Monday, April 19, 2010

Yoga in The Park

Happy LOVES the Wii Yoga game...he'll stand on the little board and do the Sun Salutation and the Half Moon and he looks so freakin' cute.

Doing "Mommy Wii" is probably his second favorite thing on earth to do, right behind going to the park.

So imagine his elation this weekend when we spent the whole afternoon playing at this ENORMOUS park by our house and stumbling upon this lady doing Yoga. In the middle of a children's park. In full-on 1960's hippie everything.

It's his version of the shoe store at Nordstrom.

[I'll confess. I take them to the park -- and stay for hours -- to absolutely wear them out so they will go to sleep and I can get some writing done. And we stopped by Chick-Fil-A on the way because I didn't pack snacks and that is one of Lydia's BIG TIME rules about Playground Etiquette. AND I didn't take my phone out of the car when we were at the park, because that's her other rule about not being a Jackhole Mom, and frankly, I'm starting to think that list was a little bit about me because I kinda do, DID, those things until she wrote that post and was all, "Kate can you proofread Playground Etiquette?" and I was all cringe-y when I read it. AND, it still managed to post with a typo in it which means I suck at both playground stuff AND proofreading.]

It was like the park stopped when she came in. She was head to toe in these bright flowing skirts (several, stacked over each other) and long hair that has probably never seen scissors and beads and crystals and exuding that aura of Xanax wherever she walked. And the kids, like 40 of them, gravitated to her like she was the Pied Piper.

So there she was, half-mooning and ohmmm'ing and they were all surrounding her awestruck and why was I suddenly feeling like Dorothy? Dorothy if she was thinking "what in the holy hell is happening right now?" but the Xanax was starting to get to me too by then and I just sat and stared over all these little heads that were standing and staring...mez. mer. ized.

The next thing I knew, Happy had walked over and assumed the Half Moon. And she smiled at him.

Yoga Lady: Hi.
Happy: Hi
Yoga Lady: Do you want to do yoga with me?
Happy: [yells] Yes!
Yoga Lady: You have to be very very quiet, OK?
Happy: [whispers] OK
Yoga Lady: [switches poses] Can you do this?
Happy: Uh-huh.

Then Lefty joined in...and McGee...and then she had this miniature army of kids Tree Posing and Downward Dogging.

And Sun Saluting...and that's when Lefty broke the quiet. And I was just too far away to make it stop. "OH! You have hair in your armpits. Like a boy!"

And pointed at her. And I'm no yoga expert, but I'm pretty sure that pointing at the "instructor" and yelling is not one of the standard poses.

She had to know instantly which mom was Lefty's mom. I was in mid-grab-kid-and-slam-hand-over-mouth-to-fortheloveofGod-make-it-stop. And she looked at me, then back at him, and said, perfectly calmly, Xanax-y "yes, I do..." and then continued with her poses, and her mimic-ing army and extolled the virtues of being at one with nature, and letting nature decide how you look, and not changing your beauty with makeup and nail polish.

I'll confess. As if it's not clear enough, I am all about this stuff. I haven't seen more than an inch of my natural hair color in two decades, constantly have a pedicure, LOVE the makeup counter at Lord & Taylor and regularly, if not obsessively, use a razor. Add in the plastic surgery (predicated by a spectacular car crash) and I've got more plastic in my face than in my wallet. I was the exact opposite of Yoga Lady. A fact that Lefty, of course, quickly pointed out, after he LICKED my palm to get it off his mouth. Gross.

Lefty: My mom wears makeup.
Yoga Lady: Yes.
Lefty: And her hair's not really yellow.
Yoga Lady: Mmm-hmmm
Lefty: And [to me] you don't have hair right?
Me: ummm, no. Why don't we go play on the slides?
Lefty: Nooo...please?

With three sets of pleading eyes, and 40 more sets bearing witness to this Nature vs. Narcissistic Nurture debate, I nodded and sat my bleached/dyed/polished/plastic/waxed self back down.

When we finally headed home, McGee said to me, "Mom, how come you don't just be how that lady was. She looked nice." I wanted to tell her she'd understand when the hair on her legs started coming in, along with everywhere else it suddenly and haphazardly appears...I wanted to say it's all well and good to go bra-less when you're 10 and your boobs don't yet have their own zip code. But McGee, like me, needs visuals.

After dinner and showers, I towel dried my hair, threw on this crazy tie-dye skirt and the Boobs Akimbo t-shirt (see? good thing I didn't shred it, because now it's an educational device...) and suggested we take the geriatric gimpy beagle for a walk. They just stared at me. What?

McGee: Mom, aren't you going to get dressed?
Me: I am. I'm in comfies.
McGee: No. Like dressed dressed.
Lefty: Yeah, not that.
Me: [smiling] But this is like the lady at the park today.

Lefty grimaced. And told me my hair was a mess. And maybe I shouldn't be like that. McGee suggested a bra. And Happy accidentally wiped his strawberry fingers on my shirt. So I had to change. They're like conspirators. Which I can only blame on the fact that I let them play Law & Order.

They fell asleep in front of the TV. Because I'm an awesome mom...who now has appointments to get my roots done and a pedicure.

Oh, and I'm totally buying a new razor. You can never be too sure.

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