Take Your Daughter to Work Day

I didn't intend to take my daughter to work this year (daughtersandsonstowork.org).  But when I brought G (age 9) to the community center where I teach yoga to try a kids cooking class, the chef was nowhere to be found.  "Bring her to your class," the security guard said.  "I'll come pick her up when her teacher comes in." 

My yoga students - all women who have heard a lot about G over the years - welcomed her and she settled in by the door.   "Stretch your arms up overhead, inhale, bring them back down, exhale," I said, and G did it.  Hey, G's doing pranayama!  "G," I said.  "Do you want to join us?"  She nodded, scampered up between two women and began to warm up with us, all solemn and quiet until during the cow-cat stretches I hear: "Mom."

Mom:  Yes G?
G: When we used to do this with Miss Vitalah, she let us make noises.
Mom:  Would you like to make noises?
G: Oh yes!  Moooooo!  Meeeeoooow!

And then, my class starts mooing and meowing, giggling and barking, silly, delicious fun.  Until I hear: "Mom.  Mom, I need the bathroom."

I ask a student to lead the class in sun salutations while I take G to the bathroom.  And look for the cooking teacher.  Turns out, the cooking class is cancelled.  I look at the clock.  An hour an fifteen minutes left.  Of adult yoga, and my child with ADHD.  Deep breaths.  Think, woman, think!

Mom: "G, I've decided to teach the students how to do massage today - how would you like to be my model?"
G: "Oh, yes!  I love massage.  I'm very good at it, too. Can I demonstrate on you?"

And so, Mom and G shared Thai Yoga Bodywork techniques with the students who all gamely worked with each other and with G until I hear: "Mom."

Mom: Yes, G?
G:  I'd like to compliment the class.
Mom: Oh, what would you like to say?
G:  I'd like to compliment them for listening to my mom.

And so, I got to take my daughter to work, and G got to see for the first time...a setting where people listen to her mom.  Priceless!

Slip Sliding Away

There she was, as still as an ice sculpture, in the middle of the rink.  "What is she doing?" I wondered, for the first 10 minutes.  Then as the end of her lesson approached and she still hadn't moved a muscle, I started to fume. 

This was lesson 6.  I might have expected this at Lesson 1, or 2, or even 3.  G (age 9) can get anxious in new situations.  But she had gone willingly for 5 weeks, making slow but steady progress on her skates.  So what the heck is she doing out there now?  Nothing!  What is the problem?  Why isn't she listening to her teacher?  Does she think this is funny?  The skating season is almost over!  The goal was to learn how to skate!  How much money have we spent on this?!  ARGH!

The lesson ended, and I skated up to my daughter, all set to demand an explanation.  She turns around with a huge smile:  "Mom," she beamed, "I didn't fall once!"

She didn't fall once.  That's what she was doing.  Trying not to fall.

After weeks of giving it a go, slip sliding away, falling and pulling herself back up, she needed to find safety again.

I took a deep breath, exclaimed "That's great, honey!" I gave her a big hug, as big as I could without toppling us both over on the ice.  "I'm so proud of you!"

And I am so proud of you, G.  For taking risks, for finding your own feet.  For going back on Lesson 7 and pushing off those skates and gliding.  For reminding me that learning isn't a straight path, and situations aren't always what they seem.  For finishing the season with one perfect lap around the rink, on your own.  "I did it!" G said.  "I achieved my goal!"  And you did it your way.