Be Thankful for Your Teachers

This Thanksgiving, it seemed that even my most cynical fellow bloggers were writing posts about being thankful for stuff. The pressure was on to be appropriately grateful in a bitter kind of way or appropriately bitter in a grateful kind of way. Or just to find something semi-intelligent to say. (As you can see, that took over a week.)

I guess the number one thing I'm grateful for is that this Thanksgiving sucked considerably less than any Thanksgiving I can remember since the time my grandfather helped me to make a big crayon drawing of cornbread to decorate our door (I was around 7.) My guess is the reason it sucked less is yoga, or the cumulative effects of yoga on my (otherwise charming, calm and composed!) persona.

I also got a fair bit of insightful teaching over the weekend, and, over the courses of a few days, came full circle in my appreciation of teachers on and off the mat, human and otherwise. Here's what I learned!

Wednesday:

I saw Carrie Fisher in "Wishful Drinking." Fisher's take home message was: if you are bipolar, an alcoholic, and made tons of mistakes to hurt yourself and others, you can make the whole mess really really funny as long as you wait a least few minutes before cracking a joke. Or, as she said, the secret is "location, location, location." She also said, "Help me Obi-Wan Kanobi, you're my only hope." I couldn't agree more with either of those points. She reminded how grateful I am for my ability to laugh at myself, and that as this point, Obi-Wan Kanobi probably is my only hope.

Thursday:

My first teacher and beloved mentor Elizabeth Rossa stepped up to the plate and hosted a class on Thanksgiving Day at Shri Yoga. This was so perfect, and so much better than last year's Turkey Day workout, when I spent 8, slow, painful miles trekking around Prospect Park and having anxiety about the impending divorced family reunion thanksgiving. Elizabeth started class by asking us to close our eyes and think of 10 people we were grateful for. I was shocked, and delighted, when I came up with 10 easily. "Wow," I marveled. "I am not nearly as hateful as I thought!" I even felt I'd left some people out and was glad when Elizabeth suggested we think of another 10. But by 15, I was starting to question my choices. "He's ok, but he might not come through in a pinch," or "she's nice, but I question her motives," and "let's be honest: he's a self-absorbed, oblivious jerk."

I was kind of alarmed when Elizabeth asked us to work our way up to 30, and surprised when she closed class by telling us she had been able to think of 40 or 50 people she was grateful for. But she explained that she let herself be grateful even for the people who had disappointed or hurt her, because they gave her the opportunity to learn. Ooh, Snap. Yoga: 1, RB: 0.

Friday:

The teacher I visited on Friday, Katie Malachuk, focused on twists, because twists help digestion, and everyone needs help with that the day after Thanksgiving. But she added that a lot of digestion is psychological and really what we can't digest on Friday is our family. Oddly enough, we feel and think with our stomachs as much as with our hearts. But really, it reminded me of my own intention for my yoga practice: to enable myself to consume, process and absorb my life is an healthier, more functional way. The thing that's interesting about twisting is that while it's a tool for coping with what the world throws at us, it also requires we go very deeply inside ourselves, even to the point of intensity. The plus side is we get to experience everything, without denial, rejection, repression or....constipation.

That sentiment was seconded later when I went to see Next to Normal, yet another play about a bipolar woman. This play suggests that even if you're having severe delusions, fits of mania and suicidal thoughts, it might be more worthwhile to put in the work and twist your way through the pain, rather than numb it. It also suggested that not only can bipolar disorder be funny, it can be put to music. Bipolar disorder: 1, Lion King: O.

Saturday:

My gifted teacher trainer, and regular teacher, Chrissy Carter, echoed the importance of both twists, and finding teachers in even the most unlikely places. Chrissy is always fantastic about urging us not to go around our weaknesses in poses, but rather to work through the tough spots. To that end, learning from tough teachers on and off the mat often involves putting aside our egos. Facing these challenges as teachers is..well...a challenge. But an important one.

