It’s 8:00 PM. Do you know where your center is?

So I went to Yoga at the YMCA (henceforth YatY) last night. I almost signed up for a beginners’ class at this awesome yoga studio nearby… it cost twice as much but when I went in the whole place smelled like chai tea. And I love me some chai tea. Instead I joined the Y where I could swim laps and use the fitness equipment and take classes. AND for $3 I can drop Charlie off in the playroom and spend up to two hours breathing into a paper bag and rocking rhythmically because I can’t handle one more sleepless night, my goodness exercising anytime I want.

Right after I signed up I swam laps for the first time in a year. It felt great to be moving again. Despite my astonishing lack of athletic ability, swimming has always been something I enjoyed. I swam until I was 8 months pregnant with Charlie and the bounds of good taste prevented me from wearing my Speedo two-piece swimsuit in public any longer. Actually that moment probably passed much earlier, but since I couldn’t see most of my belly it was easy to think I still looked “cute” until Ryan came to the pool once to take pictures of me swimming. And then I was all “You know, I could be spending this time lying on the couch while you make me snickerdoodles.”

There are several YatY classes offered throughout the week and I decided to go last night (because the only other one I can make meets on Thursday nights and that’s when all the good TV is on). I got there early, hoping to get to talk to some of the other ladies in the class and maybe make some friends. There was one woman sitting near the door of the classroom reading a book. She had a fancy bag to hold her yoga mat and all of the fancy accessories I assumed weren’t necessary for an activity focused on simplicity and focus. But whatever. I said politely “Is this where the yoga class meets?” She paused, sighed loudly, turned her head to look up at me and said, with more hostility than was really necessary, “Yeah.” And then went back to her book.

So then I waited, silently, hands folded, ignoring Cranky, until another girl came down the hallway. She looked to be about my age and looked friendly enough. I smiled warmly, she scowled and kept walking, stopping a short distance away from me to lean on the wall with her arms folded, carefully avoiding looking in my general direction. Okey dokey, I’m in a class with Cranky and Scowly. I THOUGHT THE SOUTH WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FRIENDLY!

I enjoyed the class very much. Many of the poses were like the video I used to do before I had a houseful of people to witness my attempts to fold myself into the Standing King Dancer Position or the Inverted Lotus Flower Legs Aren’t Supposed to Bend Like That. It felt so good. Soooo good. I didn’t want it to end. Particularly the part near the end where we layed on the floor in the dark and listened to ourselves breathe. I think I used to call that sleeping, but I don’t remember.

At the end of class our teacher pressed her hands together and bowed and said “Namaste.” Cranky and Scowly mimicked her with great seriousness as if YatY was the core of their spiritual well-being. I giggled. I wonder if they’re writing in their blogs (Itakemyselftooseriously.com) right now “There was this mean girl in my yoga class who tried to talk to me before class and she kept smiling and then she GIGGLED at the end of class and now I’m gonna have to go to Yogalates on Wednesday just to get my center back to where it’s supposed to be. I hate her! It’s not FAIR! Namaste”

I can’t wait for next week.

Baby was Born to Ride

On his way back to the North Pole, Santa swung by our place to drop off one more present that had fallen between the seats of the sleigh.

Charlie kept trying to climb out of the highchair to get to it until we finally got it all put together and let him at it. He knew what it was and even tried to ride the big blue piece right out of the box with no wheels. I think they have them at daycare and I think there’s only one which is a big problem in the 12-18 month room I would imagine.

Here he is right after Ryan got him out of the highchair. He was so excited he didn’t even finish his waffle or beg for Nilla Wafers.

That face says it all (and makes all the crow I will be eating re: not having primary colored plastic toys taking over my house taste like lemon icebox pie).

Once he got on he tore around the kitchen/breakfast area exclaiming “Bow! Bowwwww! BOWWWWW!” (Wow! Wowwww! Wowwwwwweeeee!) and squealing. He was so GOOD at it. I thought we would have to push him around for a little while until he got the hang of it but he was already quite capable of the push-coast-push-coast maneuver. He even got a little fancy and rested one knee on the seat and used the other foot to push. Then he turned around and drove it backwards.

Aside: Ryan, dressed for work, looks GOOOOOD. Hott even. He’s wearing my favorite shirt of his and it makes him look all professional and bringing home the bacon-ey (which he actually is right now, except he’s bringing home the Chipotle, after putting Charlie to bed, what a guy!).

We will save the no talk-no text while driving rule for tomorrow morning.

A Picture: Because I worked all day on something only to find out it was wrong thirty mins before daycare pickup. Again.

This is called the cocoon. It is lots of fun. But most of all I like Charlie’s tiny Sesame Street Helmet. Which I guess since it’s made for two year olds is not so tiny after all Mr. 95th Percentile for height (Look how long this kid is! His legs have finally caught up with his torso and the result is a shockingly lean little boy body that surprises me every day with its non-babyness).

Now I will go lament my poor organizational skills and even poorer Matlab programming skills and still poorer critical thinking skills. And possibly finish off the bag of Almond M&Ms in the pantry that just two days ago I said we weren’t going to open until later but that is now 1/3 gone. You know what? It’s later!

Mmmmm, so crunchy and delicious.