I am feeling deep gratitude for Jake's latest temper tantrum.
I can't say I felt particularly grateful at the moment Jake was stiffening his little body to avoid my touch and stretching his mouth into a wail of baby teeth and spit. I tried to correct my grievous mistake of taking the nipple portion of his sippy cup out of his mouth to -- oh, cruel mother -- place it on his cup so he could drink his bedtime milk. But too late. Jake's desire for warm milk evaporated into a furor that brooked no easy apologies, and he violently rejected the taint of what used to be a comforting drink.
I remained admirably even-toned during this tirade, continuing to murmur futilely, "I understand. I took the nipple. You want the nipple. I understand." At least it seemed to have some soothing effect on me.
Then I asked him if he wanted to lie on the bed with me. And, with this new, beloved activity to look forward to, he forgot all about the sippy cup nipple injustice and happily crooned "bye bye" to the dog.
I, too, was coming off my own emotional see-saw, so I could completely understand how Jake moved in a breath from end-of-the-world anger to contented everything's-right-with-the-world happiness. And in that understanding, I found a lesson.
The Present Is Like a Temper Tantrum
My day yesterday contained greater hills and valleys than a normal day. ("Hills and valleys," my law school days boyfriend once told me. "You're hills and valleys." Obviously, I had yet to discover yoga. And, equally obviously, yoga doesn't keep me from still having hills and valleys days.)
I started low from lack of sleep and making my boy cry with my refusal to cuddle him after he kicked me in bed all night. (He slept through last night just fine, by the way, and was rewarded with deeply felt hugs and kisses in the morning.) I spent a little bit of my yoga practice crying over past injuries because, I think, I just needed to cry. Then I got to work and in the afternoon found someone who is going to -- I still get bouncing-in-my-seat excited about this -- design the YogaMamaMe website! Cue the reggae-tinged, sunshine-y music. For the first time since having a baby, I knew what I wanted to do besides having a baby. I walked to pick Jake up from school with the bounce of a woman who has a YogaMamaMe website. I played with him happily, fed him dinner happily, greeted Mike* when he came home from work happily.
And then Mike mentioned that my YogaMamaMe entries are, um, too long. And I crashed.
I'm not going to get into the psychology of crashing over so constructive a criticism (because that would feed my propensity for long-winded blog entries). But I am going to point out that even without the mechanics of a proper tantrum -- kicking feet, clenched eeee sound in the throat, clear transmission of the deep unfairness of the world -- I was reacting much as Jake did when I put the nipple of his sippy cup on the cup.
I observed this phenomenon, letting myself feel assaulted, exhausted, unable to comprehend making my missives any shorter. I acknowledged what I was feeling in the present moment.
And then I knew, from watching how Jake moves in an instant from tantrum to smile, that at some near future present moment I wouldn't feel so bad.
Appreciate the Present and Happiness Will Come
Here's the thing about the present moment: We hardly ever appreciate it.
Not much to appreciate in those moments when your child is screaming unreasonably at your unreasonableness? Oh, but there is if you remind yourself that a split second earlier that same child was smiling at you with oceans of love. And if you realize that in a few more seconds he will turn on a dime and throw you another one of those looks that zaps you into a paralysis of adoration.
The art of distraction that we all learn so very quickly as parents is nothing more than a way of bringing our children into the present moment. Left to feed themselves, tantrums continue well after the perceived injustice, just as an adult exceptionally talented at brooding can spin one minor mishap into days of darkness. Remind your child that, hey, the sippy cup is no longer an issue because we can read your favorite dog book in bed, and life is happy again.
What we adults need to work on is the happy again part. Because most of us aren't great at distracting ourselves, at least when the credit cards are already too dangerously overloaded to let us buy something expensive and totally useless.
Rather than finding a distraction for myself last night, I just rode it out. I had learned from Jake's tantrum that I would, at some point, feel better. All I had to do was let go of the moment when Mike's comment jabbed a big, fat Bic pen into the helium balloon of my website-induced happiness.
It's not unlike holding an uncomfortable asana. Spend your time dwelling on how much you hate it and wondering when it's going to be over, and I guarantee you it won't be over soon enough. But lean back, observe your discomfort, and know that you will flow into a different pose at any moment, and where you are in the present doesn't seem quite so terrible.
Practicing yoga as I reacted to Mike's comment last night, I observed how frustrated I was feeling. I acknowledged the frustration, resisted the urge to overanalyze it -- what did my mother do to me to cause me such a problem with criticism? what other pivotal person in my life has hurtfully accused me of being long-winded? -- and moved on. I didn't feed it. I didn't let it distract me from the present moment. I just waited for the present moment to bring me something that would make me smile.