Sunday:

Biking through Prospect Park = Yoga. But I really do think that yoga is when you think, "I'm so lucky to have a bike, and I'm so lucky that the park is this beautiful, and I'm so lucky that no one cool is here to see me in my helmet."

Monday:

I went a new teacher at YogaWorks, Keith Yzquierdo. I had been kind of struggling with the whole, "find teachers in the people who are giving you a hard time" thing that Elizabeth and Chrissy had been suggesting. I usually do it on the mat (unless handstand is involved) but in life, I often find it a little challenging to see the silver lining in situations that make me miserable. However, Keith pointed out at the beginning of class that when we're struggling with something in yoga, we use more props to help us. Thus, dealing with something confronting in life does not mean we have to plow right through and grin and bear it. In fact, we can use "props" to help us cope with difficult situations.

Basically, in order to allow challenging things to be our teachers, we have to adequately prepare ourselves for the challenge, and protect ourselves as well. Maybe the purpose of a teacher is to show you that you need props. Or maybe conflict can make us aware of what props we need get through it next time.

And that lesson is valuable for everyone, even people who think yoga is cheezy. Someone rather bitterly said to me the other night, "So, you're just choosing to accept everything as a last resort, because you feel like you failed." (Ouch! But he's in law school, so we'll have to forgive him.) I guess the answer is yes: if I had not been laid off during the worst recession in 75 years, maybe I wouldn't want be as zen about this "everything is a learning lesson" philosophy. But the bottom line is, shit happens, to all of us. Some of we control, and some of it we don't. Whether or not you want to "accept everything" is up to you, but if shit does happen to you, you might as well learn something so you can be more prepared the next time shit happens, because it will.

Unless of course you don't do enough twisting and digesting, in which case shit might never happen. And that would be really unfortunate, I think.

Going Rogue's A Good Idea

I've always been a big fan of Sarah Palin. Actually, that's not true. Back when she was just the Alaskan governor trying to pass stupid and offensive laws about the polar bears, I seriously hated her. When she got the nomination for vice-president, I hated her. When she started bragging about she was helping to break the glass ceiling for women, I hated her.

But then I made fun of her so much that I started to love her. In October of 2008, in a blog post titled: How Sarah Palin Saved My Life, I wrote:

"I really do feel that Sarah Palin has saved my life. You see, the month of September, for many reasons, held the potential to be slightly scary for me. I had started school, made some other changes, was worried about making more changes, was still having a quarter life crisis , was already planning my mid-life crisis, ETC. But then! Sarah. The world's most beautiful hockey mom, and provider-of-endless-fuel (for conversation.) I was laughing! I was venting! I was making friends! I was pretending to be passionate and educated about politics! I was as close to "whole" and "complete" as Alaska is to Russia."

I'd like to think that is for reasons similar to the ones I listed about that Palin's new memoir is so freakin' successful. But you can't be too sure. Today, I tweeted, "thanks to Sarah Palin, Jonah Goldberg gets another book deal. Yay." Suddenly, some crazy Palin feed that reports everything about the Going Rogue journey started following me. And they sent out a tweet saying everyone should follow me because I was a fan. A fan! A fan of what? I wanted to know. And furthermore, are there real fans of Sarah Palin?

Well, I have no idea. But the New York Times says that Palin's book sold 700,000 copies in the first week. Ironically, in the political memoir Hall of Fame, she comes in at number 2 for most sales, wedged between Bill Clinton (1) and Hilary Clinton (3). Since clearly it was liberals buying up the Clintons' memoirs, it seems like liberals are more likely than conservatives to buy political books. Does that mean that it's also liberals who bought Palin's memoir? Or does that mean that the all the conservatives were just saving up their allowance for a rainy day? Or does it mean that Going Rogue was purchased mostly by teenage girls with a crush on Levi Johnston?

