The Great Ego Purge, Drinks To Be Served After: Crazy Ass Baseball Moms

Day: 24

Where: Home

Type of Yoga: My Yoga Online

Cleansing: Journey to Freedom

Time: 1 Hour & 47 min.

Day: 25

Where: Home

Type of Yoga: My Yoga Online

Gentle Hatha Yoga Class

Time:30 min.

Day: 26

Where: Home

Type of Yoga: My Yoga Online

Chakra Balancing Yoga

Time:55 min.

Day: 27

Where: Home

Type of Yoga:My Yoga Online 

Cosmic Dance Yoga Class

Time: 23 min.

Day: 28

Where: Home

Type of Yoga:Yoga Slideshow Poses

Time:25 min.

I have kept up with yoga. 

I have struggled with writing. I admit. I confess. I have had a ton of different posts and a ton of ideas I've started and not been able to complete. Lots of beneficial junk to inspire the masses. And I can't finish a one. I began to wonder "What is wrong with me? What is wrooooong with me?" and then it hit me...a big fat "aha"-bitchslap-across-the-face-moment (mine seem to be slightly less magical than Oprah's): I need to purge. It's confessional time, that's why I started the confessional posts in the first place. To get all unnecessary junk out of the way. So without further ado:

Why I hate baseball moms...

Ram Das said, "Treat everyone you meet like God in drag."

Well honey, these gals are putting on one hell of a show, but I'm gonna try.

I'm not sure if yoga is mellowing me out to the point where I'm beginning to look at things a bit differently; or if we have crossed an invisible line in my son's sports but youth baseball is freaking killing me. Not because I hate baseball or sports for that matter. On the contrary, I love sports. At least I have loved sports and I think I still love sports, but this spring, my boy started baseball and it has forced me to take a step back. To see the forest through the trees, if you will. And the conclusion I have come up with is...I currently hate baseball. No that's not true, I hate baseball parents. No that again is not the full truth, I hate Crazy Ass Baseball Parents.  
And, get this, the moms are the worse offenders. Seriously. I imagined my child having sports memories a la the movie The Sandlot instead of the movie The Shining. 

Per the suggestion of one of the few "normal" baseball moms (and snaps to Jesus for sending her my way), I think I need to start taking a Valium just to make it through the games. If I don't I'm afraid I'm going to let my Bitch Flag fly and say the following to some of these parents:

No, your child is not a genetic/athletic wonder: For real. Look I'm all about having a good time here, getting all excited and utilizing full bragging rights when my offspring, the fruit of my loins,  takes off on his angel wings and does something amazing; but when you tell me that you are having private batting analyses done by a famous (I think that term was used loosely) pro-baller because a college level scout told you that your SEVEN YEAR OLD has pro potential, I'm gonna go ahead and call bullshit. I'm also going to advise that you seek help. Preferably professional.

This is more what I'd had in mind.

He hears you: Every time you scream, stomp your feet on metal bleachers or snort and say "Dadgummit" (I live in the South, trust me this phrase is actually said, and yes, by people who are under 80 years old), you know he hears you right? Home plate is literally fifty feet from where you've parked your butt. Yeah Mom, that's the ticket, there you go. All these displays of obvious disappointment have got to be amazing for his little still-forming psyche. Listen, I get it, this shit ain't easy to watch. There are times when I am pulling the hair out of my head on the inside while holding my breath and looking away and even biting my cheeks to say nothing. Why? Because I'm pretty sure I would have to start socking money away for a rehab fund instead of a college fund for my kids if I allowed myself to let every emotion fly...in public...over every single move they make. This isn't about you. Go get a slushy (I brought the Vodka) and take a little time out.

You are not a coach: You see those guys out there? Do you think they like looking this way? They are grown ass men in matching uniforms, wiping noses and taking kids potty. They are the  ones who have to actually deal with the frustrating task of teaching your child skills and holding them accountable and keeping their attention and making it fun and winning games and dealing with all of you. You know the same guys who you drop your kid off with at practice because you don't have time to coach? Hey, I totally get it, not everybody can do it. That's so okay. But, when you show up at a game sideline coaching and start screaming at your kid and my kid and every other kid, do you really think that's appropriate? Newsflash, you are confusing them, overriding the coaches and annoying the shit out of me. Sit the fuck down. Please. 

