Saved by Cheerios

So, there he was. He was tall, dark and...... greasy. He stood over the cash register at the mall pretzel shop. Our eyes met as he was about to take my order. Before I could say anything, he stopped to pick at one of the oozing pimples on his face. Of course, he wiped it clean with a napkin shortly after and grabbed a pretzel. With a quick "Never mind," I ran off as quickly as I could.

Shocking as it may seem, this was not the first time I had to deprive my son of a pretzel at a mall. It has happened before, the same way at a different location. I understand that acne was even more uncomfortable for the cashier and an awkward part of growing up, but as long as there was no interaction between the acne and my pretzel, I would have been ok. Am I asking for too much?

After a persistent mall search for anything else my son would eat as a snack, on opposite ends of the mall no less, all he could say was "No! Pretzel mommy, pleeeeeeeeeeease." How could I refuse after a pleeeeeease like that? But how could I explain to him that it was unsanitary, and there was no way I would let him have one. I tried. Trust me. I tried and tried.

So, I did what any good mother would do and I returned to the pretzel place. There had been a change of shifts. A new greasy teen was on the register. I took my chance because the pretzel- twister-teen was wearing gloves and handling the actual pretzels. The line was long. That's a good thing, right? (Not for my two year old son.)

We finally reach the register. Ok, I can do this. As long as the pretzel-twister-teen is the one that hands us the pretzel. Just then (and this is no joke, I am serious!!!), the cashier teen gets a paper cut and screams. He tells me to hold on and begins sucking on the cut on his finger. He gets back to me. I can't move. I am in shock.

Thank goodness for the pretzel twister. He must have understood the look of fear on my face when he asked if HE could help me. I asked for a pretzel that HE twisted and just took out of the oven. He handed me one and I left the money on the counter. I left before I could get the change. I didn't want to take a chance on having him touch the register that that greasy teen #1 had touched and paper cut teen #2 had touched. I must have had that same look on my face I remember having when I had morning sickness with my pregnancy, because he asked if I was OK. I nodded, thanked him politely and left with my pretzel.

I hesitantly handed my son the CLEAN pretzel after inspecting it closely ten times. "No, mommy! Cheerios? " he asked. Did he understand?

Thankfully, I always have a cheerios stash in my purse. With a sigh of relief, I tossed the pretzel into the garbage can and handed my son his zip-locked cheerios.

Kundalini

Early morning, I head over to my Kundalini Yoga class. I have always practiced Yoga on and off "truthfully" for some years now, but have never experienced Yoga in the way I do through Kundalini. Kundalini represents a letting go of thoughts and control (what? control issues?) and helps one follow the flow (what?...not a chance, buddy!)

With my eyes barely open and mind already running a mile a minute, I almost turn back each time. I can't help but think of all the things "I could be doing with my time" instead of Yoga. Sleeping for one. I make it to class...we start out sitting cross-legged and reflecting on our inner selves. Inner selves? No, let's just move on and think about all the other things in the world. So, I fight my mind every step of the way. The conversation with my inner self begins:

Me: After class, I need to stop for groceries. Can't forget a roll of quarters for laundry. Wait, mind come back.
Mind: I'm here. I've been here all along. What?
Me: Ok, I have to stop thinking about other things.
Mind: So, stop thinking.
Me: Ok, I'm going to stop thinking now. Did I lock the door on my way out? Wait...clear my thoughts.
Mind: Need something to think about. I can't help but think about not thinking.
Me: Ok, I'll pay attention to my breath. Wait, no that will make me hyperventilate. Am I breathing ok? Too fast? Too slow? How come the guy next to me sounds like he's snoring when he breathes? Is that the right way to do it?

This conversation goes on and on and on (did I mention "and on..."). We move on with our poses. Wait..my thoughts are disappearing. I'm focusing on being scrunched into frog pose. Now, standing. My mind is slipping away from me. Damnit!!!! I need to regain control!!!!
But there is no use. I'm in standing position chanting 'Sat Nam'....Me? How did I get here?...and how do I get out of it?

