Art-Pilates-Hockey-Etiquette Class

I can't possibly catch up on all of the happenings over the last few days without sounding like a terribly boring, obligatory Christmas newsletter, but there are some highlights that I must share.

Fabulous idea I should have explored sooner: Baby yoga. Amy has moved up to the next level in her art class--her gluing pom-poms on construction paper is truly a sign of giftedness--but it's a solo gig. Meaning I'm not supposed to stay in there with her for 45 minutes. So they suggest for $300 more, I could take Baby Yoga at the same time in the room next door.

I did not know if I wanted to become the type of mother who looks for her baby's center while in the Lotus position, but hell, I'm up for anything at this stage of the game.

So Friday was our first class, and let me tell you, there is little baby in baby yoga. Basically, she crawls around the mats screaming in delight that no sibling is taking a toy from her, and I get twisted into a pretzel so my abs can scream "Namaste! Namaste!" I loved it. Zen is balancing on two Cheerios before Jessie can stuff them into her mouth.

The in-laws are here so I get the treat of watching Stevie's hockey sans little ones. I will tell you that this is a different experience than one might expect. I was not at the snack bar every 2 minutes buying ring pops and then extracting said candy from Jessie's hair. No, in the balmy 2 degrees of the rink, I actually got to watch his game, and all of the bad behavior by the parents in the stands. Unbelievable.

I didn't believe Sean when he told me the day before that there was a Mom fight complete with shoving and repeated use of a particularly bad word for the female anatomy.

Yes, that word. The one that even without combining its four singularly innocuous letters in that alarming, most offensive combination in writing, makes you all wince in collective shame and makes you want to take a shower and then wash that mother's mouth out with the soap.

Ladies, (and I use that term with all of the sad irony I can muster) please. If you find yourself throwing that word around in public at a 12 year old's hockey game, you need some professional help.

Might I suggest the Baby Yoga class at 12:45 on Fridays?