At Jake's school this morning one of his teachers showed me the developmental evaluation they had filled out for him. It was a standardized list of questions -- a la "Can the child pick up a Cheerio between his thumb and forefinger?" -- in such categories as Communication, Gross Motor Skills, Fine Motor Skills, and I don't know what else because I'm still stuck on the Communication part.
I'm trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like the crazy, pushy, competitive mom I became this morning. But, frankly, they WAY underscored him on Communication.
This is, the rational part of my brain acknowledges, not important. His score still landed him safely in the zone where he doesn't need to be evaluated for some sort of developmental issue. And it's not like he gets anything special for scoring way above that cut-off.
But I drove home listing all the words he knows, beyond irked that next to the question "Does the child use at least four words in addition to mama/dada?" was a big, fat "NO." NO?! What about "dog" and "book" and "ball" and "car" and "big car" and "juice" and "all done" and "bye bye" and-- I'm going to stop here because I am about to become once again just what I became by the time I got home:
The Pushy Over-Achievement Mother. Have we all been there? Please tell me we have.
The Line Between Thinking He's the Greatest and Knowing It
Here's the really crazy thing I did. I called his school.
Never mind that I had been there just five minutes before making subtle comments like, "Oh, I see it's dated April 4, so this isn't where he is now, right?" and, "I've noticed he's kind of shy at school because he talks a lot more at home." His teacher gave me a patient nod that as much as said, "We've got another pushy one."
I told myself that it's not that I wanted everyone to know how brilliant my child is, even though I think it should be immediately apparent. But, yeah, I did want some reassurance, given that this was the 14-month questionnaire on which he was barely scoring in the safety zone on communication; he's nearly 17 months now, so does that mean he'd fail the 16-month evaluation?
His teacher said things meant to offer the necessary reassurance. Things like, "Boys are slower to talk than girls." But not MY boy! What about "baa baa" and "bus" and that time I swear he said, "That's the big dog"?
She told me they began filling out the evaluation on April 4 and only just finished it now, six weeks later. Could it be that Jake used only a few words six weeks ago, that he has only recently stumbled into the treasure trove that is language? Entirely. But.
I am still powerless in the face of the panic that overtook me as I paced the living room muttering that my child should have scored a perfect 60, not a middling 40. WHO CARES? Not you, not anyone.
I do not wish to be one of those mothers who shows up to her child's school on a weekly basis demanding that he be placed in the highest reading group, be given special assignments that tap into his brilliance, be assured a spot in the gifted program. I hate to think I would place that pressure on Jake, and I know it would be far healthier for me to cede such control to the professionals.
But as soon as I found my way into this calm moment I conjured up distressing images of Jake at school. Does he shrink back against a wall while his friends shout the words in books? Does he stare mutely when the teachers ask him what the thing in the middle of his face is? ("Nose!" he says as he hits mine. "Mouse!") Have they pegged him as the sort of dull but athletic sort? Is that why he scored perfectly on Gross Motor Skills? Given his parentage, I did not agree with his teacher that this was to be expected.
And so, yes, I called the school back. I considered calling the head of school, to whom this crucial document was about to be sent, but I was able to exercise at least that modicum of restraint. Surely I could manage not to be the mother storming into the principal's office insisting that her child's genius be acknowledged.
"I just want to be sure it doesn't matter what the questionnaire says as long as he doesn't need evaluation," I said with probably only a tiny portion of the apology in my voice that ought to have been there. I was up to apologizing for anything that might sound like an accusation, and for wasting their time, but I couldn't quite see my way clear to apologizing for my own pushiness.
The teacher who answered the phone was awfully sweet about assuring me that Jake is doing just fine and all the questionnaire does is ensure he doesn't have any problems.
"I understand that," I said, my voice rising despite my best efforts at keeping it under control. "But what if it's wrong?"
"He's just fine," she repeated soothingly.
"No, no," I cried, sounding a lot like Jake when the dogs eat something he has dropped on the ground. I was mighty close to the attendant temper tantrum as well. "He should have scored better."
There. I'd said it. My son is supposed to score better. I am humiliated yet possessed. Because, while I find it a source of great relief that this questionnaire will be filed away somewhere never to be glanced at again, I am still slightly depressed that Jake does not shine so brightly that all of his teachers recognize what a talent he is.
And I sense this difficulty I'm having letting go of the notion will remain with me for quite some time.
The Beauty in You
When I first started teaching yoga I went from a day spent lecturing law students in heels and tailored pants to evenings demonstrating yoga poses in bare feet and stretchy yoga clothes. It's amazing how much more at home I felt in yoga mode and how much less self-conscious about how I looked. My make-up lost somewhere under the fluorescent lights of my office, my flattened hair bunched into a stringy ponytail, my stomach pouching softly over the top of my yoga pants, I felt beautiful.
I felt beautiful because in constantly reminding my students that they were beautiful -- in believing it as I gazed upon their poses -- I was reminding myself of my own beauty as well.
There are few things as lovely as gazing upon someone deeply in an asana, bending in ways you can barely believe a body bends. Just glance at the Yoga Journal sitting by the check-out at Whole Foods if ever you shop there or someplace similar. It's enough to make you empty out your cart and start all over with nothing but fresh vegetables and nourishing grains.
But I can also assure you with all honesty that the students I saw in less intense variations of the poses often looked absolutely beautiful as well. The ones who believed in their own beauty and therefore owned the pose as it worked for them had a grace and a fluidity that I admired. Only when someone failed to acknowledge the beauty in her own pose and struggled to force her body further, into something it wasn't, did she start to look awkward, uncomfortable, unnatural.
