As part of adventure month, Greg and I took Will to a family yoga class this afternoon.
A new studio opened up just a few blocks from our house, so we hopped on our bikes and took a (rather sweltering) ride to the class.
We were the only ones there. This was a very good thing. Will spent 75 percent of the class stacking cups, throwing cups, and playing with essential oil bottles.
But the 25 percent he did partake in warmed his yogi mom's heart.
At the beginning of class, he sat in my lap, hands in namaste, and instead of OM we chanted his favorite word: cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzze.
He only did one downdog, where he joined us in barking. And every child's pose we did, he'd crawl back to our mats and join us.
And then Will hit the instructor. It's this terrible phase that we keep going through. Out of the blue, he whacked her on the leg. So Greg put him in timeout in a chair.
We proceeded to get into Pigeon. Will was watching us, very quiet.
Greg motioned for him to get up. He walked over to me, my head down on the ground. And then the very best part--the one that turned me into a pile of melty mommy mush--he kissed the top of my head. And he kissed it again and again. "Saw-dee momma," he said. (Translation: Sorry.)
He told the instructor he was sorry, and then crawled up on my back and gave me the best Pigeon adjustment of my life.
We ended the class by chanting Will's name.
Om shanti to my sweet (when he's not hitting) boy.
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