Spruced Up

So, I found myself in a situation last night that I bet some of you can relate to. I was barefoot, standing in the back room of an organic cafe in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be a space alien who was talking to an alligator. No? Just me? Hmm.

This all started when I was driving home in an unconventional way and noticed a sign that said "Living Waters Organic Cafe" on a little, out of the way building. Since one of my greatest pleasures in life is finding little cafes near my home to frequent, I was excited.

I looked through the menu online and saw that it was good. Then, I noticed a tab at the top labeled "Ongoing Events". I clicked. The page that came up was filled with healing retreats, drum circles, and various things that Chris would probably refer to as "hippie nonsense", including a laughter yoga class. This piqued my interest because I, being clumsy, find yoga to be hilarious. Every yoga class I've ever been to, though, has been so deadly serious that I have been too nervous to even laugh at myself as I flub my way through what are supposed to be the graceful series of calming poses.

I called on my friends to join me in this class, and Laura responded that she'd join me. I envisioned a large group of awkward people just like me, laughing our ways through a traditional yoga class, not feeling as uncoordinated as we would if we were surrounded by lithe, suburban yogis in expensive gear. This, my friend, was NOT the case.

The class started at 5:45 on a Friday, which led me to believe that it was going to be like a refreshing, communal happy hour. I arrived at the cafe before Laura did and was led into a back room that was empty, except for one stone-faced woman. I put my things down and took off my jacket, then introduced myself to her. Her name was Spruce. She wore purple from head to toe, including a purple velour tracksuit and a purple buzz cut with a long, braided rat tail. Spruce told me with a very serious expression that she was "usually a hugger", but she had a cold so she was going to keep her distance. She told me about some 'inner child work' she had done with one of her clients that day and gave me a business card with her reiki practice's information on it. When she left for a moment, I sent Laura a text: "Only one other person. Her name is Spruce."

Shockingly, Spruce turned out to be the class leader. I got a sinking feeling when Spruce told me that this was not a traditional yoga class, and that actually, we wouldn't be doing any yoga. Laura and I decided later, over a beer, that calling the class 'yoga' should be considered fraud. But I digress. Spruce and I began our warm up, which consisted of stretching towards the ceiling and pretending we were playing in the clouds, and pretending that we were throwing colored paint at the walls. This imaginary paint was meant to represent "all the stuff we'd let stick to ourselves over the course of the day", and all the "negative judgments we made about ourselves". I thought about the nice day I'd had--hanging out with the baby, making mittens out of an old sweater, having Chris come home early to make me a grilled cheese--and didn't really feel the need to throw emotional paint at the walls. Oh, and we also gave ourselves a lot of hugs.

Laura arrived in the middle of this. When Spruce was bending at the waist and "allowing gravity to do its thing", we exchanged a look. My look said, "I'm sorry", and hers said, "Are you kidding me?" Now, let me just say that neither Laura nor I are closed-minded individuals. She went to Sarah Lawrence, for God's sake. I have a degree in person-centered counseling. We both do yoga. We're not some kind of corn-fed Republican stockbrokers or anything. But the next 45 minutes really tested us.

So, Spruce led us in some fake laughter that was meant to get us breathing and laughing correctly. She informed us that a lot of the laughter would probably be fake, but that, "with time, we could learn to really laugh". She was probably one of the most serious and unfunny people alive today. I found it extremely odd that this dour woman was leading a class about laughter, when I had a hard time imagining her laughing, or even smiling, or even really feeling happy. At one point, she stopped to think about one of the exercises. She muttered to herself, completely straight-faced, "Is it ho-ho-haha? Or haha-ho-ho? I always get my hohos and hahas mixed up." Laura lost it. I lost it. We both started laughing, really laughing. And since that was the point of the class, we just kept on laughing. We laughed when Spruce suggested we pretend to be space aliens looking for Earth's leader, when we pretended to be at a casino buffet, eating various things that made us laugh in different ways (I think it's possible that Spruce ate something before class that made her laugh, if you know what I mean), and when we had to lie on the floor, listening to what is basically a one-woman laugh track on CD (which we were told was available for download for $10). At one point, Laura and I were lying there on our backs on the floor of this backroom, listening to insane laughter coming from the CD and from Spruce, just laughing like maniacs, and I thought, "This is what it must feel like to be insane". Laura just kept laughing, sporadically saying, "Oh my god". Whether or not we were laughing for the right reason, we were laughing.

