Outing, Take 2

So true to my word, I took Lilah Rose swimming last night. I'd been building up to it for two days, so I was really hoping the Warren Community Center was all it was cracked up to be. To hear me talk, it was a veritable oasis of childhood fun. We picked up Zedd after I got out of work. They'd both been fed, and I was driving while choking down a BLT lovingly prepared by my husband. Zedd had no idea where we were headed, Kim having kept it a surprise. On the way there, he was asking very probing questions.

"Does is have to do with goggles? I heard Mama ask where the goggles were." I laughed.

"Sounds like someone is playing detective." He just stared at me with those big blue eyes.

"No, I've never played that game before." I griped a bit about the cold weather to distract him. "Auntie, the groundhog did see his shadow." I rolled my eyes. How can I argue with a 7 year old?

"Well, the Michigan groundhog didn't." I navigated to the community center and hesitantly found a parking spot in the busy lot. I said, "Lilah, where are we going for our special night?"

"To the DIA!" *Sigh*

"Lilah, the DIA is downtown Detroit. This is Warren, where my Daddy works," Zedd informed her. We made our way inside, but I started to doubt myself when I saw the huge building, walls full of bookshelves, and 8000 kids and their parents. Maybe it was a school. I asked a determined looking older woman with a power-walking stride and an "I mean business" countenance if we were in the right spot. She took a deep, patient breath and directed us to follow her. She gave me a very judgmental look that seemed to ask why I had shown up there if I didn't know where I was going, so I made up some story about meeting someone but not being sure we were in the right place. Then Zedd gave me a very judgmental look, presumably for lying to an old woman. Thankfully he kept his mouth shut. She kindly showed us to the pool area and I thanked her. We signed in and made our way to the locker room.

Have you ever tried to change and shower yourself, a toddler, and a body-shy 7 year old? It's ill-advised if you haven't. I stripped Lilah down and sent her and Zedd into the shower while I stood outside and changed.  Lilah was prodded out by Zedd, now in the trunks I had to hand him while looking the other way. Lilah sat next to the drain and proceeded to splash and play in the "puddle" while I rinsed off. Zedd packed our stuff in a locker, and I dragged out of the locker room a fussing Lilah, who was convinced that her life couldn't get any better than splashing in a locker room drain puddle.

Cue awed little faces. 

The water was a foot deep and almost 90 degrees. There were about 6 life guards doing everything from circling the pool area to removing a punk 10 year old who thought it was funny to spray my daughter in the face and knock her down while his dad looked on and laughed. They intervened before I had to step in and drown the kid, so go them. The kids ran and splashed and played for almost 2 hours. Zedd has perfected the ear-shattering shriek, which he liberally employed. Lilah let out a few of her own and looked at me for my reaction. I opened my mouth to tell her not to shout, but I realized that they were essentially "outside" and should be allowed to get their shouts out now.

When they were closing the pool and I tried to fish Lilah out, she cried. "I'm not done in the bath!" Back in the dressing room, I tried to dry and change the children as fast as possible. Lilah let out a final shriek, and I told her we were back inside, and those noises have to stay outside. Zedd asked why.

"Because there are a lot of older people in here and when kids scream inside, they think there's something wrong." This was accepted. Lilah was near passed out in my arms from sheer exhaustion.

"Mama? I need...I neeeeeeed..." Water? Sleep? More bath time? "Pizza." I laughed. We navigated our way to Buddy's Pizza where we ate our fill of pepperoni and pineapple pizza and stuffed ourselves with fried mushrooms, cauliflower, and zucchini. The server was friendly and excellent, so when our check came I'd already made up my mind to tip her very well. I handed her a coupon I had, and she told me to keep it and beamed at me.

"Those two ladies sitting behind you paid for your dinner." I was in shock, but I found myself smiling. I asked if she could at least charge us for a drink so we could tip her, and she said, "Trust me, they took care of that too. You are all set."

On the way home, Zedd asked why they would do that if they didn't even know us. We all talked about the power of doing good for a stranger. He proceeded to tell me that if everyone did something nice for someone else, there would be no more robbers in Hazel Park.

"Or anywhere else," I added. "There are good and bad people everywhere you go. More good than bad. The more nice things we do for other people, the world will be a very nice place."

"Like Chazzanos!" Lilah piped up.

The purple hat

The first weekend of February was a challenge. Friday night, I took Lilah to the Rembrandt and the Face of Jesus exhibit. She likes the DIA so I expected a good night. What I didn’t expect was an over-crowded, over-sold, over-rated exhibit. We were corralled like cattle into tightly packed sections cordoned off from one another. Lilah immediately rejected the cramped quarters. I had Rob hold our spot in line while she and I walked around the room. There was a large mosaic she enjoyed, and some paintings of kids. I was relieved when we were finally allowed into the exhibit itself. We’d exhausted all entertainment options outside.