Or maybe it was purchased by angry people. The NY Daily news review said that the entire book is devoted to Palin's whining. Apparently, she was really furious when a senior aide told her to stop eating atkins bars because she need carbohydrates in order to make "cognitive connections." Basically, she blames McCain for making her look bad. Personally, I agree. If he'd never nominated her, she never would have looked bad. But either way, she's complaining and blaming. Everyone, regardless of feelings about polar bears, loves complaining and blaming. This could account for the book's popularity.

Or maybe it was purchased by Shakespeare lovers. The LA Times said that Going Rogue was Palin's "a shot at redemption as well as revenge." What's sexier than redemption and revenge (other than Levi Johnston)?

But I bet it was people who love lying. Think about it. Ever since Obama came to office, if you live in a major city and/or don't work for Proctor and Gamble, it's basically illegal to accuse the president of lying. A few days ago I was working with a high schooler on her Watergate term paper and I explained, "This is the moment when everyone in America gets to stop respecting the president." She looked at me blankly. I caught myself, "Um..until now..with uh, the last election, that is."

Yes, it's sad but true, but the days of fury over lying politicians might be over. Even all the dudes having affairs and paying prostitutes are admitting it. There even a TV show about it. Lame! I mean, gimme some scandal and deception-- it's my god-given right as an American! Thankfully, we have Sarah. She's lying like a rug, and she's even doing it print. Check out the Huffington Post's growing list of the Biggest Falsehoods in Going Rogue.

And please buy the book. The publishing industry is accepting all charitable donations, regardless of race, gender, creed or political affiliation.

Venti Soy Handstand with a Shot of Eccentricity

On Friday, I successfully kicked up in to Pinchu Mayurasana (aka feathered peacock, aka forearm balance) for the first time. I was excited beyond words, so of course I knew our Saturday teacher training class, geared towards all inversions, was going to be a disaster for me. I'd have all kinds attachments and expectations, and I wouldn't be able to do handstand, even though my teacher told me last week that I was thisclose.

Sure enough, I couldn't do handstand. I couldn't do pinchu either, and when my teachers kept saying I was thisclose I kept insisting, "I did it yesterday!" which attests to my ego, attachment and inability to live in the present moment. YogaFAIL!

To make matters worse, our teacher ended class with a meditation that involved envisioning all the organs of your body smiling. My liver could not smile, neither could my kidney. In fact, I thought, I don't even know where my kidney is, but I'm sure if I could find it, it would be frowning and irritated about my bad practice, just like I am.

Finally, the meditation ended and I got to stop envisioning my small intestines in a state of peaceful bliss. I returned to the wall and tried kicking up into any pose that would have me. No luck. Teary-eyed and despairing, I raced for the one thing sure to improve my mood anytime: Coffee.

Unfortunately, when I arrived at Starbucks, the man I yelled at for hurting the environment after he threw out my cup last week was at the register. I wasn't sure if he remembered me when he asked how my day was going so far.

"Well, I've been in Yoga Teacher Training for a few hours...so...ok."
"Whoa! Yoga training! That's crazy."
"Yeah," I continued, surrendering to the present moment. "I've been trying to kick up into handstand and I can't, so I'm kind of frustrated."
He laughed. "Handstand? I can do a handstand."
"Great!' I was happy for him. Really, I was.
"I can do a handstand and walk on my hands," he continued.
"Great!"
"In fact, I could probably do one right here in the middle of Starbucks."
"Great!" I forced out for the third time. Was that my spleen I felt smiling, or psychosomatic nausea?
"Yeah!" He handed me my coffee. "I could definitely do it." Before I could put away my change, he had come around the dessert bar and was placing his cellphone on the floor. He looked up me. "Read it and weep!" And then, right there in the middle of Starbucks, he dove into handstand (with a very curved back) and took a few steps on his hands before sliding down the floor.
"Wow!" I said, more shocked and amused than anything. "That's....great!"
He leaped to his feet. "I could probably walk on my hands all the way to the door!"
"Cool!" I told him, backing away. "Well...I'm going to go over there and put milk in my coffee, so if you want to try walking towards me that's fine, but otherwise I'll see you later!"
"I told you I could do it!" He called after me. "In fact, it was easy."
I hurriedly added soymilk and shot out the door. I had to admit that I was pretty entertained, no longer on the verge of tears and a little satisfied by the knowledge that his form was terrible.

