I started off this morning with a little Monday craziness, trying to get as much done as I could to stay ahead of the game this week. It’s so easy to slip into the rabbit hole of anxiety, even if it’s the subconscious version from normal routines–lunches, e-mails, school schedules, etc. I was maybe only forty minutes down the wrong path this morning (go, go, GO!) when I reheated my coffee in the microwave, went to grab the handle and burned my thumb and forefinger so badly, I yanked my hand back, dropped the cup and yelled a bad word. For two seconds, the house went still–everyone stopped and stared to see what was going to happen next.

“I call a do-over,” I said. “Erase everything that just happened, and I’m going to start my Monday the right way now. Sorry ’bout that. Carry on.”

I backed up. I slowed down. I refilled my coffee and enjoyed it. Lainey and I talked about how much fun this week was going to be–a class party, costumes at ballet, trick-or-treating. I took Nella and Dash for a morning walk and paused to say Good Morning to joggers.  It wasn’t long before I realized that I had regained power over my week. 

True yogis who’ve been meditating for years will tell you it still takes work and practice to guide the mind into a peaceful state.  Likewise, I like enjoying the small things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t forget and need a few burnt fingers to remind me from time to time.

So hello.  Happy Monday.  Let’s take this week’s reigns and guide it where we’d like it to go, shall we?  And if the horse goes buckin’ bronco and you fall off?  It’s okay.  Swear. Get back on.

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Thank you for all the kind responses to Elizabeth’s post last week.  She was excited about funds growing for Luke’s journey home.  You can continue to follow her journey from her blog and help Luke by donating here.  This weekend I had the opportunity to hold and love on a baby brought home from the Ukraine through Reece’s Rainbow, and hearing her mama retell the story of her journey was heartbreaking.  We also celebrated our fourth Buddy Walk this weekend here in Naples, and I’ll share more about that later this week.

First, a few things enjoyed this past week:

I know a lot of people roll their eyes at early holiday decorations, but they make me happy.  I love twinkly lights.  My kids love twinkly lights.  The stores look so pretty all dolled up with garland and bows and lights.  So when we saw the first touch of holiday happiness at a local plaza this week, we had to stop and touch and ooh and ahhh.  “It’s a shame we do all that work to decorate our house every Christmas, and it only stays up for a month,” Brett remarked.  And then he had that look in his eye that said he was scheming.  I won’t be surprised if Clark gets an early start this year.

Night Redemption.  He sleeps.  Finally.  Besides a few “I lost my pacifier” whimpers, we are owning the night again. Definitely something to be enjoyed.

Library visit with Poppa.

And some pumpkin fun.

I’m partnering with Disney in using their Story App, a great tool to unlock all those photos and videos on your phone and release them in sharable stories. 

There’s a breeze from open windows in our house right now, and I am loving our weather that’s headed soon toward first fire in the fireplace.

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I’m at BabyZone this week sharing 8 Ways to Decorate Nursery Walls with Things You Already Have and over at All Parenting with a little ode to ballet.

Happy day.

This weekend our small things came in beach form.  And they were colorful–rainbow umbrellas, rainbow snowcones, red sails, green palms, blue water, orange push ups.  It was a sandy little crayon box. 

And it looked like this.

In preparation for all the things I love about Halloween and on, I’m working on cleaning up our home, our garage, my “things to do” list, my mind, my heart–creating space to grow and enjoy the people and activities I love.  A marriage of peaceful and productive.  So a short post today, but a fist bump to all y’all for a great week. 

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I’m at BabyZone this week with 10 Easy Fall Crafts for Parents and Kids (like our watercolor leaf garland below)…

….and over at All Parenting with In Defense of Halloween

Aware of the importance of entertaining hobbies and interests outside of motherhood, I recently signed up for a modern dance class. I also wanted something that would help me be a little more aware of my posture because it resembles, as my friend Janita so beautifully worded, the dorsal fin of a captive dolphin. I did the yoga thing at the end of the summer and loved it, but I needed to spice things up. I want to move. After stumbling upon a video of Martha Graham a few weeks ago, it was a done deal. Yes. That. I want to be Martha Graham.

