two practices in one day, that is.
yesterday's afternoon practice: i was hostile to the whole idea. there’s a long down dog in the first couple of minutes of the routine i'd chosen, and i heard my internal voice hollering: “i HATE yoga. this shit SUCKS. i’m so sick and tired of this crap. i can’t even breathe properly. i’m not warmed up and i don’t wanna be warmed up. this is so frigging annoying.”
ten minutes later, right around the time the warm-ups were over, that voice faded away. i went a bit too far in the camel backbend, though, and ended up with some dizziness and spots in front of my eyes. a tangible reminder of the necessity of moderation.
evening practice: after a quick dinner and putting the girl to bed, brian laid down with her (she’s afraid of the dark) to help her go to sleep – i won’t do it anymore, but to avoid unpleasantness at bedtime he sometimes will.
the house was quiet. the laundry wasn’t exactly done, but it wasn’t piling up, either, and i decided that my upper left back needed a little bit of love. i turned off some lights, lit a candle, spread a blanket on the floor and pulled out the bolster – the new one i got for Christmas.
nice, sweet, gentle restorative stuff. nothing to get me worked up, nothing to break a sweat, just some easy stretches and deep breathing in the silence of a sleeping house.
the new paint job is very soothing, especially in candlelight. if i could have picked colors for a yoga room, i would have picked those.
today began with a thoroughly shitty morning. it involved a spanking. brian and i are both wrecked that we had to do it. i finally, truly understand the meaning of the phrase, “this hurts me…” etc.
i always wanted to be able to find other ways to discipline, you know? the last thing i ever wanted to do was to inflict pain on my child. but this is the second spanking so far in her life.
the first one was at the lake. we had gone there to see ducks or walk or something last spring, i think it was. she had run out into the road a few times over the week before, and she did it one last time there – into a road that is essentially a blind curve. i see cars fly around that curve on a regular basis.
i pulled her ungently out of the road and whacked her on her bottom. it startled her worse because she had just stopped wearing diapers and there was no protective padding between her bottom and the flat of my hand.
“We do not run out in the road. A car could come by and not see you. It could squish you. I would miss you terribly. We do not run out in the road. Ever.”
She hasn’t done it since, but I still hate that I had to spank to get her attention.
This morning she was having a fit because she didn’t want to get out of bed. It’s hard for me to blame her – I feel like that a lot, myself, but then I don’t really have the option of laying in bed ‘til whenever. Or, rather, I do have the option, but I like my job for the most part and I really like the paycheck and benefits.
We tried everything we knew. We tickled. We teased. We cajoled. We played Power Rangers. We were firm. We put her in time-out. . We tried to force-dress her. We threatened to hold her dolls and her puzzles hostage. She became increasingly hysterical. Screaming, crying, kicking, you know, just a shitty morning all around.
“What do we do?” I said. “I got nothin’.”
“I’m about ready to spank her,” said Brian.
“Oh, God,” I said. “There’s got to be…”
But there wasn’t. We had to go to work, she had to go to school, and we were already late because we’d tried so hard to do this without resorting to corporal punishment.
“OK,” I said. “We warn her first. Duckie, here’s the deal. You have to the count of three to get dressed, or you’ll get a spanking. One. Two. Three.”
More screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
“I can’t watch this,” I said.
“I know. Go, and shut the door behind you,” he said.
I shut her bedroom door and started getting the rest of my stuff together. I clapped my hands over my ears. I just couldn’t handle hearing it. I wanted to puke.
After a few long long moments, Brian came out, visibly upset. I hugged him. “I’m so sorry,” I said.
I went back into her room and sat down next to the bed.
Through hitching, hacking sobs, she said, “Daddy spanked me!” and pointed at her bottom.
“Yes,” I said. “He did. Let’s make sure it never happens again. Come on, let’s get you dressed so you can get something to drink before we leave.” She was entirely amenable to this. I wanted to hold her and hug her and cry with her, but I think it would have defeated the purpose.
So I suppose I’ll be getting up a good fifteen minutes earlier, to start poking and prodding the lazy twins (he’s almost as bad as she is for laying in bed) before I get in the shower and start my own morning routine.
I hate it.