Camp Bliss

This summer my kids weren't the only ones who went to sleep-away camp. Noah made the annual trek south to Mississippi for another memorable summer at Jacobs Camp. Camille wanted to give farm camp a try and that prompted me to start thinking about finding a camp experience of my own. 

So Camille and I packed our bags, loaded up the van, and drove north to the Hudson River Valley. The first stop was Sprout Creek Farm where Camille was all geared up to spend the week milking goats/cows, meeting new friends, and swimming in the creek. After helping her get settled, I headed thirty minutes up the road to Omega where I spent a blissful week doing yoga, taking fun classes (hula hooping! writing, drawing, etc), kayaking, and taking afternoon naps in hammocks by the lake. It was truly a week of deep renewal and rest. And so much better than my previous experience with summer camp which was a homesick and anxiety-ridden week with fellow 4-H members in rural Louisiana. 

Noah is still at camp and although his notes home are brief, they are filled with exclamation points and we can tell he is having fun. Camille can't stop telling us stories of her farm adventures and has been maintaining near daily contact with new camp buddies. And two weeks post-camp, I am still feeling the after effects of re-calibration and already day dreaming about a return next summer...

Unwinding

 I finally got my feet back on the yoga mat. I have been avoiding it for the past month. My yoga teacher and I decided that I should cut back on classes until the medical issues were more resolved. She gave me a nice set of restorative poses to do at home, but I never did them. I convinced myself that the pain was too much and the space at home was too cramped. However, the reality is that I was/am pissed. Angry and distrustful of my body, I find myself vacillating between hyper-awareness and disconnection. And underneath those angry waves, there are the knotty tentacles of fear that wrap themselves around the fibers of my being. 

So earlier this week, I created a yoga space, lit a new candle, and started to de-tangle my mind and my body. It's a slow, quiet, solitary process.

Lone

Palazzo Biscari, Catania, Sicily

One person, one focus

Carving out time to just to sit in a quiet house

Rolling out the mat and listening.

My knees creaking and cracking as I fold them under.

My neck bones grating, shifting and settling into place.

My shoulders tensing and rotating. 

My eyes closing

quiet

breathing in and breathing out

quiet

no music, just the hum of some appliance in the other room, the computer? the heating unit?

quiet,

wind whispering through the window cracks

quiet

pushing away the endless lists, the multi-tasking, the holiday frenzy

quiet 

alone, but not lonely

quiet

Yoga Space

Open the blinds. Ignore the piles of dirty clothes. Clear away the Legos. Unroll my mat. Close the door. Push play on one of Sarah's podcasts. Begin to breathe. 

Ever since our return from Bulgaria I have been doing yoga in the kids' bedroom. I know it's kind of an unlikely spot and perhaps even a bit risky because of the Polly Pocket/Lego terrain, but it has been working well for me. It works because it is the room that gets the most natural light in the mornings. I like being surrounded by that morning light. When we were staying with our friends in Bulgaria, I would climb up to their yoga room. Yes, they have such a spacious house that they have yoga room. A tower room surrounded with windows and views. Views of the mountains. Views of the city (Sophia). A yoga mat and lots of early morning sunlight. It really is a dreamy space that makes me yearn for my own yoga room one day. 

So when we returned to our military issued townhouse in Sicily, I actively searched for a new space to practice yoga. This "yoga space" of mine is nowhere near as perfect as that room in Bulgaria, but in addition to the natural light, I also like the fact that it is a clear reminder of where I am in this stage of my life. 

During the early years of motherhood when I was so sleep deprived and unsure of myself, yoga was an escape, but a guilty escape. Like an addict desperately seeking that next fix, I craved my yoga time and reveled in going to classes where no one was crawling on me, sucking on me, peeing on me, or crying. My body ached as it relaxed. It physically hurt as I exhaled the tension in my limbs and in my mind. I would often fall asleep in the final resting pose. I beat myself up for not practicing on a more regular basis while simultaneously feeling guilty about craving that time away from my role as mama. 

Things began to shift as my kids grew a bit older and they were both in a preschool where I could do my yoga classes in the same building during their schooltime. The guilt dissipated as I became steadier and more confident in my mothering, while also growing stronger in my yoga practice. In addition to taking classes, I also returned to practicing on my own. With our move to Sicily, I was fortunate to find a teacher who also happened to be a good friend and neighbor, but with her move last summer, things began to come loose again and nothing felt quite right. The space in my living room felt too dark and awkward. My bedroom was too cramped. The kids' room never even entered my mind as a possible space until our return from Bulgaria and suddenly I saw the light. Literally. The morning sunlight flooding the open space next to their bunk bed and it all clicked. 

This current space feels right. I am no longer sleep deprived and craving a momentary escape from motherhood. Instead, I am firmly in the middle of it. As I push aside the tangled nest of stuffed animals and the Star Wars guys, I smile to myself and occasionally grumble about messy kids and then I turn inward and let that morning light guide me to where I need to be that day.