The first volunteer we encountered was a lovely British woman who pointed out areas of special interest to little ones. We walked portrait to sketch, observing what we learned to be the same Jewish man Rembrandt had used as a model for most of his portrayals of Jesus. After about 7 of the same man’s faces, Lilah sighed and looked at me. “Is this Jesus again? Is this Jesus happy or sad? No, he’s taking a walk. That one’s having some dinner. He’s talking.” Most people did not appreciate her commentary. She put a hand on a thick glass box enclosing yet another Jesus and a volunteer (who’d been watching from the side for 10 minutes, seemingly itching to come say something) approached us.

            “She can’t touch that. Don’t let her touch it.” I gave him a hateful look. This 20-something was clearly too big for his britches. Let him try to control a toddler in a tightly cramped exhibit full of brightly colored, priceless art she can’t touch. He could take that blazer and smug attitude and walk the other way. I swore if he said another word to me, I’d let her lick the art.

We left the exhibit pretty quickly. Rembrandt is great and all, but most of the pieces were sketches, and a portion not even done by him, but his “school”, or “admirers”. Well, I’m a Rembrandt admirer but you don’t see my paint-by-numbers endeavors on display at the DIA.

Sunday afternoon, I was so excited. By some amazing stroke of good fortune, Lilah and I had been invited to see Cirque du Soleil’s “Quidam” at the Joe in a private suite. I dressed her adorably and braided her (now low-back length) blonde hair into a pretty crown. I packed her a backpack full of nutritious snacks since we’d be there until after dinnertime. Nicola picked us up, and her friends all admired what a sweet little girl she was. I was feeling like mother of the year.

Fast-forward an hour into the future when I was contemplating shaking Lilah until her teeth rattled. About 20 minutes into the show, she became uncontrollable. She started with just wanting to run around the suite and escalated to wanting the sugary candy snacks the other children had and refusing to sit still to the point she spilled her water on me twice with her antics. She’d look at me and emit an inhuman screech and laugh as my face darkened into a scowl. After a certain point in the performance, she got all panicky out of nowhere and slapped me across the face. She licked my cheek afterward for good measure, just in case I didn’t want to beat her before. Then she did that move kids do where they turn into jellyfish and are impossible to carry. I hauled her out of the arena to a lobby with a chair for a time out. She responded by wiggling happily in the chair and chattering. Finally she sobered and said she was sorry for hitting.

We talked about it after the time out. She told me that she was scared and wanted to go home. I felt terrible. The behavior started up when a character had come on stage wearing an overcoat and a purple top hat. The hat was suspended on wires or something, because the figure was completely headless. After that, Lilah wouldn’t watch for more than ten minutes at a time. Every time the frequent loud thunder and lighting sounded and the purple hat guy reappeared, she did her best to get another time out. She just did whatever she suspected would get her removed fastest. Diabolical or genius?

The whole way home, everyone praised Lilah for how wonderful she’d behaved. I was in disbelief. In my opinion, she’d been terrible. I took her to her father, handed her to him, and she and I both ended up in tears. Three cups of wine later, I was very introspective.

I might be the worst mother. All weekend long I selfishly took my child to things I was excited about and expected her to behave like an adult. She’s smart and social, but not even 3 years old. While she enjoys creepy movies like Coraline, live-action creepiness is a whole different ball game and genuinely disturbed her. How could I have expected miracles from a little girl? She had been pushed to her limit and let me know in the only ways she knew how. I made up my mind to spend the week doing age-appropriate fun things with her. Since then we’ve been doing crafts and making Valentines. Thursday we’re going swimming at the Warren Community Center. I’m trying to make it up to her and let her be a loud, crazy kid a little bit more. I just can’t shake this sad, guilty feeling that I’m messing her up. I keep flashing back to that moment of fierce anger at the little creature I’d made who was acting up and laughing at me. The one I wanted to slap and had to grit my teeth to suppress the urge. I loathe myself for that moment. I’m not sure what I need to do to get over it. No amount of wine or craft projects is soothing my anger, now turned from my daughter to myself. I feel like a monster and I can’t shake it.

A little princess

There is a lot of focus in our society on princesses. The toy aisles are lined with pink proclamations of childhood royalty. According to to Merriam-Webster, a princess is archaically defined as a woman having sovereign power. Other definitions include "a female member of a royal family", "the consort of a prince", and "one likened to a princess. Especially a woman of high rank or of high standing in her class or profession ". "Examples: 'She's just a stuck up princess'." "Synonyms: goddess, diva, queen". 