So this morning when Jake grabbed at me with screams of protest because I committed the unforgivable act of trying to get him to sit down on his diaper table so I could put his shirt on, I released him to the freedom of the floor, drew a deep breath, and joined him in toddlerhood.
Sure enough, within seconds, we were both running across the room laughing.
Adho Mukha Vrksasana (Handstand)
Nothing imitates the split-second change in mood of a toddler better than adho mukha vrksasana, or handstand. I love that the sanskrit name translates to downward facing tree. We learn to balance on one foot in tree pose, to shift with the changes around us. And handstand tells that even when we get turned completely upside down, we can find it in us to exhibit the same balance and flexibility as we do when right side up.
I'll be the first to admit that handstand still scares me. Your head isn't that far from the floor, you're not that likely to hurt yourself badly when you fall, but . . . your head's so close to the floor.
(The more uncertain you feel attempting this pose, the greater your chance of injury. I recommend trying it for the first time under the guidance of a trained yoga instructor. If, for any reason, you feel uncertain, try the handstand prep following the instructions for handstand.)
I performed my first unassisted handstand five years ago on the day I decided to quit my job as a law professor, sell my house in St. Louis, and move to Los Angeles to be a writer. Talk about turning your life upside down. But once I recognized I was facing just so immediate and impactful a change, I found the courage to turn myself upside down physically as well.
Adho Mukha Vrksasana Instructions
1) Kneel on your hands and knees on the floor. If you are not strong in your handstand balance, place your hands about six inches from the wall.
2) Take your time setting up, in both body and mind. First, set up your body: Make sure your hands are shoulder distance apart with your fingers spread and first fingers pointing toward the wall. Press strongly into the space between your first finger and thumb. Bend your elbows slightly and perform a shoulder loop: toward the front, up to your ears, and down your back. Feel the strength of your shoulder blades as they move strongly down your back.
3) Lift your hips and move into adho mukha svanasana (downward facing dog) without losing the strength in your strong shoulders and back. Keep your knees bent and your attention on your arms and back. Gaze at the point where the floor and wall meet.
4) Walk your feet in closer to your hands without losing your strong shoulders and back.
5) Prepare your mind: All you are doing is moving from the familiar adho muka svanasana (downward facing dog) to the similar adho mukha vrksasana (handstand).
6) Lift your dominant leg (the one you kick with) off the ground, bend your knee, and think of that leg going all the way to the wall. Slightly bend the leg on the floor and prepare to push the floor away with your foot.
7) Press into your hands, kick confidently with your dominant leg, and keep your eyes on the point where the floor and wall meet as you swing your dominant leg to the wall and your other leg follows. Do not bend your elbows; instead, strongly maintain your arm strength. Believe in it.
8) Be ready to let yourself go. This is a pose you set in motion. That motion is what carries you upside down. Trust that you will be upside down and you will be fine.
9) When you are upside down, appreciate the present moment. Don't think about releasing down until you are ready.
10) Instead, let the rest of your body help lift you. Engage your abdominals, tuck your tailbone, and let your inner thighs move toward the wall as you press your legs strongly together.
11) When you are ready, release one leg at a time with as much control as you can. Rest in either uttanasana (standing forward fold) or balasana (child's pose) before standing right side up again.
Not Ready for Handstand Prep
If you can't bring yourself to kick up with any enthusiasm, or if you are kicking enthusiastically but just don't have the strength yet for full handstand, try this variation.
1) Stand facing a wall from a few feet away. Lift one leg straight out in front of you. Adjust your position so the sole of the foot on that leg rests against the wall. You are measuring your distance from the wall as one of your legs.
2) Noting where your standing foot is, lower your leg, turn around, and place your hands where your feet were.
3) Set up your arms as in step 2 above: Make sure your hands are shoulder distance apart with your fingers spread and first fingers pointing toward the wall. Press strongly into the space between your first finger and thumb. Bend your elbows slightly and perform a shoulder loop: toward the front, up to your ears, and down your back. Feel the strength of your shoulder blades as they move strongly down your back.
4) Lift your hips into adho muka svavasana (downward facing dog) without losing the strength of your arms and back. This will be a rather short dog. Your heels will rest against the wall.
5) Pressing your hands into the floor and keeping your shoulder blades moving strongly down your back, start to walk your feet up the wall. You want them to rest at the point where your body is in a right angle -- legs parallel to the floor, arms and torso perpendicular to the floor.
6) Remain here, pressing your hands strongly into the floor. Use your abdominals and your legs -- rotating inner thighs toward the ceiling -- to help support you.
7) Be upside down. Be in the present moment. Don't think about coming down until you are ready to do so -- in at least 5-10 deep, long breaths.
Carry into your day the knowledge that you have the strength to turn upside down. And that in no time you will find yourself right side up again.
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