Government Shut-Down Averted...

I am thrilled that there is no shut-down; it sounded like military personnel were going to miss every other paycheck (roughly) if the shut-down occured, which I tend to believe.  We can never let that happen; not even one paycheck can ever be missed by our modern-day heroes in uniform. 

On the subject of Planned Parenthood, I was absolutely psyched that the Repubs were initially holding their ground, as I am very pro-baby, no matter what stage of growth that baby is in.  (I am not just interested in fully-formed, viable babies, in other words.) I am tired of paying taxes into this group, and there apparently is nothing they won't do to stay funded and keep cranking out abortions - beginning the airing of commercials that talked about how many Pap smears and cancer-checks they were going to be prevented from providing should they be de-funded made me sick.  Planned Parenthood has been known (and in years past, loved to be known) as abortion-providers, period.

Planned Parenthood is on notice and under scrutiny now.  What a concept!

Erin's Challenge - Foiled again...

Day 16

I’ve concluded that the ear infection and nasty cough germs that have taken over my house are working together to sabotage my 30-day yoga challenge. Trust me, I’ve been keeping score:

Germs = 2

Yoga = 0

If the germs win out again tomorrow and my kids stay home from school for a THIRD day in a row, the score will be 3:0. Namaste will be wiped from my vocabulary and I will be overcome with Lysol fumes. Fingers – and toes for that matter – are crossed for a speedy yoga recovery.

Namaste,
Erin

Blind-Sided...

For some time now, I have been toying
with the idea of becoming a parent again.  (Get up, honey, get a glass of water, now, there, there...) No, I don't mean having another baby, I have not gone completely, irretrievably insane.  I mean raising another person, by adopting a foster child.  Well, to be honest...actually, three foster children.

Here is the story. Two years ago I fell in love, swiftly and forever, with three siblings when I happened to see them on a TV program called "Wednesday's Child" here in Boston, a show that showcases foster children that are legally free for adoption. I still remember it - I was propped up in bed with a book, the tv droning in the background; I was sick with the flu. Three adorable kids appeared on the screen, and I glanced up and saw them on a duckboat tour down on the pond downtown, and was arrested by their seriousness, and the angular beauty of their faces. One was my youngest son's age (then 10, now he is 12,) the next a little girl, now 10, and their little brother, now age 8.  I saw them, dressed up for their interview, hoping that some family might notice them and want to bring them home - and something in my heart not only melted, but felt settled, as if I were recognizing something I already had.  I was absolutely smitten with these kids.  I grabbed an old envelope or flyer from my bedside table, found a pencil in my bedside drawer, and wrote the number down. And then I called it.

Well, there were too many question marks, and too many people that could be hurt instead of helped - my own kids had to be considered first - especially my youngest, who is in many ways an only child, his brothers being 10 and 13 years older, respectively. Getting three African-American siblings all at once?  And what about the older boys - how would they feel, as if they had "aged out" of our hearts?  And what about our marriage - already busy, where would we land, adding more people who we were committed to?  When was it gong to be our turn?

Two years passed, our family having opted for the safe choice - the status quo.  I quietly put my tattered envelope with the phone numbers on it back in the drawer. Oh, I had called the number, and gotten the information - we would have to attend courses, and be home-inspected - the usual - and all that was fine.  The hard part isn't making the phone call, the hard part is looking at all the faces that need you so much, and making that call - what is best for you? And  it was the correct choice for us - at the time.  But a funny thing happened on the way to forgetting - these three children lived on in my heart, and to a very real extent in my life, too.  I would find myself wondering about the little girl I never met - could I have learned to do her hair? - and the oldest boy, so serious; so intent on his siblings in the three-minute video I had seen; my only glimpse of them thus far.  A video artfully made to capture someone's heart and see all that these three children could be.  And the littlest boy - did he still love basketball?

