especially since currently the helmet smells like the cologne of the man who put it on him yesterday.

But I didn't cry. He looks pretty darned cute, and he's tolerating it so well it's not really sad at all.

So time to decorate.

Here's the thing.

I wanted superhero theme. I was going to put on there, "Protecting my superpower," and there would be Superman and Spiderman and Batman stickers on it. And Will loves superheroes.

And a Halloween costume would be easy peasy--just add a cape.

But wouldn't you know...three different stores and not a single superhero sticker.

What we did find was a plethora of astronaut stickers.

When we stumbled upon the Mickey astronaut stickers, well, jackpot.

And so, without further ado...here he is.

And since everything works out for a reason...here's a little symbolism.

Many moons ago (summer of 1995 to be exact), Greg called me and asked me to go to Kings Island with him three times, and each time I made up some excuse--only because I was afraid of holding his hand (I know--I mean, really?!).

On his fourth call he changed his tactic: movie.

His mom drove us to the Eastgate Showcase Cinemas, where we saw Apollo 13.

Greg always wanted to be an astronaut.

On our next date--a school dance (because we move fast, eh?), his mom drove us from dinner to the dance, and she opened up the moon roof of her Toyota minivan so that we could look at the stars--she did cater to her little astronaut.

When it was obvious Greg would not be venturing to space anytime soon, we named our first dog, Cooper, after astronaut Gordon Cooper.

Greg's mom passed away in 2001. Sometimes relatives make their presence known from beyond. Greg swears he hears her on the baby monitor from time to time.

Me? I think she hid all of those superhero stickers. I think Reid is her next little astronaut.

This morning, Will, Reid and I dance partied to one of our favorites: Fly me to the moon.

Fly me to the moon,
let me play among the stars.
Let me see what spring is like
on Jupiter and Mars.
In other words, 
please be true.
In other words, 
I love you.