new religion

At school we have the option to drop our kids off without getting out of the car, sort of the reverse drive-through, or we can park and unbuckle and schlep them in, in the freezing cold, and when it's not Stella's day, I get to schlep her back to the car and rebuckle, remitten, recoat... Can you guess I choose the former method? Would you?


So I sit in my toasty car half-asleep while an uber-kind teacher takes my son from me, I don't have to unbuckle Stella and then deal with her refusing to return to the car, because the girl loves school, which is good, but not when it's not her day and she doesn't understand why she can't go because she's two. So with the quick and painless drop-off method, I can have that many more minutes with one, sometimes two less children, because they're only in school long enough for me to speed home, scratch my ass, and then race back to get them.

Now while I sit there in my stupor, I watch the other parents who have chosen to walk their kids into the building and I wonder, when you have the option to have it be so much easier, why do you choose the laborious schlep? One reason I came up with is that their kids are more clingy, they have separation anxiety. Another reason could be that the moms are clingy and have separation anxiety. A third reason is that they just care more about their kids, their kids' education, being a part of the whole school experience, bonding with the teacher and other children, saying hello to their social network of mom-friends, plus they want to drop off a box of canned goods for the poor, and by the end of all my wondering, I may as well be handing my kids their crack pipes while I hand them off to the teachers.

Can you see why I'm angry? I'm a woman who can't win. I know, I should get out more, but all I want to do is be alone and not be responsible for anyone under four feet tall. My heart says, go ahead, give yourself a break, Hamish doesn't mind if you drop him off at the sidewalk or in the classroom, he cool. My inner bitch says, girl, I'm gonna wear you down 'til you die. This is my ego, say the experts on such things. I think my abusive hyper-critical ego, bless her infected claws, was born out of my dysfunctional childhood (Hi Mom! Hi Dad!) and now that I have kids, all my annoying issues are seeping out of me like pus and into my pure innocent children and I see my reflection in Hamish when he throws Stella's rainbow sparkle pony into the toilet.

That's why I started up with the yoga again, and through that channel of goodness, made manifest by my much adored yoga teacher, Daniel Shankin at Main Line Yoga, who told us the story of the ancient levitating yogi and her ferocious nagas, came across the book above, Feeding the Demons, which is this very fun way to accept the most odious parts of myself and transform them into allies. It reminds me of acting class with its visualization and deep breathing exercises, it's totally self-indulgent, and yet if it happens to work, everybody wins. Plus, you get to have really cool imaginary friends. So far I have Luke Wilson and a big tiger. But I'm still a raving bitch, so what can you do. It's a process, people.