The only thing I could do for these three was to pray,  and it was thus that I began one of the richest and most mysterious relationships of my life, as a sort of prayer-mother to my unknown kids.  My task; to ask God to watch over the children, and to guide us all - three African American kids from the city, and a white family from the suburbs - to each other, if that was His plan for the children, and for my children, too. For us all.  To know what I couldn't know, and to make it right, whatever right was. I dumped us all into God's lap, all eight of us, and prayed that although I was not the children"s mother, that in some sense I was as constant as any mother could be - in prayer.  In this way, they became mine.  And I, theirs.

I was as constant as the sunrise with these prayers, and I still wondered, from time to time, about how they were doing.  Their names became names my family knew.  My husband dreaded taking me to "The Blind Side," and had to deal with my raised eyebrows pointed right at him when the film was over.  "We're not them, and we are not the families in "Extreme Home Makeover," sweetheart, we are us, and we have a lot going on..." the story went.  And he was right, and I respect him and his sense of
just how much we can take without staggering under the weight of my good intentions.  I am the impulsive one, and he is the thoughtful and more practical one.  Together, we are perfect, a finely-tuned machine that has taken years to perfect, and is both strong, and fragile.  Still, we never forgot about the three beautiful children dressed up for the video that was meant to make someone love them.  Well, it worked, and now, I did. 

Continued tomorrow...

Erin's Yoga Challenge - Halfway Ain't What I Thought it Would Be!

Day 15

I have fantasized about Day 15, the mid-point of my 30-day yoga challenge. I envisioned myself in full self-congratulation mode -- I’m talking the kind of congratulating that involves high-fives and chest-bumps with my 12-year-old son. I deserve serious credit for making it to the halfway point without seriously injuring others or myself.

But instead, I’ve greeted Day 15 with this: two girls, home from school, each with the kind of hacking, horrible cough that makes you want to bury your head in the sand so you don’t have to hear it. Not even close to my planned celebration. Another thing I didn’t plan on – a little bit of sarcasm from my 9-year-old. Upon learning she wasn’t going to school, she stated simply: “I guess no yoga for you.”

So instead of quieting my brain and enjoying my yoga success, I will be spending the day ensuring the girls are taking their inhalers every four hours and their Delsym cough medicine every 12. I will be knee-deep in Popsicles and SpongeBob. And if I am lucky, I will get in a shower and possibly make a little headway in my book during my required “nap time” for the girls.

I also have my first early morning yoga session to look forward to tomorrow– and if I hear someone coughing at 5:30 a.m., I simply will tiptoe out of the house and pretend I didn’t hear them. Dad can be on call while I’m trying to get my positive prana energy flowing.

Namaste,
Erin

Something's Gotta Give - Erin's 30-Day Yoga Challenge!

Day 14

If some morning, you find yourself lucky enough to have an extra few minutes between school drop off and your morning yoga class, DO NOT – I repeat – DO NOT stop at home to make the beds and load the dishwasher. I made this drastic error this morning and paid the price – as did the person sitting next to me in my morning yoga session.

I had it goin’ on this morning – everyone made it to school on time, teeth brushed, and lunches in hand. My yoga bag was packed with a cold water, towel and headband. Because I wasn’t scrambling (my usual morning scenario), I decided to pop home to get the house together so I could maintain my happy, cleansed self when I came home from class. As I made the beds, fed the dog, put in a load of laundry and emptied the dishwasher, I thought about how nice it was going to be not to face a morning-trashed house when I got home from my nourishing yoga session.

I was so lost in the fantasy about my clean, organized house that I totally lost track of time – the next thing I knew it was 8:53 and class started promptly at 9 a.m.! I quickly grabbed my keys, flew out the door and sped through town to my yoga studio. It wasn’t until I lay down on my yoga mat that I came to terms with a few sad realities: I forgot to brush my teeth, didn’t put on deodorant, and I had dog hair all over my black yoga pants.

My only hope was that my fellow yogis were able to keep their eyes on their own mats... and not become fixated on the obvious disaster in the room.

