Om, my God

Over the past few months, I have been going to a yoga class every week. It's a nice escape for an hour, even if I have fallen at least once in each class. Yeah, that whole balance thing, which I no longer have, is kinda key in yoga. But it's all good, because for that one hour I get to block out everything else. I've come to value the time to slow down, breathe, and shut out everything else.

In fact, I enjoy it so much, that I thought maybe I would try to incorporate it more into my everyday life, sans the yoga studio and calming voice of my yoga instructor.

That was my first mistake.

So I grabbed a yoga CD I had gotten for Christmas, moved the living room coffee table out of the way, grabbed my mat, and fired up the video.

I had barely sat down to stretch when our dog began to tug at my mat. I corrected her and continued my practice. One move in, I looked over to see my daughter staring at me.

"Can I do it with you?"

I grumbled a bit, but said, "sure."

By pose two another kid had joined us. Two poses later I had four kids and a dog all attempting to do yoga with me. Suddenly, it occurred to me that if the whole point of yoga was to relax this was not going to work.

Not wanting to discourage my children's interest in exercise--and quite frankly annoyed by how bendy they all were as opposed to me--I kindly excused myself, went in the kitchen and got a bowl of ice cream. It seemed the next best means of relaxation and peace if I wasn't going to get to do yoga.

After I finished my ice cream, I decided to abbreviate my home practice and focus more on the meditative aspect of yoga. So I retreated to my room, closed the door, laid down on my bed, closed my eyes and tried to shut out the world around me. It didn't take long for me to realize my home was definitely not a yoga studio.

Before I could even chant my first "om," I was greeted with the screams of "mom." Close enough, I thought. So each time someone yelled "mom," I replaced it with "om" and went about my business.

I settled back into the restful pose and tried to focus on my breathing. As I inhaled, I smelled my daughter's new perfume--which she obviously really likes. On the exhale, I puffed out my cheeks in exasperation as I listened to my son and daughter bicker. Inhale--dirty diaper. Exhale--well, more of a sigh than an exhale.

The door creaked open.

"Mom," I heard in a voice that was trying to whisper, but was actually louder than a normal speaking voice. I laid still, hoping she would go away.

"Mom." No luck.

"Dad, I think something's wrong with Mom. She's not moving."

I opened one eye to glare at her.

"Never mind," she screamed. "She's alive."

 I rolled onto my side and asked what she wanted.

"Can I have a snack?"

"Go ask your dad," I said rolling back into corpse pose.

"He already said, 'no'."

"Then why are you asking me? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Looks like you're just lying there doing nothing."

"I'm trying to meditate. Now go downstairs."

"What's meditating?"

"Obviously something I'm not going to get to do," I responded.

I rolled off the bed, put on my shoes, and headed downstairs where I grabbed my purse and keys. My husband asked where I was going, and I curtly replied, "To find a yoga class that doesn't allow anyone under 18."