I'm hardly saying anything astounding by suggesting that the same goes for our lives. We all know the better we feel about ourselves the easier, more comfortable everything seems to be around us. I still think, from time to time, about a woman I knew passingly in college. She wasn't the prettiest girl or the most vivacious and she didn't even seem to try that hard to be attractive. But I knew an awful lot of men with powerful crushes on her. What is it? I would ask from the crushingly insecure perch of a slightly bookish 18-year-old. "Self-confidence," I heard, over and over.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. We've all heard about self-confidence, and maybe sometimes we even grasp it, but it's not exactly something you can force on yourself. In fact, the more I used to admonish myself to have a little self-confidence the more I was confronted with my astonishing lack of it. Which, of course, only made me feel worse.
But as I walked through the rows of students in my first yoga classes as a teacher, I understood. I saw the beauty in my students and found it in myself. I learned from them how to practice honestly, to appreciate everything my body could do rather than all the things it couldn't. I felt the beauty of the poses, and that beauty entered me.
It's the same, I know, with my child. Everything about him is excruciatingly beautiful to me, from his milky clear skin to his Fred Flintstone feet to the guttural sound he makes when he says, "bookh." It's not up to me to force that perspective on others. Much as I might want to explain to strangers witnessing one of his tantrums that his scrunched up little face is simply exquisite if you can ignore the keening wails long enough to gaze upon it without annoyance, they probably don't care and wouldn't agree. And, really, is it about Jake or about me?
Actually, it's about us both. Beauty comes from within. It comes from Jake being who he is in that unself-conscious way that sadly disappears as toddlers grow into peer-pressured children. And, just as my beauty comes from letting go of how others see me and instead embracing what arises when I let myself be me, where my son is concerned beauty come from my letting him be exactly who he is.
Ustrasana (Camel Pose) -- Shining Your Beauty Out and Finding It Within
I immediately thought of heart openers here because beauty most readily surfaces when you open your heart. It's as if letting others in allows your true beauty to shine, rather than the prepared version of prettiness we try to manipulate with make-up and hair cuts and the outfits we choose. (Not that I am prepared to give up any of these things because in the 23 years since I admired that woman in college I am still not quite there.)
Even if you are familiar with ustrasana, try approaching it from the inside out. Think about letting your heart shine without worrying about what it, you, or the pose looks like. Let it carry you into a belief in your own beauty.
Ustrasana Instructions
1) Kneel on your mat with your knees hip distance apart. If this is uncomfortable, try folding your mat over to provide more cushioning. The lighter you let yourself feel in this pose, the less weight you will feel on your knees and ankles.
2) Place your hands on your hips and use them to help release your lower back by subtly tucking your tail bone, drawing your navel in toward your spine and up toward your heart, and physically tipping your pelvis so it slides up a tiny bit in the front and down a tiny bit in the back.
3) Move your hands to your lower back, fingers facing up if you can or down if this is more comfortable. Draw your elbows together and feel your shoulder blades sliding down your back and closer to each other as your heart/sternum lifts. Be aware of the bottoms of the shoulder blades; this is where the back bend happens.
4) Check in one more time to be sure your navel is strongly pulling in and up to protect your spine.
5) Tuck your chin slightly as you take a long inhale, letting it lengthen your spine.
6) As you exhale, let your heart shine. Slowly and consciously let it start to lift up toward the ceiling as the lower edges of your shoulder blades press into the back of your heart and you start to bend back. Think about lengthening your spine to give your heart space to shine. Remember, the bend comes behind your heart, not in your lower back.
7) You may release your head all the way back if you can keep your neck long as you do so. If you feel any discomfort at all in your neck, tuck your chin. This will both protect your cervical spine and strengthen the muscles supporting it.
8) Remain here, breathing slowly through your nose and concentrating on opening your heart and letting your beauty shine out.
9) When you are ready to come out of the pose, let your heart draw you upright and sit on your heels. Rest for a few breaths.
10) You may repeat the above one or two more times, go directly to step 20, or move on to Stage Two Ustrasana:
11) Kneel again and tuck your toes so your feet are perpendicular to the floor and your heels are raised toward the ceiling. Check in with your alignment as in steps 1-5.
12) This time, as you exhale and lean back, reach one hand at a time for a heel (right hand to right heel; left hand to left heel). Draw your shoulder blades together and feel how that action lets your heart shine even more strongly.
13) Remain here, breathing and concentrating on letting the beauty of your heart shine. Once again be aware of your lower back and your neck. If your lower back hurts, come out of the pose and go directly to step 20. If your neck hurts, tuck your chin or come out of the pose and go directly to step 20.
14) To come out of the pose, bring your hands back to your lower back for support and let your heart draw you upright. Sit on your heels and rest for a few breaths.
15) You may repeat one more time, go to step 20, or try Stage Three Ustrasana. Remember, it is about finding the beauty of your pose, not forcing yourself into somebody else's.
16) Set up as in steps 1-5 above. This time, place the tops of your feet flat on the floor. If this is uncomfortable, you may place a rolled-up blanket under your ankles.
17) As you exhale back, reach one hand at a time for your heels. Note that they are several inches further away this time than when you had your toes tucked under.
18) Draw your shoulder blades together, lengthen your spine, and let the beauty of your heart shine.
19) When you are ready to come out of the pose, place your hands on your lower back for support and let your heart lift you upright.
20) Sit on your heels, widen your knees, and fold forward into balasana (child's pose) with your forehead on the floor. Draw your navel in to fully release your lower back.
21) Now turn inside and locate your beauty. Believe in it. Stay here for as long as you'd like.
Be sure to really appreciate your inner beauty so you don't lose sight of it when you come out of the pose and into your day. If ever it falters, let your heart lift and sing just a bit -- your shoulders will release, your spine will lengthen, your navel will draw in, and you will, I promise, feel a little bit more beautiful.
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