An hour and a half later, the practice finishes in Savasana pose (pronounced Sha-Vasana) or corpse pose. Lying on my back with my legs straight out in front of me. Hands at my sides, palms facing up. I am calm. This scares me. (Yes, calm scares me.) My mind is clear. All I hear now is the old man next to me snoring. Is he asleep? No, he snores even when we are changing poses. Then the song. (Yes, everyone joins in to sing the same song as the end of every practice. )From the outside looking in, it looks really lame. I am not going to sing it! It's like singing "the Hokey Pokey" at the end of every class. "Now everyone join in." So, I put my right arm in, and once again, by the second verse....I'm singing. What? They got me again!!! Then class is over I get up to roll my purple yoga mat slowly. I feel as if I'm a fly moving through molasses. I feel everything is happening in slow motion. I put on my shoes. (which takes great effort) So, this is what it feels like to be calm? I head out to my car with a new attitude. Carefree! I decide that I am not going to let anyone or anything bother me today. I'm not going to swim against the current. I am just going to be at peace - always. I smile. I get in my car and head out of the parking lot. Just as I am ready to make the right turn, a teenager on a bike runs the light and cuts me off. I slam on the brakes and lean in on my horn. I angrily bite my lip to avoid cursing at the guy. He stops his bike, turns around and flips me off. What, now it's my fault!!!! And just like that....my yoga practice is gone, until tomorrow morning.

Just in case you are interested in the lyrics to the song...I have included them below:

You put your right arm in,
You put your right arm out.
(Oops...not the Hokey Pokey)

(Don't laugh when you picture me singing this at the end of class...)
May the longtime sun shine upon you
All love surround you
And the pure, pure light that's within you
Guide your way home

Namaste!

Highlights of My Day

You know what THEY say. THEY are always saying something. A talkative bunch THEY are. They say we are never happy with what we have. If we have straight hair, we want curly hair (flashback to bad 80's perms...EWWWW) (I almost posted a scary pic of myself with 80's hair, but had second thoughts. Some things should be left to the imagination.)

If we have dark hair, we are not sure what color to change it to, so we put in multiple colored highlights. Lighter ones, no darker, wait...a little lighter. Ok...a few blonde ones and some brown ones....

My hair started to resemble that of Rainbow Brite's (another 80's flashback). For those of you who don't remember her or for those of you born in the 80's (geez, I'm old) See pic below:

There were different versions of her with funky red and rainbow colored highlights. (I'm getting off subject here), but that's what my hair resembled with all the touch ups. So after careful review of myself in a mirror (which I don't care to do often), and feeling inspired by my fellow brunette icons: Sex and The City's Charlotte, Mila Kunis, Catherine Zeta Jones and Mary Louise Parker, I visited my local Rite Aid, spent a whopping $9.99 on a bottle of Dark Brown Loreal Preference Hair Color and poured it on. Within minutes, twenty five to be exact, my highlights were gone and I was back to my old self.

I'm not sure if that is a good thing or not...but it works for now...'til the next visit to the hairdresser or Rite Aid.

Thanks...

Thank you to all the people I meet every day that influence me in some way, who teach without knowing, who inspire without trying, who give without expectations, who care without ambivalence, who are open and allow others in, who are authentic in an often cold and dark world. Thank you for not knowing all you do all the time.

Mamma Mia, What Were They Thinking ?

A Greek Island with breath taking views, upbeat music, a sappy love story, Meryl Streep and spandex. You would think with all this you have the formula for a great musical. Some critics have even gone as far as calling it "the next Grease". Hey guys, don't press your luck.

Mamma Mia, starring Meryl Streep, Pierce Brosnan and Amanda Seyfried did not quite live up to its hype. After only a few minutes into the film, I thought anyone that can sit through this is a "super trooper" as Abba would say. I cringed every time someone opened their mouth to sing with Meryl Streep excluded. Not due to the fact that her voice was on pitch, but it was likable. Come on, she is Meryl Streep after all. Streep's acting was right on and believable as usual. She is at a point in her career. I respect her decision to do this role, she has nothing to prove to anyone any more. I expected Brosnan, on the other hand, at any moment to blurt out "Bond, James Bond". He was clad in "Bond-like" attire and could not make me believe him as anything other than the 007 himself.

