Yoga A-Go-Ga

It is so beautiful outside today.

I was lucky enough for my husband to babysit while I slept in a little late, then have had the last couple of hours to drink coffee, do yoga, and now sit and blog for a moment.

Heaven!

We hauled some blankets and my old-faithful beat up practice mat outside, where Andrew read Harry Potter while baby cooed and mama practiced. Tito, our chihuahua, met the neighbor dog Baggy, a Beagle (undoubtedly named by his kid owners) and the dad of Baggy, our neighbor Michael. It was extremely pleasant.

All day and night I have these fantasy blog entries I write in my head, only to sit down for the precious minutes I have to actually blog and I write this crap.

Oh well.

I've come to relish the mundane. The everyday existence. The beauty of laundry.

I mean it.

I've noticed that a number of my friends, people I really thought were Good Friends, have dropped away since the baby was born. This pains me, in a way. But in another way, I've bonded with some new (and old) moms and some Baby Sympathizers that has been profound BEYOND what I experienced with said Good Friends.

This is life in the trenches, folks. You hear about the great dramatic device of setting a story during wartime. (Think "Gone With the Wind." "Schindler's List." "Apocalypse Now.") Well. Daily parenting is high drama, enacted in the dark secret confines of a bedroom or, in our case, the living room last night, when our dog ate half a box of fudge and we had to feed him hydrogen peroxide so he'd vomit it up. And meanwhile, our baby spit up half a gallon of milk on my chest, thighs, and yoga mat. Our best laid plans of a gentle bath, reading, and bed, were thwarted for a time. There was even going to be a meditation practice thrown in there somewhere, until Tito scarfed down chocolate.

One blog entry I am working on is a list of advice tidbits for brand new moms. Little things. Like have a cute stuffed animal posted at the diaper changing station.

Okay, my microwave lasagna is calling.

That's another thing, if I may be so bold as to skip around in an illogical fashion here on my blog entry.

I totally had the fantasy that I would really, no really, learn to cook for my family and that by now we'd be eating farmer's market fresh produce every day. I went so far as to make homemade -- with the help of a mix -- Italian salad dressing, but we are still cocooning to the point where I never seem to make it out to the farmer's market, or frankly even the store. That is dad's job, still.

Anyway, that's on my list of failures. Or to-dos, one day.

I do seem to have a knack for making anything I cook taste good. So that's a plus.