Even with a little derailment for Saskia’s tummy bug, I do feel as if I’ve begun this New Year—it sounds so good, 2011—in pretty fine style. I went to three Bikram Yoga classes and rather than despising them as I was sure I would—I’m the gal who likes to place her yoga mat by the open window—I was pleasantly surprised to discover I kind of like the whole thing. I mean, sure it’s pretty darn incredibly sweaty and as you would expect stinky and I disagree with the notion of pain is good and have my moments of thinking the teachers sound like they are auctioneers. Still, I do like sweating that much more than I imagined I would. I do like the way heat is so completely absorbing that my mind does not seem to wander far. And just like everyone says is the case, I do feel great after class.
Plus, Ezekiel and I have gone together—once with our pal, Amy—and so, as pretty much any mother of a teenager might tell you getting to go do something like this with your teen, that’s satisfying stuff.
I even love that I don’t really know anyone there and there’s a bit of a student vibe—at least that was the case last night—and I’m so beyond my student years. Mostly, when I’ve gone to yoga it’s been the middle-age mama crowd. I like being amongst the young people, an older lady who kind of (barely, really) can.
I’ve been chasing down leads for a story that resemble trying to find an obscure place in the country: call this guy and ask about that one, or this one’s wife has a yoga studio so you can find his number there. One observation: a lot of accomplished carpenters and the like do not have websites. Many are not all that Googleable, even.
Anyway, the wild goose chase aspect of the pre-reporting has been part of the charm. There’s not much better than being charmed by one’s own job, right?
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At the end of 2010 (you know, like, the past couple of weeks) and now that we’ve crossed a line in the nonexistent snow into 2011, I’ve been thinking about my blog almost with a capital B. What might I do to push it along? Don’t ask me where I’m pushing it along to, because I’ll look at you blankly. I have no idea; I’m just imagining I can keep it growing.
There seems something very blog-gy about the giveaway. So, I’m really glad to have a couple of cool giveaways ahead. I’m going to leave your curiosity piqued by telling about just this first one now. And that’s fine because it’s so very good (with an interconnected the blogosphere is a neighborhood nod here to Sarah Hoffman, because she is the person to let me know about Handsome in Pink; if you don’t know about Sarah Hoffman, I suggest you go do some reading, quick).
One thing I share with Sarah H and Jo Hadley, who founded Handsome in Pink is this: pink boys. We’ve each had one (I guess I should add here I have three boys, none of whom you’d deem gender-stereotypic, simply by appearance alone; my guys are of the shaggy to longhaired group). Beyond this, though, I think Jo Hadley summed up a sensibility I share when she wrote about the impetus to create this company: “HIP is about breaking down the female monopoly on pinks and purples and sharing it with our brothers. Simultaneously, we are also redistributing the adventurous and active imagery usually reserved for boys’ clothing with our sisters.” Because, really? One thing that totally irks me about the blue and pink aisles at the toy store is this: girls’ toys are about domesticity or appearance—from babies’ bottles to pretend kitchens (mostly not gourmets’ kitchens but to fulfill some “Mom’s Kitchen” fantasy) to beautification—and boys toys are about building and doing and going places (fast).
So good on Jo Hadley not to fear pink on her boy but to seek to embrace is and to make it possible for a motorcycle-loving pink girl to embrace both loves at once, too. Go see what Handsome in Pink has on offer—for kids and adults, by the way—and then leave me a comment saying whatever the heck you want (mine would go something like I love this company and wish they could hook our girls and boys up with pink truck underwear!). Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be the winner.
