Putting the Yoga in my Pants

I have a pair of comfy pants that I call my yoga pants. They are not yoga pants, but it seems cooler to call them that, than say, sweat pants. At any rate, I do not do yoga. Or really any exercise for that matter, but that is neither here nor there, and certainly not relevant to this entry. The yoga component, however, is very relevant. To me, yoga suggests a calm, meditative state. Control over one's body and mind. It is purposeful and reflective. But mainly, just calm.

The reason I've begun to contemplate yoga is that lately I've been the opposite of calm. I am frenzied. I am impatient. I am sometimes irrational. I have moments where I think I might actually be losing my mind, or important parts of it at the very least. Allow me to describe one such scenario...

I put Jacob to bed and for some reason he struggles to fall asleep. This results in a few trips to his room before Scott and I finally retire for the night. I am just about to drift off when I hear him start crying, again. Reluctantly, I drag myself out from under my warm cocoon of blankets and comfort him. He snuggles against my shoulder and I am flooded with motherly love. I put him back in his crib and he drifts into slumber. I also return to bed and drift into slumber. Then, suddenly, I am rudely awakened by a crying baby. Scott goes in and does the comfort thing. I fall back asleep. Then, I hear that piercing wail again. I'm feeling something quite different from motherly love. It's my turn to go in and it's 1:00 in the morning. I settle him. I'm back in bed at 1:04. I close my eyes. He starts again. It's 1:11. We decide to let him cry. He doesn't stop. By 1:36 I'm seriously considering the idea of sound-proofing my room. Then I toy with the idea of moving Jacob to the basement. Finally, Scott goes in and gets him back to sleep. I'm so wired it takes me an hour to fall asleep again. Only to be awakened at 4:00. Are you kidding me? Forget molars, this kid better be getting his wisdom teeth!

And it was during those not-so-calm moments in the night, where my mind was racing and thinking very unfriendly thoughts, that I first courted the idea of yoga. I actually tried to meditate right there at 1:27 in the morning, with my son screaming in the next room, but it didn't work. I really think I might need to do some yoga-ish exercises to regain my equilibrium. After all, I already have the pants.

The Truth Shall Make You Cry

Last night I experienced an interesting "event" with Hannah. It wasn't meant to be a big deal, but for various reasons, it became the source of many tears. Hard tears. The kind of tears that typically accompany terror or absolute grief. And while they did make me feel some sympathy for her, I also had to hold back a smile...

The background:
Hannah brought home some chocolate hearts from daycare. I told her she could have one for dessert. She opened the wrapper anyway "just so she could see it". I reminded her she was not to eat it until after dinner. I was very clear.

The middle:
While I was cooking dinner, I looked over to see Hannah licking her chocolate heart. Upon seeing me seeing her, she put it down and said something to the effect of: "I know. I'm not eating it. I just had to taste a little piece of it."

I continued cooking. Eventually, it was time to set the table. I asked Hannah to help, and in doing so, happened to glance at the table and noticed the chocolate heart was gone. I said, "What happened to your chocolate?"

Hannah replied, "I ate - I don't know. Where did it go?" But her eyes were already filling with tears.

"Did you eat it?" I asked.

"No!" More tears welling up.

"Are you being honest with me?" I pressed. "If I looked in your tummy, would I see the chocolate heart?" (And this is where things really got messy.)

The tears spilled over. Her little mouth was quivering as she fought for control. "I don't want you to look in my tummy. Leave me alone!"

The end:
Eventually, with some more probing from my end, Hannah resolved that it must have been one of the cats who ate her chocolate. She stuck to her story. Deny, deny, deny. But those tears! And when I suggested I look in one of the cat's tummies, she cried even harder.

I was trying to be light-hearted about the whole thing, but at the same time, I wanted her to be truthful. And I still don't fully understand what all the crying was about. Was it because she knew she was guilty and she felt that awful about it? Was it because she was terrified of me "looking into her tummy"? Was it because not only had she done something wrong, but then she was caught lying about it that her conscience was just overwhelmed?

I'll never really know. But it's not often I see her that distraught. The disturbing part is, she never did cave. She maintained her innocence throughout, even while her face gave her away.

P.S. A day later, she continues to insist one of the cats must have done it.

A Rubber Room

Today I really needed a rubber room. Jacob woke up with a new personality and it was all I could do to remember I loved him. He moved from doing one bad thing to another. He was destructive. He engaged in dangerous behaviours. And he whined. A lot. Oh, and he growled, too. It might have been funny, if it wasn't so damn annoying.

At a certain point, after numerous mishaps on the main floor I took him up to his room to play. A contained room. Completely child-proofed. He immediately began climbing on his bookshelf. Dangerous. Then he started throwing his books around. Destructive. Then he tried to climb up on his new wooden barn. Dangerous and destructive. When I stopped that, he tried to pull his quilt off the wall. Just plain crazy.

At Hannah's prompting, I put him in his crib. An even more contained space. Zero hazards. But within seconds he was doing his level best to climb out. And I could see he was going to be successful, given half a chance. The last thing I wanted was for him to discover he could escape from his crib. So I pulled him out and it was at that moment that I began to wish, no long, for a rubber room. Was there nowhere to put this unruly child?

The day didn't get any better with the passage of time. On the way to Costco, Jacob had a 6 1/2 minute nap, which of course replaced his regular 1 1/2 hour nap in the afternoon. As we approached bedtime, I thought a warm, relaxing bath with lavender baby soap would lull my little monster into a sleepy haze. He got into the bath screaming (because I stopped him from climbing in fully clothed), and exited the bath screaming (because he presumably wanted to stay in the now-cold water even though he was clearly shivering). I put on cozy p.j.s and let him play for a bit before bed. He pooed his pants. For the 4th time that day. Finally, it was time for bed. More screaming. I came downstairs, turned the monitor off, and poured myself a drink. Five minutes later, blissful silence.

In the morning, in had better be a different kid that wakes up in that crib. Or I'll be the one needing to be put in a rubber room.