Perilous Yoga

At Thanksgiving time I was chatting with my sister-in-law, who told me she was taking a yoga class in addition to her super running. It piqued my interest--we've established that I'm not motivated enough to run but I've been wanting to do something in the mornings at home to get the day jumpstarted. I figured I could just check out some yoga videos from the library for some free exercise. Plus, Sammy would probably like to do it with me.

Now, my sister-in-law did say that she was taking her yoga class at a gym with babysitting, and that her kids were a little underfoot when she did yoga at home, but I brushed that aside. My kids are pretty mellow; Sammy doesn't like to over-exert herself and Cici usually just follows Sammy around.

 They look so peaceful, don't they?

Unfortunately, something about the sight of me stretching to soothing New Age music mysteriously whips them up into a frenetic swirl of activity. Mom is standing on one foot? Let's grab onto her leg and try to make her fall over. Mom is doing any stretch that remotely resembles a tunnel? We must crawl under her and run around her. Mom is lying on her back with her eyes closed doing relaxation exercises? We should drop books on her face!

This morning during the latest yoga movie, I was lying on my back listening to someone chant Relax! Breathe! Heal! over and over in a soothing voice when I heard a familiar voice exclaim, "Mom! You're a boat!" followed by the painful whump! of a three-year-old plunking herself onto my relaxed stomach. My eyes shot open and I gave Sammy The Look while Cici giggled in the background. Yogi-like, I calmly went back to Relax! Breathe! Heal! while unbeknownst to me, Sammy circled around for round two. "Mom! You're a bed!" I snapped into defensive mode. Sammy likes to jump on the bed. "Alright," I sighed in defeat. "Yoga time is over." Who would have thought that such a peaceful looking activity could be so dangerous?