Just goes to show you there's no problem that caffeine can't solve.

Smart Reactions to The Age Of Stupid

Since I saw "The Age of Stupid" a week ago, I've been trying to live conscientiously/be plagued by guilt and anxiety about the demise of our planet. As it turns out, I'm really good at being plagued by guilt and anxiety, but saving the environment is more difficult.

For example, last Sunday, I brought my paper Starbucks cup into Manhattan for yoga teacher training so when we took our break, I wouldn't have to get a new one. The man behind the counter glared at me and said, "Do you know our refill policy?

"Yes!" I smiled. "I can only get the discount if I bought the coffee in this store."

He shook his head at me and threw my cup in the garbage as though as I was some of kind of criminal. His rudeness, added to the rawness I felt after seeing that film, fortified with a two hour hip-opener practice lead me to literally shriek, "No! What are you doing?? I brought the cup to help the environment! That was the whole point. GOD." He mumbled an apology but my eyes were already on the woman filling the new cup. "I have a lid!" I yelled. "Do not do not do not give me a new lid!!"

One of my yoga classmates was waiting at the end of the bar for her soy latte and smiled at me with a mix of patience, amusement and concern. "It's ok, RB!" She called. "Just step down here. Just pay and come away. It's ok."

This morning at Starbucks, I showed up with my cup from yesterday and told them I didn't want the discount, I just wanted them to reuse my cup. They told me that according to the Board of Health, reusing the cups was now illegal. Then they gave me the discount. Team America, F* Yeah!

I know--I need to bite the bullet and get a thermos, asap. So, that's step one. Step Two for me (and everyone else) might be to go back and read the comments on my original Age of Stupid post. A very sophisticated conversation emerged there, and some commenters provided helpful links. One "Gary O" wrote, "I just hope someone reads this" after a long reflection on his career as a Mechanical Engineer committed to creating better energy options. So read it!

Other commenters suggested blogs, movies, Web sites, etc such as:

http://www.beyondtalk.net/ (climate pledge of resistance)
http://noimpactman.typepad.com/ (Colin Beavan's the no impact man blog, from EcoYogini.)
http://www.transitionnetwork.org (The Transition Towns Movement)

For further reading on the subject, also visit the Huffington Post to read True Styler's speech to UN: Do We Really Want to be the Generation that Destroyed Ourselves? If there's anything I've learned in the last week, it's that reform is necessary. I heard on NPR yesterday that carbon emissions dropped 9 percent during the recession. But all the scientists say it's not enough, and if the economy recovers, the planet will suffer more. Now is the time to be active and make laws, because Starbucks and I can't do it alone. As Styler said:

The United Nations was created to bring order and responsibility to our world.

It is a magnificent testament to much that is good in humankind. You are the inheritors of that tradition. You are the keepers of that sacred flame. I am asking you -- no, I am begging you -- to live up to your responsibilities. Don't settle for warm words and fine-sounding declarations. Don't accept clever compromises.

As we go forward to Copenhagen, the signs are not good. In the face of the greatest crisis our world has faced for generations, too many powerful people are behaving with shocking irresponsibility. Instead of meeting the challenge of climate change, they are sidelining it in favor of short-term priorities. Instead of building a sustainable global economy, they are ignoring it in favor of short-term growth.

Instead of telling their citizens the truth, they are obscuring it in favor of comforting lies about painless solutions.

The 21st century is already a decade old. The time when leaders could claim not to understand the implications of the evidence before us is long past .

What Chris Brown Teaches Us About Yoga

I'm sure everyone is familiar with the video above, because my mother told me about it before I saw it, and if your mother tells you about something viral before you catch it, you know it must be huge.

