yoga

Most Thursdays, we attend yoga class. All day yesterday, it was all I could think and talk about. goga goga goga. (goga is what I call it.) Once I got to class yesterday, I was miserable. I didn't want to participate and I just fussed around and kept saying I was ready to go. I would stand by the door and holler "ready." I was even a ringleader for bad behavior for part of the class with the other kids saying "I want to do what the baby is doing" and that amounted to running around like a lunatic and unstacking pillows and pulling various yoga contraptions out of boxes.

I was the child that my mom would have frowned upon before she met me.

At the beginning of each class, we introduce ourselves. I am the most regular attendee at this point. For some reason, all of the kids get hung up on introducing themselves as so-called superheroes. Yesterday, Batman and Spiderman were both in my class. I am fortunate that I was born with a true hero's name.

Rather than going to yoga yesterday, I should have just visited my neighbor Terese. We stopped by her house after yoga and had a grand time in her garden. She sprayed water for me to stomp in with my bare feet. At the end of our visit, I hugged and hugged and hugged her and never wanted to let go. I hope she realizes that I have completely forgiven her for trying to force me to eat from a bottle. In retrospect, we should probably thank her for tormenting me because it was my refusal of the bottle that kept my mom out of the office and working from home.

Here is a photo of me practicing downward dog at home. It is my favorite pose.