Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Tree Pose

The Rooster, in her never-ending quest to ridicule her parents, decided to demonstrate the proper technique for “shirt yoga.”

K and I have been going to yoga classes lately.  We both complain of not being able to hold the balancing poses very well.

There’s a pose called Tree Pose where you have to stand on one leg with the bottom of the opposite foot resting against your calf or thigh.

(I think it’s thigh if you’re young and calf if you’re old.  I put my foot on my calf in case you weren’t sure about me.)

Then you put your hands together at your heart and stay there for… probably 45 minutes.

If you are K or me, the toe of your lifted leg sneaks down every 10 seconds to keep you from tipping over.

(It is a known fact that if you close your eyes, the yoga teacher can’t see you failing.)

Anyway, as usual, one or the other of our children is sure their youth and vitality can rub off on us if they only show us the way.

The Rooster told us we needed to try shirt yoga.


“Let me show you,” she said.

She lifted her right leg all the way up to her hip (To. Her. Hip.) and wrapped it twice in the fabric of her t-shirt so that the shirt was holding the leg up for her while she balanced on the left leg.

She pressed her hands together at hear heart with a smug, short-cutting smile on her face.

But there is justice in the land as I have always known.

Her balance waivered. (Like it does even for all the best yoginis) and she began to teeter.

Her right toe tried to sneak down to the floor to restore order to the body balance only to find it was trapped inside the doubly wrapped t-shirt material. 

She went clattering to the floor in a sea of arms and legs.  (Cymbals may have dramatically clashed for emphasis.)

I couldn’t see her anymore because she fell behind the footboard of my bed (where I was leisurely reclining).

I heard her mutter “ow” and then I laughed until I wept.

“Aren’t you mother of the year?” she said.

I am, I am indeed. And I think I’ll stick to old, lady yoga.

Saturday, November 25, 2017

Save Yourself from the Apocalypse with Two Easy Yoga Tips

My daughter asked me if there was someone in my yoga class who was “Miss Perfect.”

I told her there were lots of people who were stretchier and stronger than me. 

“In fact,” I told her, “today the yoga teacher said that to survive the apocalypse you needed to be able to lift the weight of your own body and also be able to RUN! I think she must have been kidding though, because what apocalypse could she be talking about?” 

My daughter leveled her gaze at me. “The one you die in, Mom.”

Saturday, November 11, 2017

Refined Young Ladies & Gentlemen

Last night K and I were volunteer chaperones at The Rooster's cotillion class. 

Cotillion has been updated from the days of white gloves and the fox trot and is now more of a professional preparatory class. 

The kids learn how to properly wear a nametag (high and right), how to sit in an interview, how to introduce themselves, how to conduct themselves in a fine dining environment and many other ways to behave correctly in a professional setting. 

The Rooster was dismayed to have us in the room and announced the following ground rules: 

1.      Don’t touch me; 
2.      Don’t talk to me; 
3.      Don’t look at me; 
4.      Say your daughter’s name is Cathy and that she goes to a different middle school than mine.

One trick they learn is how to hold a small appetizer plate and a drink in their left hand so that their right hand is free to shake hands with professional contacts at a networking event. 

[Put the middle through pinky fingers of the left hand under the plate and the thumb and pointer finger above the plate.  Make an “o” with the thumb and pointer finger and hold your drink there.]

The teacher paused to remind the children that when they wanted to take a sip of their drink, it was critical to take it out of their left hand and sip it with their right or else all the food on their plate would fall to the floor. 

[You would think that would be obvious, but the teacher told the parents she had cleaned enough food up off the floor to know that it wasn’t.]  

As volunteers, K and I were asked to mingle with the kids, introducing ourselves to them after they got refreshments to make sure they were prepared to shake our hands and say the right things. 

[The Rooster was mortified.]

K and I enjoyed confronting the unsuspecting 6th graders, greeting them, telling them our names, thrusting our hands out for a handshake, and waiting. 

Most of them managed to shake our hands, greet us, introduce themselves and follow up with a “nice to meet you.”

One boy had his plate and cup in the wrong hand when K approached him. 

He thought for a moment, raised his eyebrows in a questioning way and with a hopeful look on his face, lifted a fist offering K a fist bump.  

The kids were served some sort of mini cupcake. 

One young girl had the plate and cup perfectly balanced in her left hand. 

[All good so far.]

She picked up the cupcake with her right hand and realized she was stuck. 

[How was she supposed to get the cupcake wrapper off??!!!]

Suddenly, she was illuminated.

[An idea!]

She jammed the cupcake muffin top between her teeth and peeled the wrapper off while holding the treat steady with her choppers.

[Eureka! That worked!]

There was a moment of triumph, followed by a moment of terror and despair.

[Now what?]

Her hands were full - cup and plate in one hand, cupcake wrapper in the other.

The mini-cupcake’s muffin top remained squeezed between her teeth while the cake end protruded from her face torpedo-style. 

I could almost see her brain wringing its hands. 

She hesitated for a moment, then, in a flash of inspiration, threw her head backwards and swung it from side to side until the whole cupcake fell backwards towards her tonsils.

She closed her small mouth around the too large pillow of cake and choked it down.

I had to restrain myself from thrusting out my hand at that precise moment, “Hi, I’m...”  

The boy paired with The Rooster told her he was sure she had cooties.  Eye rolls ensued. 

A “swing dance” ended the evening in an awkward, vaguely robotic, spate of flailing about.

Want to go back to middle school? 

Sunday, November 08, 2015

Why You Should Question the Need for Tape

My friend John was at home, at peace, cooking dinner.

His three-year-old son, known as “The Entropy Elf,” (so known for routinely propelling life toward chaos), climbed up onto the kitchen counter and reached for one of the many items placed atop the refrigerator (specifically to keep them out of his reach).

John, wanting to get him out of the way of cooking, asked what the elf wanted.

"Tape," the elf answered.


John gave the elf some tape.

The Elf returned. “More tape, please.”

His request was granted. 

This happened a great number of times before John decided to ask the key question.

“What do you need the tape for, small elf?”

“I show you,” the elf said taking John by the hand and leading him into the living room.

There, in the center of the room was a box.

The tape, as it turned out, was necessary for attaching each and every slice of the family’s deli roast beef to the sides of the box as well as, at the top,  a bowl of left over black beans.

“I’m building a robot,” the elf said.

Tuesday, September 01, 2015

Are the Toilets on Tatooine LEAD Certified?

"Please welcome to the panel, Ms. Flarty Flargenhammer, the Vice President of Sustainability at Star Wars Hotels."

[Okay, her name wasn't Flarty Flargenhammer, but he DID introduce her as the VP of Sustainability for Star Wars Hotels.]

He didn't stammer.

He didn't catch himself.

He stepped off the risers and the panel discussion started.

"Did the crowd get all over that?" I asked my husband who was retelling the gaff to me from the sustainability conference he was attending?

"Nope. Nothing."

My colleagues, all marketers and internet people, would have all had their hands instantly raised.

"Do you recycle on the Death Star?"

"...and do you think Han and Luke would have died in the trash compactor if you recycled more?"

"Are the Imperial Shuttles hybrid or electric?"

"How to you achieve farm to table in galactic space?"

The poor woman from Starwood Hotels would have had no idea what hit her.