Namaste,
Erin

Day 13

I have one very basic question: Where the heck was yoga when I was a teenager? I continue to be blown away by the life-changing insights I gain during each class about how to live my happiest life. These lessons certainly would have come in handy when I was melting down about prom dates, girlfriend issues, boyfriend issues and how I measured up.

Today’s lesson was about keeping your eyes on your own mat. The teacher said over and over again that if you were having a hard time paying attention to what you alone were doing, just close your eyes. If that’s not a life lesson, I don’t know what is! Think about it – if I could just worry about myself (WAY easier said than done) I would eliminate a huge amount of unnecessary (and often self-created!) stress in my life.

So, tomorrow’s mission: Eyes on my own mat -- and not on the close-to-perfect yoga student in front of me.

Namaste,
Erin

Erin's Yoga Challenge continues...who has the TV clicker?

Day 12


I am sad to report that yoga took a backseat to hockey and baseball again this Saturday – I have come to terms with this fact and recognize that this is now two Saturdays in a row that my Warrior 1 lost out to my son’s sports schedule. I have lowered my expectations for any future Saturday sessions so if I actually get to go, it will be a serious bonus!

Actually, I was OK with not going to the studio because I had a great back-up plan – yoga on-demand. Exercise TV offers quick exercise options so I thought this would be an easy way for me to stay committed to my 30-day-goal. (I also did the math and realized that I am now running a tab with five skip days – today was a day to get creative if I want to save face!)

Well, let’s just say that on-demand yoga is a scary second option to a studio class. For starters, my basement family room isn’t quite as Zen as the YogaSlim instructor’s studio on TV. Her room was draped in pretty sage green floor-length curtains; I found myself trying to quiet my mind while surrounded Barbie’s Townhouse and dozens of Play Doh canisters.

I also had a difficult time transporting myself to my “happy place” while my husband threatened my girls with solitary confinement if they bothered me. Hearing my husband state quite emphatically, “Unless your head is now detached from your body or you are bleeding profusely, you are not allowed to bother your mother,” doesn’t exactly set the tone for a meaningful yoga session.

So, when I realized about 10 minutes into my YogaSlim on-demand session that this wasn’t working for me, I quickly turned off Exercise TV, plopped myself on the couch, put my feet up on the coffee table, and tuned to the Entertainment channel to catch up on a bit of celebrity gossip. What my family didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them . . . .

Florida Pastor Inflames the Middle East

The pastor of a small Florida church decides to burn the Koran, and this sparks violence against foreigners in Afghanistan that leaves nine dead and 53 wounded.  Some of the dead were beaten to death, with rocks and sticks. 

The truth is, most of us do not understand Muslims.  We have never read their holy book; many of us have barely read our own, the Bible - even if we profess to be Christians.  On some days - too many days - the world is a dizzyingly complex and violent place. The Middle East knows and practices their faith - stopping to pray multiple times a day -while much of the West dips into their faith now and again, while not really knowing it at all.  Because we have no biblical knowledge with which to view and parse events, we respond with our so-called intelligence; analyzing and de-crying violence instead of turning to our God and praying for peace.

This pastor was not following his faith when he burned the Koran.  Were the Muslims following their faith when they killed innocents?  Some say yes.  If the answer is yes, then logically this is not a faith that we can understand, nor ever be aligned with.  Do we have to respect it, and live in that hazy middle ground we currently occupy when it comes to the Muslim faith, trying to respect what in truth we don't know a lot about? To answer that, we had better understand their faith, and we had better understand our own.  As a Christian, I can never be aligned with this pastor, who feels bad about the violence, but not bad about his actions.

We may never understand this region of the world, nor their centuries-old faith, which seems to have elements of destruction and suppression at it's core, if you follow the stricter tenets of being a believer.  Alternately, some who profess following Christ do not understand what it means to follow Christ at all - burning a faith's holy book is about one person's hatred, not a whole faith's beliefs.

Many say, well, when they kill Christians in the Middle East, or if they ever did burn a Bible in public, we wouldn't ever dare or dream of killing Muslims.  Thank God, I say; thank God.  This is what it means to be Christian; it is a rocky, mysterious path whose wondrous end is not seen in this lifetime.  It is time to put down the guns, rocks and sticks, and pick up the books.  It is the only thing we haven't tried.

