Beersbee

I've never been a fan of outdoor games. Watching or playing. I'm sure it's a direct result of growing up watching my Dad and his brothers play games. Horseshoes? Whose bright idea was that? My Dad and Uncles were carpenters. Decades of swinging hammers, hauling wood, lifting houses up over their heads...I might be exaggerating...these men developed behemoth sized biceps of epic proportion! And I'm supposed to stand idly by while they throw pieces of iron? That's messed up! It didn't matter where I stood because invariably one of those horseshoes would flip out of the pit and start hurtling toward me like a missile. A Jennifer seeking missile. Volleyball? I watched my sister, a jock who thought outdoor games were fun, get squashed like a pancake between two of my Uncles. I swear her nose has never been the same. Croquet? Jarts!?? No thanks. Not for me. 

That's how I felt until my friends brought out the Beersbee game. You throw a frisbee at a pole with a bottle on top of it. If you knock the opposing teams bottle off, you get a point. If you catch the frisbee when they throw it at your pole they don't get a point. Simple enough. I can catch a frisbee. Why not? Because outdoor games lead to trips to the ER, that's why not! 

I've never been competitive or sporty but I was an animal out there. I dove for the Frisbee. Dove and rolled and caught it! If you knew me you'd know how out of character that is for me. In high school I actually failed gym. With a big fat F. But suddenly in my mid forties, in my friend's yard, my competitive gene kicked in and I had to catch that Frisbee! At all costs! I'm not sure exactly when I injured my finger but by the end of the tournament I couldn't close my hand. My team came in second and I did indeed end up in the ER. Torn ligament...sigh. 

A Clown Themed Haunted House...SERIOUSLY?!

AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I recently read that there's a shortage of clowns and if the trend continues we may be approaching a time where there are no more clowns. This brought up a lot of questions for me. Are we really upset about this? Are we saying this is a bad thing?? I for one am a huge supporter of the no more clowns movement. I mean come on! Who came up with the idea of clowns in the first place? Let's take a guy, paint his face deathly white, draw a ridiculously huge red grin on his face and have him follow children around all the while not saying a word?? Seriously?! I say yes, let's bravely go forth to that happy place in time where there are no more clowns because CLOWNS ARE SCARY!!

My fear of clowns began when I was around seven and snuck out of bed to watch TV. It was some horrible movie starring, you guessed it, an evil clown. (This may possibly have been the moment my lifelong insomnia was born as well.) The movie caused the prompt and permanent ejection from my room of the clown doll my Mother had lovingly made me. Ironically his name was Happy. He seemed a friendly enough doll but after my late night escapade he was no longer trusted or welcome in my room.

I've never taken my kids to the circus because come on...it's infested with clowns! I've never seen the movie or read "It" and I never will. Stephen King is frightening enough without adding a clown to the mix. So you can imagine my horror when I realized the haunted house my kids were dragging me through had a theme. In case you haven't figured it out, it was a clown themed haunted house.

SERIOUSLY????!!!!!!!!

I put a brave face on even though this haunted house was full of evil, awful, super scary clowns. Clowns at every turn. Clowns in my face, leering, laughing. The kids and their friends thought it was the funniest thing ever. (Jerks). The best part was when a particularly scary clown jumped out at me. I lurched backwards and bumped into one of my group. I grabbed the hand of my group member and clutched it to my chest. Trembling I proceeded through this house of horrors. A few steps in and I hear a voice say to me, "You holding my hand little girl?" I turn to the person whose hand I'm holding expecting to see a friendly face but what I see instead is a clown! I'd been holding hands and strolling through a clown house with a clown! Oh the horror!! I don't think I can duplicate the sound that came out of me in that moment but it was impressive. Still I didn't let go of him right away, I was either in too much shock or was unwilling to release the human contact. When I did let him go I got out of there in a hurry and vowed to never, EVER go through a haunted house again.

Of course my children still think it was hysterical.

Brats.

Ahimsa

When people hear the word yoga they think about the amazing, twisty poses seen on the cover of Yoga Journal magazine or posted all over the internet. Who doesn't wish they could get in to mermaid pose or do an incredible arm balance without landing on their face? I know I do. Landing on your face hurts and I have the mat burn on my chin to prove it! But there's so much more to yoga than the poses. I learned how much more while going through the teacher training process. 

Yoga is comprised of eight limbs. The postures are only one piece. You can be an awesome, dedicated yogi without ever stepping foot on a yoga mat. The first limb we learned about were the Yamas. Yamas are ethical standards, our moral code. One of the many books I had to read for teacher training was The Secret of the Yamas (not to be confused with The Divine Secrets of the Ya-ya Sisterhood). I'm oversimplifying but here they are:

Ahimsa - non violence, don't hurt anyone 

Satya - be truthful 

Asteya - don't steal 

Brahmacharya - don't overindulge

Aparigraha - don't covet

Pretty simple. These are rules we all know. Do unto others and all that jazz. We've heard this our whole lives. But what I'd never thought about before was to apply this to myself. As in, don't be mean to myself. Don't lie to myself and don't take things from myself...

Think about that for a moment. What if instead of looking at ourselves in the mirror and thinking all the horrible things we say to ourselves every day we look in the mirror and practice Ahimsa, or non-violence. We look in the mirror and say. "You know what, I'm pretty darn fabulous!" What if when someone gave us a compliment we fully accepted it? A co-worker recently told me he loves to hug me because I'm so full of positive energy he feels like it pours out of me and into him and helps him get through his day. Woah. That may have been the best compliment I've ever gotten! It made me misty. But I immediately started trying to take this compliment away from myself. "Man, he's nuts. I'm not awesome..."  Instead of stealing that wonderful compliment away from myself and beating myself up with self deprecation I decided to apply the Yamas to myself. I gratefully accepted his words and I will hold on to them.  