After the opening credits, I waited for the movie to pick up its pace. It was slow-moving and the musical numbers seemed forced. The movie did not do the staged play justice, which was fun and addicting. The play would make anyone want to run out and buy Abba's greatest hits (which I did). The songs in the movie sounded like mere Karaoke versions of Abba. In today's modern world, a lot could be done to improve the musical numbers at the very least. Auto Tune anyone?

Overall, I left the movie thinking two things 1) wow, good for Meryl Streep. I still see her in the same light. And 2) I couldn't help but think "BLUE". Everything was blue about the movie, the set, the ocean and the way the film left me feeling.

Mama Drama

For the sake of anonymity, let us just say that a certain mom was at a certain park in Burbank, California today with her son. The scene was frightful. Not the children running around, but the lack of concern on the moms' faces when their child would trip, hit or steal a toy from another child. But then again, how could they be concerned about their child when their cell phones, or new blue-tooth head sets were glued to their ears. Thanks to the new Cali law of now cell phones while driving, moms are reverting to making calls during play time with their children. To give the moms the benefit of the doubt, I'm sure they all were on extremely important calls. I even heard one mom say into thin air, aka her bluetooth headset, "You're kidding me, she cut her hair that short."

Although, I'd like to take credit for the creativity of that last line, I simply can't. It was a true statement said by a bluetoothed mother whose son happened to be stealing every toy my son wanted to play with and aggressively doing so.

After removing my son from the situation, because I'm sure it wouldn't have been nice to simply push her son off the toys, I walked away only to encounter further mama drama by another mom. Kudos to this mom, she was not on a cell phone, but instead talking the ear off of someone she befriended at the park about how she needs a break. The "befriendee" was clearly not paying attention. So, I followed my son into the sand box and weplopped down to build a sand castle, when loud mouth mommy comes over to tell me I should make sure that my son doesn't steal toys from other kids and pay attention. I'm sorry, but we were minding our own damn biz lady. You must have us confused for the bluetoothed beasts picnicking on the grass yards away from where their children actually are.

I was so upset that I took my son out of the sandbox and out of the park. Just as I was nearing my car I noticed another mother doing the same. We stood around and chatted that WE the moms who were actually playing with our kids in the sandbox where kicked out of the park. The Bluetoothed Burbank Beasts enjoyed the rest of their afternoon on their cell phones. while their kids bruised each other, themselves and learned Darwin's theory of survival.

Mommyfied

While holding shopping bags in one hand, and pushing a stroller with the other, I ran toward the restrooms at Target with my newly-potty-trained-needing-to-go-now son. Just when I hit the door and tried to maneuver to open it with my foot while avoiding the handle (you don't know who's restroom-ridden hands have touched it), the door flew open to reveal two trendy Hannah Montana/Jonas Brother-loving teenagers girls. They were so busy texting on their rhinestone-covered Sidekicks that we almost crashed, if it hadn't been for one of the girls shouting, "watch out for that lady."

"That Lady"? When did I go from "girl" to "lady"? Merriam-Webster defines lady as "a woman having proprietary rights or authority especially as a feudal superior." When did I become superior and to whom? Where is the line of superiority drawn? Was I an instant lady because I was there with my son? Did I look like a lady? What does a lady look like? Me, apparently.

When did this happen? Was it when I stopped listening to my Tiffany and Debbie Gibson cassettes that I grew older? Maybe I should've kept listening to them or at least ripped them as MP3s so I wouldn't have to listen to them on my Sony Walkman any more, but on my iPod instead.

I graciously said "thank you" and held the door with my foot (washing it off soon after). The girls smiled a "you're welcome" politely and walked away. Just as my foot couldn't hold the door any more and my son reminded me that he needed to go now, the door began to close and I heard one of the girls mumble to her friends...."that lady didn't look like a mom."

Instead of thinking too much, I took it as a compliment. I don't look like a mom, but I am one and wouldn't have it any other way!!!!