I am convinced my child is out to kill me. As a toddler, she used to ask if she could have my jewelry and shoes when I died. Since then, I’ve learned to sleep with one eye open. She’s become much more subtle as she ages. She recently convinced me to do yoga with her. Somehow, she knew this would be what kills me.
I didn’t think this would last. She isn’t a big activity kid. She plays the drums and the double bass. She runs. At one point she danced ballet for a couple years. But that’s about it. She doesn’t really like to sign up for activities or classes. And yoga is hard. So I had high hopes that she’d hate it and quit.
Especially after the first class, whereupon I discovered this was a power yoga class. Holy overworked sweat glands, Batman. I was pissed. The only thing I hate more than yoga is really hard yoga. So after class, I asked what she thought about it. I figured she hated it too. By “figured,” I really mean “hoped.”
To my dismay, she was all smiles and excitement. She loved it. She definitely wanted to continue. Why?! (Because she’s out to kill me) She said it was hard, but she loved it. Really, Why?, I asked her.
“I discovered things I never knew my body could do!” she said excitedly. She was so pleased with herself.
And I was so pleased with her. This is exactly what I hope for in my children. The desire and courage to explore and discover. The resilience to persevere and not give up. The grit and drive to push your body and self to do things you didn’t think were possible. The belief that you can accomplish things you never knew possible. The delight and satisfaction of doing hard things.
This. All this. This is exactly the kind of person I want her to be. And she is. Namaste.