The class ended after a brief relaxation exercise. Spruce told us we could try to use what we had learned to try to incorporate laughter into our daily lives, even if it was forced. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from asking why in the world she was teaching a class about laughter when, it seemed, she didn't really laugh that often. Maybe that's why she was trying to teach it--because she needed the practice. In any case, that's what I did with my Friday night.

In keeping with the theme of laughter, Sophie laughed for the first time on Thursday. She was in the bath tub, having the time of her life, and it was the best thing I think I've ever heard. It made me cry.
Hope you're well!
xo

Big Salty Tears

First, let me just acknowledge that it's been a long time since I wrote. Then, let me acknowledge that I am not too sorry about this because the baby is happy and healthy, and that accomplishment has absorbed the majority of my time in the eight weeks since she was born.

So, another reason for my lapse in blog updates has been because most of my days have sort of started to run together into one, long, bleary-eyed day that is punctuated by fluctuating amounts of sleep that can't really be called 'nights'. I have entire expanses of time in which I can't identify one thing that I've done, said, eaten, or written. So when a moment of time appears in which I feel somewhat coherent, I will take some time to write. This is one of those moments.

The final excuse for my blogging absence is that there really hasn't been anything funny to write about. I could go on and on about the baby--how cute she is while kicking her little legs in the bath, how she loves to pee on the changing table, how I am routinely covered in a fine film of baby vomit, how she started to smile about 10 days ago and it's been the happiest 10 days of my life--but I am so obsessively in love with this baby that those things would be all I ever write about, and I would lose what remains of my readership. I'm telling you, I would write so persistently, unwaveringly about the baby, in so much unnecessary detail, that even her adoring grandparents would roll their eyes and think to themselves, "Dude, give it a rest."

There's also something distinctly unfunny about having a baby. The things that I might have laughed about in other peoples' blogs about their babies are not the least bit funny to me. What? They cried when their babies got their 2-month vaccinations? That's funny! Their baby won't remember and will be just fine! But when my baby was lying on a cold table, naked and screaming, it was not funny. She may have been just fine after a moment, but I wasn't. And it wasn't (and still isn't) funny. When the guy on the radio was talking about his wife's weeping response to putting their baby in daycare, it was a funny story. But to me, lying in bed at 3AM, worried sick about turning over the most important person in the world to me to strangers so I can go to my detestable job for 8 hours a day, it is anything but funny.

So, that's how it's been over here. Poor Chris. Send nice thoughts his way. He is handling my new-mom insanity with about as much patience, love, and humor as anyone ever could. Sometimes I stop paying attention to how awesome everything is because I'm caught up in something negative (I clipped the baby's nails the other day and accidentally nicked her tiny fingertip, which caused more crying for the two of us, for example). But then sometimes, I take inventory and realize I have an amazing husband, a beautiful, happy baby, and healthy family all over the world who loves the three of us, and there is so much to be grateful for that my attention is pulled in the right direction until the next moment of parental clumsiness.

But enough about that. The other thing that has been going on recently--really, the only other thing of any interest--is that Chris gave me a sewing machine for my birthday and I am trying to make things. I have a history of poor follow-through when it comes to, oh, everything, but especially crafty things like this. That's why there is an unfinished painting of a squirrel in our closet, and the reason that the only thing I have ever knitted has been scarf after scarf after wonkily-knitted scarf. But I am determined to get good at this new hobby. First, though, I have to do it "the Christina way". This basically entails jumping into something without really paying attention to the way others have successfully done it for years, failing or at least falling short of my own expectations, then resigning myself to the fact that I need to follow the directions, at least for a little while. And that's why there's a half-sewn tube of fabric sitting next to the sewing machine which will probably never become the skirt I'd like it to be. But someday...someday you'll see me wearing something I've made. No, not another hole-y scarf. I mean something I've sewn.

OK, hope all is well with you!
xo