I've been practicing yoga for seven months now and still very much consider myself a 'newbie' when I think about all there is to learn.
One thing that has never stopped amazing me, is just how much sweat a body -- MY body can lose while doing a 90 minute Hot Vinyasa class. It pours off me in streams... on to my 'yoga towel' and on to the hardwood floor. It pools in neat little puddles on the side of my mat and completely (and I do mean completely) saturates my yoga clothes. For this reason, I choose my clothes carefully - wicking fiber, cami tops, and I've even started wearing yoga shorts which I told myself I'd never do - not because I've taken a negative position on 'shorts' per se, but I have leg issues - modesty, etc. It's just me... But I wear them now. Shorts. Despite my shrewd yoga clothing choices, when I come home from a class, I cannot WAIT to get out of my sweaty soaking clothes and into a shower. I find myself being impressed by my sweatiness, and also horrified... then impressed again. I have to peel the clothing off my body, because everybody knows when workout clothing is soaking wet, it sticks and clings to your skin in a most terrible way. I have to contort myself back into yoga poses just to remove the sticky heavy clothing.
This is all just an intro, really... For this very afternoon I found myself in this situation: Sweaty, shivering - because my clothes were sopping wet and it was 50 degrees outside (a far cry from the 100+ yoga studio), and desperately wanting a shower. Peyton and Quincy were playing "grocery store" downstairs with the play cart and plastic groceries. Brooklyn, of course, came upstairs as she always does to accompany me while I showered. Translation: Brooklyn came to seek and destroy in the bathroom while I showered.
I peeled and contorted and removed the impressively sopped clothing - and hung it up to dry, which I mused would probably take at least 24 hours. Just as I closed the shower door and let the steamy water warm me, Brooklyn shot like a little bullet from the bathroom. My mind went through the options of troublemaking she could commit while I showered. The list was long and sordid. I started soaping as quickly as I could, shampooing at the same time. I comforted myself with the notion that most likely she would occupy herself by changing into an array of dresses and bathing suits - a favorite and well known pastime of hers... Yes, that's what she'd do, I told myself. Just as I relaxed I heard a blood curdling scream... and then another one. One after the other. It was Brooklyn and she was screaming from somewhere in the house. "That is not the cry of a child putting on a bathing suit," I thought before bursting through the shower door with a full head of shampooed hair and Dove soap film sliding from my body. The Tylenol debacle was fresh in my memory as I sprinted into my bedroom, slipping on the hardwood floor and leaving soapy sloshing footprints behind me. I heard the scream again and I picked up the pace through the hallway. If somebody had been outside the house at that moment, they would have had the great misfortune of seeing me streak past the window, body parts and soap flying this way and that. I made it to Brooklyn's room and opened the door. She was standing in the center of the floor, trying with little success (hence the screaming) to untangle herself from the criss cross straps of her pink-polka-dotted bathing suit she had managed to twist herself in. When she saw me there, naked and dripping on her carpet, she pointed a little index finger at me and said, "I need your help right now." I love curse words. I do. But unfortunately I no longer can use them when they are most needed, so I said something like, "Oh my gracious, Brookie!" and I quickly fixed her straps and retraced my wet steps back to the shower. As I was warming myself back up and washing off the remaining soap, Brooklyn marched into the bathroom with an exasperated look on her face. She had on a dress now - over her suit, and she couldn't zip up the back, or tie the bow. "MOMMY!" She declared. "Zip my dress!"
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