Really?


Lilah truly despises the Disney Princesses in all their forms. From Cinderella to Tangled, we've tried them all. The only one she perked up at was Beauty and the Beast. I'm not sure Belle counts - the well-read, intelligent, spirited young woman with the courage to stand up to a beast of a man everyone worships to protect the kind soul she sees inside of a monster. She was a princess in word and deed, but like many today who would exhibit all of the same admirable qualities, she was shunned by her town. They easily acknowledged her beauty but dismissed her as "rather odd". 


This "princess" mentality the little girls have today is something I'm trying hard to shelter my daughter from. In Eloise at the Plaza, Eloise remarked that her mother was the most sought after woman at the debutante ball, "because she had grace". When did we trade in grace, gentleness, compassion, modesty, intelligence, and self-reliance for this entitled attitude? 


I prefer the archaic definition of the word - a woman of sovereign power. While waiting for the traffic update on my way to work, I was forced to listen to Taylor Swift's "Love Story". In a ritualistic slaughter of Shakespeare, she recounts being young and in love. The girl pines and wastes away waiting for Romeo, who eventually shows up, dazzles her with a ring, and tells her, "I love you and that's all I really know." Is that enough? No. Not even close. There's no effort put forth, no work at a relationship, no mutual respect. I was disgusted by the message and prayed for some kind of explosion or breaking news to interrupt. And while I agree that Lilah's eventual "Prince" (or "Princess") should treat her like royalty, no daughter of mine should pine away in a tower, helpless until rescued.


In reality, there is no "Prince Charming". There might be half a dozen, depending on what path in life she chooses. There's no magic man to solve all your problems for you. In the best case scenario, she will find a partner to hold her hand through the tough times, cover her eyes during scary parts of movies, shake some sense into her when she's being unreasonable, and love her for the Beauty she really is. Even in A Knight's Tale, Will takes all manner of abuse to prove his love. To the point of death or physical injury, he places himself in harm's way to show his Lady he was sincere. Now, had she been in danger and he was willing to place himself between his Lady and the offending force, it wouldn't be so wrong. But the fact she makes him put his life on the line for her own personal sport disgusts me. That's not love. That's spoiled entitlement. Those aren't the values we want our daughter to have.


To be a Disney Princess, Lilah Rose would have to have an impossible waistline, dress provocatively, sing beautifully, and suffer endless evil persecution until the day her Prince rides in on his white steed to rescue her. Oh, and all before her 18th birthday, mind you. In reality, we'd love her to be more like Eloise - a spirited hellion who values honestly, romance, integrity, friendship, courage, beauty, and grace. "I'm Eloise. I'm six. I am a city child. I live at the Plaza." I'll close with the line from A Little Princess. When asked if there were really princesses, her Indian friend Maya tells Sarah, "All women are princesses. It is our right." I agree. We have a right. But we also have a responsibility.

Chicago

We spent New Year's weekend in Chicago this year. It was a much needed relaxing end to a very long and busy holiday season.

The drive there was uneventful. We left after I got out of work. Lilah colored and read stories in the back seat, asked to get out of her seat a dozen times, chattered nonsensically for awhile, then fell asleep. We made it there with very few hitches (barring paying our toll with a 20 dollar bill and getting back almost 18 dollars in "pirate money" gold dollar coins).

We decided to exchange gifts that night, keeping Lilah up until nearly 1am. In the morning, Ann and I took Lilah via public transportation to Michigan Avenue for a special girls only afternoon. She was dressed to match her Bitty Baby in cream dresses, blue tights, and cream berets. Lilah had her red wool pea-coat on as well and looked tres extraordinaire. While on the L, a couple of people in our car lit a joint and smoked up the place. I was irritated, and multiple people pointed out to them that there was a child in the car, but they didn't acknowledge anyone else. A man got in to help a handicapped woman off the train and smelled the car. He made short work of locating the offending individuals. He had a few stern words with them (which they laughed off), called it in on his radio, and got off. Thankfully, they didn't light up again. Lilah on the other hand, was lulled to sleep (whether by a lightheadedness I shared with her or the gentle rocking of the train). We hopped off the L, put her in her stroller, and walked toward Michigan Avenue while the busy world of Downtown Chicago honked, beeped, and sped around her. She never even flinched.