And Mother of the Year Goes To...

Day 11


My 9-year-old daughter has been complaining of a sore throat for two days now and woke up last night at 2:30 a.m. with a stomachache. When I first heard her early morning shuffle in the hallway as she approached my room, my first thought was not, “Oh, I hope she’s not sick” or “Oh, I hope she didn’t have a nightmare.” No, my first thought was, “Oh great, I’m not going to yoga.”

Of course I rallied my motherly instincts, crawled back into bed with her on her top bunk until she fell asleep and made a doctor’s appointment first thing this morning for a quick Strep test. I’m doing all the right “Mom” things and I DO feel badly that she’s not up to snuff, but I can’t shake this horrible feeling: I’m becoming obsessive/compulsive about my yoga . . . and I’m kind of OK with it.

Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that when I commit to something, I don’t just jump in with both feet: I jump in over my head! So, as I continue on my 30-day yoga challenge, I will have to keep myself in check so that my headfirst plunge into the yogi world doesn’t take over completely. My fear is that if I let it go too far, my children will have cold cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner; my husband will have to go to Target at least once a week to buy new underwear as there won’t be any clean; and my house will constantly look as if we have just been robbed.

My husband, thankfully, has stopped saying Namaste – so I can now dedicate my next yoga session to finding a balance between perfecting my Warrior 2 pose and keeping my husband out of Target.

Namaste,
Erin

Hazelnut Decaf or Mocha-Latte? Just Squeeze my Elbow

 We have all heard the jokes about how we are all, because of our sedentary lifestyles and obsessive computer use, turn into lardy folks with shrivelled, atrophy-ed muscles and giant calloused fingers( good for keyboarding).  We'd be unattractive monkeys.

Of course, we thought that this would just happen to us - we wouldn't necessarily go looking for it.  But would you purposely adapt your body to make you more computer-friendly?  It has been discussed - putting microchips in our kids to track them etc., and then there is this, about a man who took it a little further.  If this is the future, I would like a Keurig coffee machine installed in my elbow, please.

I Love Rock 'N' Pose Music! - Erin's Yoga Challenge

Day 10

Today was my best yoga session to date! I couldn’t get out the door fast enough to get to my 9 a.m. Vinyasa class. I’m really starting to love the effect my regular yoga practice is having on my attitude – and possibly my biceps and core muscles!

I quickly quieted my mind when I settled on my mat this morning, so I knew this was going to be a great session. The class was small, five students at most, and my favorite teacher was leading the class. She’s so much fun and always has a kernel of life knowledge to share with the class. As we began, the teacher announced that she was going to try a new music mix for the class.

Vinyasa requires faster movements than traditional yoga, so I knew the songs would be a little more upbeat than the “classic” yoga music of chimes and chanting. However, as we held ourselves in our Downward Dog poses, I was jolted by these seven words: “WAKE UP IN THE MORNIN’ FEELING LIKE P.DIDDY!” Yes, Ke$ha – and Shakira, Bono, and Mary J. Blige, for that matter – had found her way into my yoga class!

I laughed out loud and had to put myself into Child’s pose as quickly as possible for fear of disturbing the rest of the class. I thought that perhaps the teacher had put on the wrong playlist but she didn’t flinch – she just kept talking about our upcoming pose and adjusting the students. I pulled myself together, hit the pose, and had to work very hard not to bob my head or sing. I run to Ke$ha’s “Tik Tok” song and I hate to admit that I love it! I also thought there was a good chance I was the only person in the room who a) knew this was Ke$ha and b) knew every word to the song. For the sake of my yoga practice, it was imperative that I fly under the radar on this one.

This blending of hit music with my newfound love of yoga is the highpoint for me – it just can’t get any better. I left the class smiling and happy. I had the best of both worlds. Which got me to thinking – is Miley Cyrus next?

Namaste,
Erin