Who wants to be in the Spanish Inquisition? Ooo, I do, I do! Pick me!

Before I forget, I have to write about my recent experience with Bikram Yoga. First of all, this wasn't some crazy idea of mine.  All right I admit I have some crazy ones, I'm open-minded, so what?  But this was at the suggestion of my doctor. My doc: "You have to get your BMI under 30, it will solve all your health issues." Me: "Okay, but how, I really do try. I ride the stationary bike at least 3 times week and try to do something else the other days. Granted, I might be on the equivalent of a sugar drip but I'm not sedentary." Doc: "Try Bikram Yoga, the pounds will just melt off."  Done. There is a studio close to my house and they have $29 first month trial, so I signed up.  Bikram is about the same as any other yoga, poses, some hard, some easy.  But what is certainly different is that the room is 110 degrees and you're in it for 90 minutes.  Yep, you read that right-one hundred and ten degrees. It was voluntary torture, hence, the title of this blog. When I went to class, I expected Cerberus to be guarding the door because, man, did it feel like I was descending into Hades every time I walked in. By about the third pose, when you are bending at your waist and supposed to be grasping under your heels (all I could manage was to grasp the back of my legs), I was dripping sweat, near rivers of it running down my legs. And I wasn't the only one. Occasionally, I would hear the smack of someone hitting a towel and mat that had been totally saturated by sweat. There was only one group sip of water, all others were encouraged to be taken in between poses, which I couldn't understand because there was no "in between", you went from one grueling pose to the next. Only one instructor had been blessed with a sense of humor. She was refreshing, especially in comparison to the, so thin as to be possibly non-existent, oriental instructor whose yelling of "exhale, exhale" made me feel like I was in a POW camp. The first time I went, two people were helping a woman out of the prior class but still I thought how bad can it be. They tell you the goal is to just stay in the room, but there really isn't any other choice because there were times I wasn't sure I could crawl out on my hands and knees let alone walk! About the second or third time, I realized that the most desirable spot is by the door. It was cooler and at the end when the instructor opened it and walked out the cool rush of air that blew past me made me do a strange sob-cry thing (but quietly, because it is a faux pas to disturb another yogi or yogini's savasana, that's corpse pose for you uninitiated out there). In the end, I decided that I needed a kinder, gentler yoga and that it was too expensive.  And, I was a little embarrassed. Remember Bill Murray in "What About Bob" when he is trying to get on the bus and his guitar is perpendicular to the door so it keeps stopping him?  Yeah, that was me and my yoga mat one time.

A Manifesto for all Mothers

This is a draft of an actual note I am going to send the doctor's office I am going to take Jack to for an eye exam.  Here goes:  In response to your note stating "As a courtesy to everyone please do not bring additional children to the office that do not have an appointment", as a courtesy to myself and statement of solidarity to every other mother of multiple children I WILL be bringing my older child to my son's appointment because I am PAYING you to do a service for me, not the other way around.  First, let me state that I recognize that not all children are well behaved all the time.  Let me also point out that not all adults are either, including parents who may not keep as close watch on their children as may seem necessary.  I am not that parent.  I will not be perusing a magazine while my children run around your waiting room/office unchecked.  Having said that, my children are children and given their limited impulse control sometimes act to be cliche, their age.  As a mother, I will do my best to make sure that this is kept to a minimum, recognizing that minimums are relative.  Your request infers that children are a nuisance.  You, as well as I, were at some time children also.  The difference should be that one has matured enough to have to patience to deal with children in any circumstance.  So, let me ask, who is the real adult?  The child who is acting as is proper for their age or the petty person who is so bothered by children they would prefer to not see them and assume they do not exist. The inability to deal with children suggests that you are one.  If the others in the waiting room cannot abide the possibility that children may be there also perhaps you should not be taking children at your practice.  If your doctors, nurses or assistants are unable to deal with the possibility of an extra child or two in the exam room, perhaps they should not be dealing with children, at all.  Children are not a nuisance, they are CHILDREN!

Now, should I send it before when the impact would be greater or after when I am certain that it will not be the day my children have acted the worst they ever have thereby proving that children are in actuality a nuisance?

Dennis, as usual, thinks I am crazy, so I may not send it at all but, man, do I want to!