This video, aptly titled "Jill and Kevin's Wedding Dance" is magical because it makes even cynical, cold-hearted non-believers like me think marriage might just be a wonderful thing (or at least an excellent excuse for a dance party and an open bar). The problem is that it's Chris Brown who's making everyone realize how beautiful love can be. Prior to this video, Chris Brown was only teaching us how love might cause you to miss the Grammy awards.

Still, personally, I've been dying to download "Forever" since, well, forever. But more than one person told me that if I did, I'd be "giving $1.29 to wife-abuse". I'm terrible at making my bed, lazy about laundry and inept at cooking, so I anticipate that I'm going to need a wife some day. I certainly didn't want a reputation as someone who thought hitting was ok.

However, last week, one of my roommates (who apparently bought the song before Brown hit Rihanna...) emailed me an MP3 of "Forever." After months of craving it, I've been listening to it non-stop for days. But I've been feeling a little guilty about it, so I decided to do the yogic thing and find the yoga in Chris Brown.

Chris's Karma Points

1) He knows about foundation. On Sunday, when we were doing practice teaching in training, I explained parivrtta trikononasana (revolved triangle) by quoting to the line, "All you've got to do is watch me/see what I can do with my feet" from the song. I told my students that while it seems like the pose is all about the fancy things you do twisting your torso and putting your arms in the air, the real meat and merit of the pose was all in the feet. Focus on what you can do with your feet, and it's expressive enough. The rest will just evolve.

(After I was done teaching the pose I asked if it seemed out of place to be quoting Chris Brown in yoga and everyone said no, although one person did say, "RB, I have a feeling that when you start teaching, your classes will be like no one else's." Not quite sure what that meant. Oh well.)

2. He shows what happens when you don't stick to your intention. When my teacher asked us to set an intention for the class today, answering the question, "why are you here?" immediately, my mind (heart?) answered "Love!" Not necessarily romantic love, but just general kindness. Of course, this turned out be a day when everyone annoyed me, people were knocking my props over, and no one would smile at me. My teacher told us that yoga class was a good place to explore how we reacted when our intentions faced a challenge.

I realized that when my intent to practice loving kindness was not met with equal loving kindness, I got really really pissed off. In fact, I very quickly switched to disliking everyone. Hmm..I thought. Sounds like a certain notorious R&B singer I know (not B.I.G). So while I absolutely assert that hitting your girlfriend is unacceptable, we can all learn something about how not to act when your plans or perceptions are disrupted. Most of us aren't reacting with outward physical violence, but you might be surprised to find the tiny acts of violence you inflict on others or yourself when your expectation and intentions are not met. Those reactions compromise your intention--as we see with Chris Brown, his actions destroyed his noble intention, and a perfectly awesome love song.

3) His situation is so screwed up, it demands radical affirmation! First, two other people, Jill and Kevin (of the wedding dance above), picked up Brown's intention and manage to restore the song's popularity. Then, they got some criticism for helping to boost sales for a wife-beater. They responded by employing another tenet of yoga, Radical Affirmation. They took something bad, and made it something good by collecting donations for domestic violence charity on their web site, Jill and Kevin's Wedding. Now, something that seemed like an awkward mistake is helping people.

4) We learn the value of Ahimsa, or non-violence. If you need me to explain this one, this blog is above your reading level. However, I would add sometimes that ahimsa, one of the five Yamas (which are like the 10 commandments for Yogis) is sometimes interpreted as vegetarianism. This means vegetarians are the opposite of wife-beaters. Go Vegs!

5) Asmita, Or Ego, is one of big obstacles to a Yogic life. If you can put aside your ego to make a public apology, or put aside your ego to write a blog post about Chris Brown and yoga, you are obviously on the right track.