I actually took two semesters of modern dance in college. There was even a recital. My mom came. I played a tree. After the recital, my mom smiled, congratulated me for putting myself out there and expressed how much she loved being there. And then she slipped in a little laugh and added, “so the dancing—that was weird.” There’s a lot of—um—contorting. But there’s also a lot of leaping and swaying and this beautiful fluid movement in modern dance that makes you feel like you are powerful and fast and ethereal and can fly. Hmmm. What mythological creature would be described as powerful, fast, ethereal…with wings?  I digress.

Anyway, where were we? I thought I had this. After a couple beginner level college courses, that makes me Martha Graham, right? I mean, maybe I should jump right to the advanced class. I went into it way too confident. You guys. I wore a leotard. I mean, I covered it with yoga pants, but still.

As I was leaving for my first class, Lainey asked me where I was going.

“I’m going to a dance class,” I answered proudly.

“You mean Nella’s?” she asked, confused.

“No. Mine. Mommy’s dance class.”
 
She scrunched up her face and just stood there staring, still confused.

“Lainey, mommies do a lot of things to keep learning about the world because that’s important. That’s why I read and write a lot, that’s why I take pictures and make things. And that’s why I’m taking this class. Just like you love to learn about dance—so do I.”

Another life lesson tucked under my belt, I climbed in the car eager to bring back the ‘ol modern dancer I once was. Once I arrived, I was directed to the largest studio in the back of the building and introduced to the teacher. She was tall and lithe, and every move she made—even brushing her hair off her shoulder—was a beautiful dance. Looking at her, I felt clumpy and awkward.

A few others joined the class (wearing shorts and faded college t-shirts so now I felt like an ass for the leotard) and soon we were in warm-up mode where my confidence took a blow.

We were doing this exercise where we stood on one foot and reached back with one hand to grab the opposite foot. And then we quietly held the stance, listening to the peaceful music and focusing on the mirror. And by “we” I mean them. There were five bodies lined up in the mirror, all of them still swans. Then there was me on the far left, and my arms were flailing and I was leaning all over the place, like a boxer dodging punches, to keep from falling over.

Here’s the thing that sucks about adult modern dance classes. There are mirrors. So you have to see yourself looking like an ass.

And that’s before the actual choreography part.

When we got to choreography, our teacher (who I’ll call Beautiful Graceful Gazelle) broke it down for us.

“So, we’re going to take the first few measures of the song and do this–”

I watched as her gazelle-like body ran out to the middle of the floor and started the magic. She was counting it out: “1 and 2 and 3 and swing. O-ver, kick, jump, jump, bring it in, run and—” all the while performing this aMAZing choreographed dance while she counted. I was awestruck. It was beautiful and she looked like a goddess of light and happiness.
 
When she finished, everyone shook their head like they got it. They were stretching and plié-ing, getting ready to repeat it and I was all “WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED? You seriously got that?” Because I’m pretty sure my body can’t do that and even if it could, all I remembered was the 1-and-2 part.

But I did it because I paid for the class, and I wasn’t about to let the fear of looking stupid keep me from trying. In fact, don’t ever let the fear of looking stupid keep you from trying.

Okay. I was a disaster. Somewhere in Dance Heaven, Martha Graham buried her head and sighed. I could see the disaster in the mirror even though I tried not to look. I’m trying to think of a good analogy. I was like—an orangutan doing karate. Yes, exactly. Legs kicking all cock-eyed, arms swaying all over the place. And forget keeping the beat. There was this one part after kick, jump, cross left, chasse’ and before spin, lift, jump, jump, plie’ where you had to roll on the floor. And I thought that was simple enough—I mean, I can roll. I couldn’t really remember when that roll part came so I just stayed hunched to the floor through the entire dance, ready to roll when it came so that at least out of a hundred counts, I’d get the four rolling ones right. Hell yeah, I rolled like it was my job.

I don’t know why I couldn’t catch on when no one else seemed to have a problem, but I’ve realized my secret dreams of going on So, You Think You Can Dance and making Mary Murphy stand up and cry are over. But dammit, I can ROLL.

I’m going to try another class. So I can show my kids that I try new things and don’t give up too quickly. And so that I can laugh. I laughed a lot in class last week, pulling that dorsal fin right up nice and straight.