By Nici Holt Cline
Lately I am tempted to title every piece ebb and flow. It just always seems appropriate.
Last Monday was a messy, hard day. Ruby’s contentment depended on bouncing on the exercise ball or nursing, which meant less attention for Margot, which made her cranky. And, amazingly, unfairly neither kid napped. And, also, I can’t bounce and breastfeed for 10 hours straight while I sing the abcs or I’ll go crazy. So I whispered swears a few times, shut myself in the bathroom once, kicked toys in my path. While nursing and/or bouncing and singing, of course.
It was a relentless day where I was there for everyone because everyone needed me. I just had to suck it up and pretend like I wanted to read Follow the Leader for the 17th time because it was the least I could do for my two year-old while perched on that glossy green ball, back aching as I bounced my two month-old, her eyelids heavy, thanking me for the rhythmic motion.
By the end of the day I felt ugly, lame and inadequate all the way around. I decided I needed yoga or several alcoholic beverages and I figured yoga could be the better choice. Although, really, martinis and down dog kinda serve a similar purpose. Guilt for leaving started to creep up and before I could talk myself out of anything, I nursed Ruby, threw on stretchy pants, grabbed my mat and charged out the door for some sun salutations.
My teacher led us in breathing exercises, telling us that, no matter what, we always had our breath. She asked us to set intention for the class. Me, Grounded was my intention. It was hard. I was sweating, at times screaming inside, at times letting go. It was as if I crammed my entire day of highs and lows and lower lows into that hour and a half class. I felt awesome, my breaths deep and purposeful in triangle pose. I felt like an uncoordinated moron, breaths shallow and labored in half moon.
Ebb and flow.
I returned, recharged and happy to cross the threshold of my home. It is easy to forget, when in an ebb, that there will be a flow. I am much better to everyone, from my children to the cranky check out lady at the grocery store when I am better to myself. And, in the ebb of a funky day, it is wholly up to me to make time and space for the flow. No matter what, I always have my breath (and yoga and martinis).
Nici Holt Cline is a fourth generation Montanan working on raising a fifth. You can read “Mama Digs” every Monday exclusively at www.mamalode.com. Nici also writes regularly at dig this chick, a blog about gardening with Montana, growing with two wondrous kids, cooking with impulsive whimsy, sewing with naive courage and some other important observations.
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here, here. well done– the yoga, the hard day and the story
Oh I know…
I am greatfull to read it from someone else.
The Web is good.
So are we and me and Us!
from thank-god-at-least-it-is-balmy-Vancouver Island