6) He's a good reminder that nobody's perfect, but that doesn't mean we can be judgmental. In Sutra 1.33, Punjali gives instructions on how we should treat certain difficult types of people (as opposed to how we normally do.) For example, we might feel an aversion towards wicked people. But we shouldn't, instead, we should be "accepting" and "neutral." In other words, it's ok to buy the song and listen to it a thousand times, even though "it might make us think we are approving of their bad behavior." We're not! We're just creating equanimity! What a relief. It's like I waited my whole life....

The Age of Stupid

On Friday, I almost bought teal converse sneakers, just for the fun of it. I know people who have lots of converse sneakers in lots of colors. Why not be one of them? But I ended up putting the shoes back and I am so glad I did, because on Saturday, I decided to be hip and politically correct and invite my friend and roommate to see The Age of Stupid at MoMA, which, I deduced from a brief scanning of MoMA's listing, was about global warming.

Cool, I thought. It'd be fun to tell everyone that I'm so environmentally careful that I see movies about global warming. After giving away my fake engagement ring on Halloween to some guy dressed as Run DMC, I'm no longer able to pretend to be married, so I figured appearing more eco-friendly would a good way to fit in in Park Slope for the time being.

Little did I know, seeing The Age of Stupid would not just make me feel like I didn't belong in Park Slope, but it made me feel like I don't belong on the planet. The premise of the film is that by ignoring climate change now, we're basically guaranteeing that the whole planet will be destroyed, and we'll all be dead by 2055. I may not be good at math, but I know that is soon. I will be 81, if I don't die in one of the hypothetical hurricanes or food riots that occur in the years before.

The movie is part documentary, part cartoon, and part fiction. Pete Postlethwaite plays an archivist who has collected specimens of planet earth as we know it in a Noah's Arc sort of way, and uses an iphone-like computer to make a documentary about how we knew better in 2008 but were too dumb to do anything about it.

The documentary footage is real, and it is interspersed with cartoons demonstrating how gluttonous Americans are. Postlethwaite also offers commentary, while scrolling ferociously and tapping his screen to make selections. He has the iphone mannerisms down to a pat (which scares me, I don't know why.)

The documentary sections feature: "Fernand Pareau, 82-year old French mountain guide, Jeh Wadia, starting a low-cost airline in India , Alvin DuVernay, Shell oil man who rescued 100 people after Hurricane Katrina , Layefa Malemi, living in Shell’s most profitable oil region in Nigeria, Jamila and Adnan Bayyoud, two Iraqi refugee kids trying to find their brother, Piers Guy, a windfarm developer fighting the anti windfarm lobby in England." (see full synopsis.)

They are all trying to better the world in some way, but they are all either misguided or doomed to fail or both. The point of the movie is to convince us that we know how to fix global warming, but are committing suicide by ignoring it and doing nothing. I'm sure the point of the movie was to inspire action, but it inspired a total panic attack. Jamila and Adnan Bayyoud note that while they wear shoes until they fall apart, Americans throw away shoes the minute something breaks. It literally made me want to punch anyone I knew who buys shoes for fun. (file under: my career as a yoga teacher is as doomed as the o-zone layer.)

The movie does a good job of showing us how stupid we are, but less of a good job demonstrating how we can help it. Rather, the world of the film is filled with really stupid people. And it made me think that I knew a lot of stupid people too. (I also felt physically violent towards anyone I knew who had ever suggested it was a good idea to take a cab.)

That said, I do recommend checking out the site, seeing the movie if you can and joining the movement, "Not Stupid." On the site, you can e-mail politicians and learn to cut your emissions by 10 percent. You can learn more about the conference in Copenhagen in December 2009 that might help to set policy that will reverse the effects of global warming.

I joined, and hope to convert my hopelessness into action, but unfortunately, what I drew from the film is that humans are sort of biologically wired to consume resources until they're gone. Postlethwaite reflects that maybe we're committing suicide because we don't think we're worth saving, but I think maybe we're just driven by the laws of entropy. Maybe we're doomed by genetics to feverishly use everything until it's gone. If you agree, I encourage you not only join the Not Stupid campaign but also to join my movement, which involves pledging to never have children, throwing teal converse sneakers at shoppers in SoHo and then moving a farm with the next person I find who I can stand for more than an hour.