Yes we should practice the Yamas outwardly to others but I think it's more important to take them inward to ourselves. If we're good to ourselves it will change how we are towards others. 

Shanti.

Donating Your Brain to Science

Okay so I've had some pretty bizarre conversations in my lifetime. I'm a Mother so I've had more conversations about poop than I'd care to think about. I'm a Physical Therapist who works with the elderly so I've had more conversations about poop than I'd care to think about...old people and children love talking about their poop. (No idea why.) I've had conversations about death with people who are near the end. I've talked couples through positions for sex after hip replacement or after amputation. My point being, I'm comfortable talking to people about uncomfortable things.

Which is why I ended up being the one to ask my Mother if she'd be willing to donate her brain to science after she dies. It wasn't as terrible as you might think. Mostly odd. Kind of surreal. During her last appointment with the neurologist she, the doctor, asked me and my sister to step out of the room with her for a moment. "We're nearing the end here. Could be two weeks, could be three years." That's how the conversation began. To sum it up. My Mom has Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, there's nothing they can do to treat it. Would we be willing to donate her brain posthumously so they could study it and perhaps find a treatment.

Um...

Hmm.

"I think maybe we should talk to her about it first."

"Okay. Well I'll call you in a few days and we can work out how I'll procure it,"

Procure. My Mother's brain. Sure...no prob. My sister and I kind of looked at each other with that 'Alright, we'll rock, paper, scissors for who talks to her about this' kind of look. The last time my sister tried talking to Mom about end of life business my sister started crying, Mom started crying...it was a big mess. But I have these talks with patients all the time. Without crying. No need to do rock, paper, scissors. I won by default.

Sigh.

So after the two hour drive back to the nursing home I sat down to have this very bizarre conversation with my Mom. The person who gave me life. Surprisingly it's not the strangest conversation I've had with her. (You'd have to know us better to understand.)

"So, Mom. The Doctor wants to know if we'd be willing to donate your brain to science so she can study it and hopefully learn something that will help someone else."

She paused and gave me a blank stare. She knows the prognosis of the disease. After careful thought she said,

"Okay they can have it. But I'd like them to wait for me to be dead before they take it..."

Now that's the Mom I know and love. Laughing in the face of something that really isn't funny. I assured her I'd make sure she was completely dead before they got anywhere near her with a scalpel or saw.

For the Love of Smoothies

I've never been much of a breakfast eater. I know it's the most important meal of the day. My body has been fasting all night, I need all those nutrients and energy to get through my day, it revs up my metabolism...I know. I've heard it all before. But the smell of food in the morning makes me sick. So what's a girl to do? Blend up a smoothie that's what. I can make a smoothie, take it to work with me and sip it during our daily morning meeting. Sometimes this causes looks of horror, "Oh my, what the heck are you drinking?!", other times I get the Oliver Twist eyes, "Please, may I have some smoothie?". This morning I got the latter. Although I missed the pleading eyes and my poor co-worker didn't get any. So, to avoid the looks of horror or the guilt of not sharing I am posting the recipe for this morning's smoothie. I don't measure, I just dump stuff into the blender and mix until it's the consistency I like. You can add more fruit or liquid to your tastes. 

Jen's Berry Awesome Smoothie 

frozen berries - I used a mixture of cherries, blueberries and strawberries

kefir - I use plain but use any flavor or use yogurt

almond milk  

1 scoop protein powder

Toss in a blender, add liquid until berries are a little more than half covered, blend. Adjust to your preference. I sometimes add raw oats or ground flaxseed depending on how I feel that morning. 

I hope you enjoy! 

Happy Songs - Free At Dawn, Small Black

This music is so uplifting. It makes my heart swell, full of hope, full of the feeling that I can do anything. Who doesn't  need a good dose of that?

What Genius Invented the Sports Bra?

For Mother's Day my kids, who are incredibly awesome kids, gifted me with some adorable yoga clothes. It was a thoughtful gift because I'm in the process of finishing my yoga teacher training and currently teach yoga two nights a week.  All that was missing from my ensemble was a sports bra. No problem. Shopping for a sports bra should be a piece of cake, right?

Ha!

Sports bra shopping is NOT for the feint of heart. There are only three options when it comes to sports bras.

1. Uni-boob - I don't care who you are, it doesn't look good. No one can pull off uni-boob.

2. Flat on a hot tin roof - I understand that a sports bra needs to be supportive but come on...having your chest squeezed into a reverse mammogram is not okay.

3. You must be a contortionist yogi of epic proportion to get out of this bra.

I accidentally went with option 3. I chose the bra I took home because it was my actual bra size and looked like it would be supportive without being compressive. Support is important. I don't want those things wandering around during down dog, who knows where they'd end up!? What I failed to notice was that while this bra looked like a regular bra it had no hook and eye closure...I had to pull it on and off over my head. Hmm. How hard could it be?

Again I say, HA!!

Getting it on wasn't so bad once I shoved the "ladies" into the cups but getting it off...sigh. There was a moment of horror where I'd gotten the thing over the boobs but it was stuck under my armpits. I struggled for a while before realizing with horror that I was stuck.  I was about to ask my twelve year-old for help until I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Oh how I wish I could erase that image from my brain!  After much twisting, bending and grunting I managed to get the darn thing off without scarring my daughter for life.

I'm happy to report that now I can take it on and off relatively unscathed. I just needed practice and perseverance. And hey, now I can reach my hands over head and down my back making mermaid pose more accessible. Silver lining, right?