A Wonderful Way to Awake

Yesterday I wrote on an old friend's Facebook wall to wish him a happy birthday. This is what I woke up to:


I love that you're Mira. You might not know what that means, because I've got a sizable buzz on, but I know what that means and I think you're spectacular. I feel like you wear the map of your life on your face, you always have, you stuck by you and you're fucking at the top of the human game for it. I deeply and importantly salute you.


If you do not have a funny, fabulous gay Iranian in your life, you need one. Mehran was one of a few people in high school that inspired me to be authentic. We were in the Mikado together in middle school. The school was a duller shade of hell when he graduated. He's a comic in the Boston area - brilliant and irreverent. Find him here.


And no, I may not fully understand what this means. But I will try to embody this. Make it my manifesto. Be aware of my map. What a gift.

Sacred Space

I can't tell you how much I look forward to my time on my mat. Although I keep setting my alarm to try and do my practice early in the morning, before the kids wake up, I typically can't drag my ass out of bed. I mean really, it took two and half years to get Bridger to sleep past 6:30 (ok, past 5:30, but ok), I really really am enjoying being asleep at 6! So, most days, after The Wild Life are in tucked into bed, I unroll my mat, and have my time in my body. 

Admittedly, that means most days I'm a little tired for super vigorous anything, and I tend not to work too hard. That's what studio classes are for. I do try to get to at least one a week. But just the time to notice nothing but my breath, to observe my universe, at a cellular, pranic, macro-cosmic level is lovely. 

I love ritual. When I was a smoker, it was the ceremonial taps of the pack on the heel of my hand, unwrapping the foil, turning up a 'lucky', the raisiny smell before the flame touched and ignited, that first long draw. The evaporation of my near-constant anxiety. I don't smoke anymore. I need ritual. I am still an overwrought, anxious mental being. The shadows are near, and times are unstable. The ingrained coping mechanisms, the urges to cut, or puke, or just not eat at all never go away. That could be exhausting. But it's not. Because most nights, I unroll my mat. I stand at the top, and bring my hands together. My feet and hands tap in time with my long breath. I observe. I choose not to attach reaction to that which is observed. Things evaporate. I finish, laying in savasana, floating on a sea of chi, sometimes in the flesh, sometimes not. I sit, hands in anjali mudra, prayer. I speak.

Om. Shanti, shanti, shanti.

Peace in my mind, peace in my body, peace in our world.

Namaste.

By the numbers

I recently jumped on the scale, for the first time in months. 

Before my children, I was always trim, athletic, thin. Oh, and eating disordered. Pregnancy was a total mind fuck for a recovered/ing 'eating disorder not otherwise specified' woman. But after Isabella was born, the 32 pounds I gained fell off in three short months. Three months later I had lost an additional 20 pounds or so. Extreme stress did that to me. I wore a zero. I stopped lactating. Not awesome. 

With Bridger I gained the same 32 pounds. But three months after giving birth to a nearly 10 pound baby, plus a large placenta, I was just 10 pounds lighter than the morning my water broke. Two years later I was still 18 pounds heavier than when he was conceived. He is still as of this post breastfeeding. It did not melt off the pounds the second time around. I feel cheated.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered I am now within five pounds of my pre-Bridger weight. 12 pounds of my pre-Isabella weight. And how? Living. Loving. Eating real food. Baking from scratch. Following, more or less, Michael Pollan's advice: Eat Food. Mainly Plants. In Moderate Amounts. Having a celebratory relationship to my fuel. Daily yoga. Mindfulness.

But the truth is, my navel is a different shape. My breasts no longer stand at attention. My hips have spread. Two people grew within the confines of my abdomen. No number can change that fact. And finally, finally, I have surrendered my need for control enough for that to be ok. I am two children away from my pre-pregnancy body. And that is beautiful.

10 Things I learned this week, Birthday Edition

1. Birthdays ought to be a celebration of a mother's Herculean efforts.

2. Cooking with microbes (think bread and cheese) feeds my inner mad scientist, opens a magical door of alchemy and adds unpredictable mystery to my kitchen, all at once.

3. I may not be able to control drama and ugliness around me, but I can keep it from inhabiting my body.

4. Consistently stepping on those around you to elevate your self-worth is the ugliest form of insecurity.

5. Words have power.

6. Freedom of speech is meaningless if that right is not exercised with responsibility.

7. Silence in a marriage can be toxic.

8. It becomes easy to disregard, hate and kill fellow human beings when they become a label, instead of a person.

9. Generally, everyone is putting forth the best they have to offer at any given moment. That may not be what I need at that moment, but that's my problem, isn't it.

10. Sometimes the best glass of wine is not how it's served, or what it tastes like, but who it is drank with.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

10 things I learned last week, family reunion edition.

1. Immortality can be found in family recipes.

2. Pincha Mayurasana informs the body of the possibility and nature of duality: firm grounding whilst taking flight.

3. I like Pincha! I can do it!

4. I'm too damn old to live like I'm still in college, even for just a week.

5. My body is indignant when poorly fueled.

6. Worry is a terribly heavy weight.

7. I am in no way prepared to enjoy my relationship with my grandmother only through her recipes and my memories. I still need her here.

8. Manatees allow me to be in my most peaceful, wondrous space.

9. Breath can be a substitute for xanax.

10. A heart full of love aches the most acutely.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

The World is a Playground

"First one to Ramshead is a... umm... ah..."

"The winner?"

"oh, yeah. Thanks Mom.

My rocket banana girl has grown so much she's earned a new ski moniker, Purple Plum Satellite. We whoop and holler, flying down the mountain. Giggles on the chair, hours together, precious minutes that are fewer as she grows into herself. I'm reaping what has been sown. It is fantastic.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

Seven

Seven years ago I was a new mother.

Today I am still a new mother, because she morphs and evolves so quickly, I feel I am always a step behind.

Happy Birthday my sweet shining star. I love you.