Your task

We have tried for the last few mornings to do a quick little kids yoga routine together before we do anything else. 

The first time it was at all successful (more time spent on yoga than on kids fighting about who was leading "the class") my thoughts started racing ahead. I should become certified to teach yoga. Maybe kids yoga. Maybe I can do a kids writing/yoga class. Or just a yoga/writing class (I've been dreaming about these kind of combo retreats. Or something like this.) Maybe I can do a nature writing class for local kids and incorporate yoga moves. Where are their yoga certification courses? How long are they and how expensive?

And then I thought, no. 


Your task today is not to find out about kids yoga certification courses and the viability of hosting a family nature writing/yoga retreat. 

Your task is not to write a proposal for a book about yoga and writing for kids.

Or even to find out what kinds of books there already are out there on this topic.

Your task is not to get another yoga mat so each kid can have his or her own and not fight over space. (Meanwhile you're sprawled out on the hardwood floor, which doesn't seem to bother anybody.)

Your task is not to say you're going to make up an even longer routine and wake up even earlier to do it and keep a record every day that you do it and track whether there are any measurable benefits.

Your task is to be glad you got in that five minutes of something almost resembling a peaceful start to the day with two young children. To roll up the yoga mat and hope maybe you get to do the same thing tomorrow. 

Or another day soon.

And get on with your day.


  1. I love this so much. It is so easy to let one thought or task roll into a long list of new tasks or possibilities. And these yoga/ writing retreats look so perfect, but those almost peaceful, successful minutes of morning yoga with your two amazing kiddos are even more perfect. Thank you for reminding me to focus.

  2. Thank you Amie. I have such a bad habit of spiraling out into a grand plan. Falling into a trap of bigger, better, more. Why is there so much resistance to the small, daily triumph? Why do I want things to feel really grand? I think some of it is my own resistance -- making outlandish goals as a way to resist following through on realistic ones -- and part of it I think is the Facebook moments phenomenon. Look how gorgeous and inspirational this sunrise yoga session was! No, it wasn't gorgeous. We were on a ripped up, hand-me down mat with smashed granola bar crumbs on it. The apartment was dark. It's a very dark apartment. My nails still have the grown out nail polish on them from when I painted them in early June. I never even managed to make them the tiniest bit presentable for the cruise or the Poconos, when my feet were constantly exposed!

    Maybe there is also a legitimate frustration and fatigue about the imperfection of all these should-be amazing moments, one that sends us dreaming about far-off yoga writing retreats with gentle breeze and eucalyptus trees.

  3. What a lovely morning routine! I've attempted yoga with Isabella, a few sun salutations and downward dog, but instead of mimicking me, she tries to climb my body. Remaining in the moment is so challenging. But at least your thoughts move in the direction of grand dreams; mine usually drift toward worry. Those writing retreats both look magical! Also, I love the description of your chipped nail polish (in your comment here); I always notice that too when I'm doing yoga. :)

  4. My course was four months long and $2500....and that was 10 years ago. I don't regret it, I learned a lot and it makes it easier to practice on your own. But it was an undertaking for sure :)


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