That's confidence, baby. That's confidence.

To my knowledge we are not in college and this is not a championship game. Is everyone aware that this is 8 and Under age level? And it's Monday. Take it down a notch. Look, I am all about playing to win. I actually do not believe in the "everyone deserves a trophy" mentality. That being said, let's keep it all in perspective. They are going to miss some balls, an EIGHT year old should not have a "good eye", he's freaking eight. A ball is going to roll past him in the outfield and they are all going to get out of position. If you are going to get this riled up because you came here to watch some major league action, then by all means why don't you get out there and show us how it's done mom? I'm pretty sure most of these little dudes would school your middle-aged out of shape ass. I know they would mine. So chill out. Your sports analysis of every single kid on the team is astonishing. Truly. I'm impressed. Ok, now that I've admitted I'm impressed can you please stop talking? Check yo self before you express yo self. You sound ridiculous.

Remember good sportsmanship? You're killing me Smalls: Now I'm not going to act all high and mighty. I am a huge football fan, and the Bears are like a family tradition in this household. I have absolute hatred for the Packers and have been known to lose my shit on occasion in regards to them, their stupid fans, and anything associated with Green Bay, or Wisconsin, or Green and Gold...or cheese as hat wear...but I digress. The other team that our children are playing against, yeah, that's made up of six, seven and eight year olds too. And those other coaches? Just a group of volunteer dads as well. Stop screaming at them like we're the Red Sox and they're the Yankees. They are just another team of little leaguers, so when you correct them, or bitch at the Ump because they committed some minor mistake; when you even cheer on the mistakes their kids make, you look like an asshole. Really, nothing else can be said here. You look like an asshole.

I love me some Squints Palledorous.

I have been torn up about this, more then I should have been. And all week lots of thoughts have been  racing through my head. I mean I took the train to "Cuckoo Town"... thinking, "Are we on the wrong team? Are we exposing our child to the wrong people? Are we in a part of town/the state/the country where we shouldn't be?"
In a word, no.  

Having felt all of these different levels of panic, wondering if I've surrounded my child with future "douche canoes" (thank you for that term I Like Beer & Babies, you truly are a wordsmith), I then realized that there is no perfect team, nor any perfect place for us to be. I have a child who loves sports. There are a lot of good life lessons that come from team sports, and I believe in them. It just happens to be on me to teach him by example. To teach him that this is a part of his life, a healthy part of his life. It's my job to not put the kind of pressure on him that can only make him hate the game. To not make him feel his love is performance based, but to point out all of the good growth that can come from setting a goal, working hard and (HELLO) having fun with your friends. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. As long as he knows he's my child and that he is loved, that's all that matters. 

I read an amazing article that put it all in perspective, if you have an interest and a moment or two this is worth the read.  

The Post Game: What Makes A Nightmare Sports Parent--And What Makes A Great One 

Two former coaches interviewed hundreds of collegiate level athletes about sports, their parents and the role they played. The good, the bad and the ugly. The cliff's notes version are this:

 -Do not talk about the game, right or wrong in the car ride home or even for the remainder of the day, 

-And (this is so simple) Tell your kids:

"I love to watch you play". 

Okay...I feel good. I've purged. I'm better. I think maybe some quick meditative poses before and after games would be even more beneficial than the Vodka slushies and Valium. Maybe not as fun, but better. 

Namaste baseball biatches. Namaste.

Steady As She Goes

Day: 23

Where: Home

Type of Yoga: THE BODY HOLIDAY on Hulu

Yoga Flow

Time: 27 min.

-and-

Day: 22

Where: Yoga Room

Type of Yoga: Hatha

Time: 90 min.