GrilledCheeseFAIL

Because yesterday was Veteran's day, I agreed to look after my friend's daughter so he could work while she had the day off from school. I showed up at the tail end of breakfast after an early morning ashtanga practice that I hoped would prepare me for a day with a five-year old. She was really upset when he left and did her best to thwart his departure by wiping her buttery fingers on his nice dress shirt and crying extensively. She insisted that he be the one to get her "dressed," but when I saw that the outfit she chose was a bright pink, footed flannel pajama suit, I observed, "it's a hang out on the couch and watch movies day!"

We settled down for "Ariel's Beginning." I had no idea that the Little Mermaid had a prequel, but it seemed like a great opportunity to practice restorative yoga poses and read Paul Krugman's The Return of Depression Era Economics, the next book on my review queue. Kids, I thought, as I snuggled into a pillow and delved into the Latin American 90s recession, are wonderful! Not only that, but after the movie, there was a bonus feature starring the girl who plays the little mermaid on Broadway giving a backstage tour of the theater. I had Musical theater, reason to panic about money and more time to worry that I can't do lotus pose--in short, everything I could possibly want. But then I had to make lunch.

At first, I was happy when she asked for grilled cheese. It seemed easy enough, and suitable for a chilly fall day. I got the ingredients out of the fridge and placed them on the counter. I gave my brain the cue, "make grilled cheese." My brain replied, "but how?"

I decided the bread should go in the toaster oven first, then should be cooked in a pan. I avoided burning the bread in the toaster oven, and congratulated myself on the achievement as I layered cheddar cheese on the buttered sour dough slices. Yes, this was definitely how grilled cheese was made. I sighed with relief and turned my attention to the soup. And then the smoke alarm went off.

I turned off the burner, moved the pan and ran to open the windows. "You're not allowed to have the windows open," my little friend told me. "It's not safe."

"Well, don't stand over there for now, ok? They need to be open for the smoke to go away." She agreed, and went with a blanket towards the alarm and started fanning the air.

"I'm helping you!" She cried.

I thanked her and when the wails of the alarm had subsided, I shut the window and returned my attention to the troubled sandwich. The cheese was hard as a rock, but the edges of the bread were already completely burned. I reignited the stove, this time with a lower flame. Master of subtly, expert problem solver, babysitter extraordinaire! I thought. I served the soup as an appetizer. Then the smoke alarm went off again. I ran to the windows.

"I'm cold!" yelled my ward. "And I hate this soup!"

"I'm sorry!" She had changed out of her flannel jump suit into a Disney princess nightgown. I wrapped her in the blanket she'd been using to fan the smoke alarm and assured her, "when I serve your sandwich, it will get the taste of the soup out of your mouth, but you have to eat it."

But what to do about that pesky sandwich? The bread was now miraculously both soggy and burned, while the cheese was slightly rubbery, but solid. Then I recalled my college boyfriend's passion for tuna melts, which he insisted his Mom cooked in the oven. Although I'd technically written her off because she hated my guts, perhaps she might be on to something.

I stuck the sandwich on a plate in the oven and waited. And waited. Wasn't cheese the sort of thing that melted quickly? It had only taken me about 7 minutes in an oven to completely destroy my ipod. Wtf??

"I hate this soup!" Shouted the little one.

"Ok." Breathe. Just breathe. Then I remembered the best advice my father ever gave me: diffuse and deflect. I turned it over to her. "You have two options. You can wait for me to keep cooking the sandwich until the cheese melts, or you can eat it now with the cold cheese."

Apparently, it's really not true that women want the right to choose. She started to cry. "My option is daddy."

"Daddy's at work, honey, I can't bring him home."

"My option is daddy!!"

"But 'option' means that something is possible. It's not possible for daddy to be here. Pick one of the other options." I always knew that formal logic class would pay off, someday.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!!!" She screamed.

