I'm a tunnel and a bridge

Close friends of ours threw us a barbeque while we were in San Francisco. The directions to get there, to Stinson Beach, said at the end "over a hill and down to the beach". "Over a hill" actually meant 45 minutes of ascending haripin turns. The first 35 minutes I was fine. Fine with my eyes shut and chanting to myself while my husband said "This is SO AWESOME" over and over again about views I could not see through my very very shut eyes. The last ten minutes I lost it. I also figured we must be lost and would just be making hairpin turns up into the sky until our rental car ran out of gas, at which point we would have to make some decisions akin to the cast of Alive.

Once there, I had a good time at the barbeque, but I felt like a wuss. We eventually left the park area and went for a walk on the beach with some friends and our son. New York has some nice beaches, but they are nothing like the West Coast in terms of sheer breadth. My son's comment was "Wow, Mommy. Big big water." I wandered over to the shore line and had my daily universe conversation. I said please let me find some balance. Please let me find some serenity and balance. I'd been frazzled and tired since we'd gotten there a couple of days before and felt like I hadn't had enough sleep or a minute to myself. I attempted a tree pose (standing on one leg, raised foot resting against knee of standing leg) and promptly fell over. Then again. Then again. A friend later pointed out to me -- OK, so you couldn't balance on sand.

I got pretty frustrated and went into a small tailspin in my head, I can't be peaceful, I can't enjoy the moment, I suck at yoga, blah blah blah. So I did what I thought was giving up and did a downward facing dog (hands and feet on the ground, tush in the air) thinking at least I won't fall over from all fours.

I stayed there for a minute and then heard my son calling my name. Before I could get up he had clambered underneath me and looked up and said excitedly "It's Mommy! Mommy is a tunnel! Mommy is a bridge!"

I made a promise then and there to accept this wonderful phase of my life. One where we're running around and doing too much and having lots of exhausting adventures. One of joyful chaos. One where I am a tunnel and a bridge (believe me, I'm going to think about that one some more) and this wonderful little person is here with us, because he will be a big person before long. If you catch me complaining, remind me that I asked for peace and serenity and quiet and stasis and the universe very clearly said "No way, chica. It's time for something else."