Tried this new video series, The Body Holiday, on Hulu and have liked it so far. Also stumbled upon a site called My Yoga Online and signed up for a free trial (they don't ask for credit card info up front which is a big bonus). Definitely going to try out what they have to offer and then review and post more about it:

My Yoga Online

Continuing to post poses incorporated into my daily routine on

Vodka Yoga Mama@Twitter

so check it out and share some ideas for yoga poses with me!

Shedding Layers Through Savasana

Day: 21

Where: Yoga Room

Type of Yoga: Hatha I & II 
Time: 90 min.

Wow. Last night's yoga class was amazing. 
I was fortunate enough to have my "yogi mentor", of sorts, as my teacher. (she's is also quite amazing):
Elizabeth Rowan Yoga Lifestyle
She worked me. She worked me hard y'all. No joke. 
I paid attention to my body and didn't push anywhere I shouldn't have gone. I was challenged yet not strained, I was pushing past the point where I previously was, but not in pain. I was blush-faced, sweaty and blissfully happy. 

I don't know if it was the amazing vibe of the class (and it was truly truly amazing, just some of the best collection of people I have been in a class with to date), or my continued releasing of myself and the negative thought patterns and behaviors that no longer serve me, or Krishna Das in the background, or my fantastic teacher at the helm, or a perfect combo of all of these things. All I know is I was at a "soul level" last night, and I am struggling a bit with the words. 

There was no pretentiousness. There was no competition. This was in large part from Elizabeth, who lovingly reminded me (and at the perfect times) to not compare myself to the person on the mat next to me...because I do that. I so totally pretend that I don't do that, but I do that. There was no fear of what I looked like...I knew I looked crazy, I was shedding layers of clothes and undoing and redoing my hair in walk-of-shame-esque positions just to get it the hell out of my way. I didn't care. I was IN I was HOOKED I was present and alone with YOGA. 

It was a challenge. At one point I thought, "How long have we been doing this?" That five minute time period felt like an eternity. By the time we were ready for Savasana, I was spent. My body had nothing to say. My mind was completely quiet. My heart did the talking.  This is yet another layer of what I adore about the practice of yoga. It is really spirit in action wrapped up in a package of physical fitness. You think you are getting involved for the physical changes and for most of us, that is probably 80-90 percent of the motivation to do it in the first place. But...then this other thing starts to happen, and for me, the physical change is now not the motivation. The physical is a current block for me. I am now doing yoga to clear the physical block to go further with yoga. I want to go further with yoga to go deeper into me. My current physical body is now feeling like a coat, a puffy winter coat and we are deep in spring. 

I love, love, love how different teachers give you such great perspectives. Last night something so simple as the following instructions:
"Let (on the inhale)"
"Go (with the exhale)" 
changed everything. 
I had a moving experience in Savasana last night that I am not confident enough to share details about at this point. It was a very touching vision of sorts. Yes vision, you read right. I have deleted and retyped and deleted that word about five freaking times, but I'm sticking with it...it was a vision. At the very end, I had some tears, not sobbing or in hysterics but a quiet releasing of sorts. I am not alone in this. I have searched the internet and checked in with my yogi mentor and both of those sources have calmed me down and assured me that this is normal. I am finally tuning in, they tell me, to my soul. Apparently it has a lot to say. It has a lot to heal. 

Last  night I actually fell asleep without my mind like a monkey. 
I:
"Let (on the inhale)"
"Go (with the exhale)"
On the couch, out like a light. Never turned over once. I thought that only happened from booze. Bonus, woke up refreshed with no back pain from the couch and no hangover. 

Oh yoga, you are my new best friend. Vodka, we may have a problem. 


Today and tomorrow on Twitter I will be posting different poses courtesy of Elizabeth, to keep me engaged and incorporating yoga throughout the next two days. And to hopefully loosen up my upper thighs/quads. Follow me:
Vodka Yoga Mama on Twitter 
and feel free to join in. Post some of your poses, if you like! I plan to also post a downloadable chart with these poses at some point to share.