When the yogurt hits the mat

I don't allow myself the luxury of many beautiful things.  With boys, it's just not realistic to think that beautiful things will make it long or far, and I get so tired of saying good-bye to beautiful things.  I just needed to cut out the emotional reaction to each and every CRASH.  Because there are so many CRASHes in our house.

Out went the gorgeous thin glasses in iridescent rainbow colors - one CRASH at a time.  Out went my great-grandmother's crocheted afghan (with scissors instead of crashes).  Out went my fancy crystal vase, my glass salt and pepper shakers, my ceramic african violet pot.  Pretty soon my heart felt like it was in as many pieces as the shards of my butter dish and I made up my mind: No more pretty things until the boys are older.

Then I began doing yoga.

In yoga I breathe more intentionally.  I slow down and allow my attention to be drawn to things I am grateful for.  I am grateful for the things in my yard that are pretty, and will always grow back (even if the neighbor kids mow down my lilies this year, they will grow back next year).  I am grateful for the colored glass in a high window that (so far, fingers crossed) the boys haven't figured out how to reach, but even if they did I would know that each glass cost less than a dollar (thank-you thrift store!).  I am grateful for colors on the wall. I am grateful for smiling boys.  I am grateful for sunshine.  I am grateful...most often, I repeat, I am grateful for this mat.

I say it again and again.  I am grateful for this mat.  I am grateful for this time I have to do yoga.  I am grateful for the way I feel after I have done yoga.  I am grateful that my children get to see their mother working hard to stay healthy, mentally and physically, and having fun doing it.  I am grateful for little boys that giggle and laugh when their mother asks them to do "Dead Bug", and then they DO it!  I am grateful for this mat; this mat where I laugh and cry and remember and breathe and feel strong and feel beautiful.

To do yoga, my mat needs to stay unrolled.  It needs to stay accessible.  Otherwise I will not take the time, I will not remember my need, I will get complacent.  So my mat stays unrolled on my bedroom floor.  And the dog chews his toys on it, leaving fluff and plastic behind.  Once Linus even puked on it in the night.  The boys drive their race cars over "the bumpy road".  Occasionally a child wanders into the room with hands covered in yogurt or strawberry juice, which make their way onto the yoga mat.  We all walk across it daily leaving dust and hair and footprints on it.  And each evening before bed I shake it out, step onto my mat, and find I am still grateful for this mat.  This beautiful thing I am allowed, in the midst of my rambunctious, sticky, messy, loud life.  I have a beautiful thing.  My yoga mat.

21 weeks.  And yes, that is batman.