I sunk to the floor of the kitchen, nestling myself between the island and the stove, staring at the stubborn sandwich. "Cook!" I whispered, as the voices in my head started to sneer, "you can't even cook grilled cheese! What can you possibly contribute to the Planet Earth?"

[art shot of my arm reflected in the oven, as I sit on the floor and contemplate pulling a Sylvia Plath.]







"I hate this soup!! I want daddy!" She howled. I hoisted myself up and walked over the table, grabbing the spoon. "Here, I'll feed you the soup, and when it's gone, the sandwich will be ready." She seemed to agree, but after receiving the second bite, spit the soup back in bowl and continued bawling, "I want daddy!"

I tried more reason. "But just think, if today were a normal day, you'd be at school. You'd be fine!"

"Yes but when I'm at school, I don't have to be with you!!" I recoiled back. Much like the bread, I was burned. But I forced myself to go on.

"What did I do to you?"

"You're bossier than all my nannies!" She began to howl.

"Bossy how?" I demanded (case in point. But oh well.) I softened. "I mean, if you tell me what I did that is bossy, I won't do it anymore."

"You're just bossy," she sobbed. "It's just how you arreeee."

I lay my arms down on the table and hid my head. When I closed my eyes, I saw an image of my dear, sweet, wholesome new Englander ex, with that horrified sneer he had used to express that I was a morally devoid, over-harsh and self-absorbed eccentric. I heard the ex before him, explaining to me over Prince and warm beer at a cast party that I just wasn't the sort of person a man would want to start a family with.

Maybe, I frenetically hypothesized, if I started crying, she'd stop crying. I imagined what the ex would say about that. That I was immature? No...another word that started with "I.." Ah, yes. Insane. And that was why I was unqualified to make grilled cheese, sustain a relationship, or care for a child. I thought about what my mother would say about that. She'd say, "Stop your catastrophic thinking!" And then maybe she'd tell me how to make grilled cheese... But for now, I had to go against my grain and learn an impossible skill: coping with criticism.

I fled to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. There had to be some way to take this constructively, maturely and improve my behavior. I'd met one of her nannies. What did the other nanny do that I didn't do? Then it hit me. The other nanny cooed and squeaked. I talked like a grown-up. Maybe kids were like dogs, and if you cooed and squeaked at them, they never knew you were saying, "your horrendous moron! The ASPCA was so right when they said Golden Retrievers were over-bred."

I marched back out and removed the still-not-cooked sandwich from the oven. "Ok!" I sang. "Time to have some yummy sandwich that silly me goofed up on!' Squeak, Coo, Giggle: Miracle.

We finished lunch, and I launched into some squeaking and cooing about how cute her clothes were. She smiled at me, "You can have them when I grow out of them, for when you have a baby. Then I'll get to see my old clothes because you can bring the baby here!"

"Bring it here?" I choked. "I don't know, honey. It might take me a lot of years. I'd have to get a boyfriend, then get married and then have a baby. How long do you think that will take?"

"Two years!" She replied confidently.

"What? That's kind of soon!" And what if she was some kind of prophet? I was running out of time to date horribly inappropriate men and complain about my life!!!!

"Well," she looked at me as though I was missing something major. "The parents decide when the baby comes. It doesn't have to take that long." Then she leaned in very confidentially. "You know, I actually have a boyfriend."

"Really?!" Remember, I told myself: squeak, coo. "Who is he?"

"He's the talking trash can at Disney World. And..." her eyes lit up. "He's not even operated by remote control!" For the first time since I'd started slicing the cheddar, my mouth cracked into a relieved and glorious smile.

"Don't laugh! It's true."

I curbed my enthusiasm but embraced my tremendous joy. "I'm not laughing sweetie. I think it's awesome. And so are you."

When her dad came home, in the name of full disclosure, I told him everything. "I know!" he commiserated. "That damn cheddar! It just won't melt. I have no idea what's wrong with it."

Awesome.