Having children really puts a lot of things into perspective. If you look closely, you can get a glimpse into your parenthood. These glimpses, of course, can be totally endearing or horrifically terrifying. I've had glimpses before. Like the time that I saw Trinity smoking an asparagus. Or when the cable went out during a storm and she said, "What the flug?" Or when I got to her daycare one day and was pulled into another room because she blurted out, "Dammit" when she didn't get a seat during musical chairs. I've also seen her gather another child in her arms and tell them that they "will work through this together" as she wiped their tears. I've heard her say, "It's not okay to fart in public" to a classmate. By paying attention, you can get an idea of how you are doing, parentally speaking of course.
I got another glimpse just last week. I had decided to quit smoking (uh-ghee-in), make my workout routine more aggressive, and start yoga (uh-ghee-in). On Sunday morning, I rolled out my yoga mat and blew the dust off my DVDs. I did it for about 20 minutes. Although it says for beginners, I do remember it kicking my butt before. It kicked it again. I sat down out of breath and watched the rest of the session.
After lunch, I came out of my bedroom to find Miss Trinity in the living room with my mat on the floor, the DVD playing, and her performing the moves better than I. I sat on the sofa and watched. I was so proud of her. After she finished, she turned to me and said, "Namaste'." How sweet!! Now, I know that namaste' means many different things in different contexts and situations. But, my favorite is, "The light in me honors the light in you." Trinity's light was honoring mine by mimicking what she had seen me do several hours before!!!!!!
After she finished, I told her to get dressed (Mr. Lee was doing yoga with no shirt, she felt like she should, too) and let's go get her her own yoga mat. I guess the clarity gained by her yoga session caused her to not care about her ensemble. She put on hot pink, biker pants; a muscle t-shirt; her St. Patrick's Day green, cowboy hat over her big, Diana Ross hair; a foam sword; and one yellow gardening glove. As I bolster her creativity in any capacity that she shows initiative, I let her go to the store dressed as she wished. (I took my camera in the event of an impromptu photo op.) But, I guess the absurdity of her ensemble kicked in before we got inside. She put the glove and sword in my purse. She tried to get me to wear the hat. I told her that she brought it in. She could wear it. She didn't wear it. She kept trying to hang it on he sword that was protruding from my purse.