Life is Like a Box of Chocolates

My "come what may" attitude is serving me well these days. Nothing seems to be turning out as I expected. Today I was raring to give -- get this -- the Good Woman Dance Collective contemporary class at Dance Alberta a try. I know, it is hard not to imagine a group of free spirits, running around naked waving scarves; but apparently, despite their ill-chosen moniker, they are a mainstream, classically trained company.

Looking forward to the emotional release and unmatched satisfaction dance has always given me, I woke up, selected my cutest Lulu tights and attempted to brush my teeth -- that's when I heard it -- "Mama...up....uppie."

"Ok peanut." Those dove-grey-blue pools of love (from my own mother) can be denied nothing, particularly when Maya pulls out the big guns and extends her little Michelin arms towards me pleading to be held. So I sweep her up in my arms for a snuggle (unconditional love: the ultimate cure-all prescription) and enjoy the warm of her nestling into me -- wait a minute -- we have a situation; yet again, Mommy has been peed on -- and so has the bed, through the sheets and all over the mattress. Sweet. Only angels are this inconsiderate.

With a shrug and a smile, I peel off her damp nightie and put her straight into the bath, which I know will add precious minutes on to our morning routine and could impede my making it to dance on time. I know better than to allow in frustration; as we remind our students in the sweat lodge, "no anticipations."

20 minutes later (lately Maya is very proud of her ability to shampoo her own hair and enjoys the time to show off this new talent), smelling like Johnson & Johnson, Maya is ready for breakfast and I am ready to attempt giving it to her -- she has a delicate palate. Strapped into her high chair, she innocently takes a spoonful of the organic blueberry-flax oatmeal I have provided her, looks up at me with an impish grin, and flings it directly onto my foot, where it squishes between my toes and all over my stylish summer sandals. Then, just to show a little more love for my breakfast offering, she smears what's left of the oatmeal in her freshly-washed hair -- perfect. At least she'll smell like cinnamon and sugar.

Not all mornings are this chaotic. Days like this are for helping me appreciate the mornings I just get kicked in the face because Maya has insisted on sleeping in our bed perpendicular to me (somehow that's more comfortable), or painted with peanut butter -- or peed on (I'm a tough cookie and I'm washable). Maybe she and I will have a lovely evening together, snuggling on the couch (milk for her and a margarita for me) watching So You Think You Can Dance, after which she'll fall asleep with no fuss, no later than nine -- in her own bed -- maybe.

Unfortunately, watching a dance competition on TV will have to suffice for today's artistic expression. C'est la vie. There's still time. Bikram would tell me, "it's never too late" and remind me to exercise the patience I have been honing "start to finish" in my practice. Thanks B. "You ever been peed on?"