Ann and I explored the Water Tower Place while Lilah slumbered away. Our final shop was Candyality. Lilah finally opened her peepers and looked around in awe. We wheeled her sleepy self to the American Girl Place where her eyes got even wider. She couldn't believe the dolls, clothes, accessories, and general atmosphere of the place. She held Eloise the doll tighter and took it all in. We got on the elevator to go to the lower level and Lilah lost it. Instantly overwhelmed with visions of everything a little girl could want, she watched the cold metal doors of the elevator close that world off to her, in her mind forever. She dissolved into hysterical sobs. Grannie Annie tried to comfort her and we both assured her we weren't leaving. She was immediately cured as soon as we got to the second floor.

We checked in with the hostess and were ushered through double doors into the cafe. It was a beautifully bright room full of natural sunlight, black, white, and burgundy decor, and various Christmas trees elegantly decorated. We were seated at our table. Lilah was confused and enchanted by our waitress who gently took Eloise from Lilah's arms, placed her in a chair of her own, and seated her at the table. The care those employees take with the dolls and the little girls who love them amazes me. She brought us two pink lemonades, a pomegranate juice and champagne for Ann, and a tiny teacup and plate for Eloise. Lilah squealed delightedly and proceeded to "feed" Eloise. We were presented with a plate of warm cinnamon rolls with icing. As soon as we were finished, that platter was replaced with attractively prepared veggies, strawberries, cheese, and pretzel rolls with dipping sauces. Lilah Rose immediately pounced on the food and demanded a celery stick for Eloise. Our entrees arrived when we were ready for them. Lilah was allowed a bowl full of baked macaroni and cheese (a treat for the lactose intolerant) and star-shaped fruit skewers. When she'd eaten as much as she could hold, she and Eloise took a stroll around the cafe to admire the other girls in their pretty dresses and the dolls who smiled silently beside them. Finally, dessert came - a sugar cookie with pink icing, a tiny flower-shaped angel food cake with delicious white icing, and a flower pot with chocolate mousse and a tiny daisy.

I caught Lilah neatly packing the tiny plate and cup into a bag to take home. She was very sad to learn they weren't hers to keep. We whisked her from the cafe. I hoped I could distract her with shopping. I told her she could pick one thing to take home for her or Eloise. She ran to the first display case she saw. I figured she was just easily distracted, but I noticed that she was picking up items, inspecting them, and putting them back down. She was looking for something. Finally, her stopped breathing for a moment, then squealed in victory and held up her prize. In a plastic case were four pink plates and four teacups, just like the ones in the cafe. "Is this what you want to buy? Do you want to take this home?" She didn't verbally respond. There was a lot of squealing and dancing about. Ann picked up a tiny chair like the ones from lunch and asked if Lilah wanted to take a chair home too, as another Christmas present from Grannie and Grandpa. Again, no words. Just happy noises. We toured the stores and made our way to the nursery. Lilah saw all manner of dolls, toys, and clothes. She was very excited about seeing and touching everything. Since she'd chosen such a small present, I asked her, "Lilah, do you need anything else? Is there anything else you want to take home?" She grinned at me. "No, I don't need anything. I'm so happy." I was so proud of her.

We took the L home. For most of the time we were on it, there was a street preacher who "had a word" and was making sure everyone knew it. He moved from one end of the car to the next, shouting and gesturing. Some in the car shouted "amen"s and "preach it, brother"s back. Others shook their heads or wrung their hands uncomfortably. He went on about a "Jezebel spirit", and that not every woman was a wife. Women were better in the Bible when they were happy to eat the crumbs that fell from the master's table. Lilah was very curious about the proceedings. I was less than thrilled with the message of doomsday and sexism.

She kept asking questions. "What'd he say? What's wrong with him? Whaaat?" Finally, when he paused for a breath, Lilah informed me, "He shouldn't yell at people." I wholeheartedly agreed with her.

On the bus home, she was prattling on about her new cups and plates. She waved them in front of a man to show him how great they were. He chuckled. "My youngest daughter is 29. I have 4 grandsons. Didn't know little girls still played tea party anymore." I smiled and kissed her head.
"I'm not sure. She does though."

All in all, it was an excellent weekend sampling a little bit of what Chicago had to offer a toddler well on her way to being a wise little lady well-equipped to handle the world around her.

For Lilah, later

This won't be a long post. It's just something I need to get out.

I kept Lilah up far too late past her bedtime tonight, and in response, she started to get naughty. We were snuggling and watching Peter Pan. She kissed my face, then bit my cheek (lightly, but we don't tolerate any biting) and laughed. She got her warning. She played "Got your nose" and pinched my nose, then pinched my cheek hard. I picked her up and set her down firmly on the floor.

"Since you're being mean to me, I don't want to snuggle with you anymore. No one wants to snuggle with mean little girls." Her face contorted in a sequence of emotional masks - hurt, anger, confusion. She hit herself on the knee and watched for my reaction. I kept watching the movie, not wanting to give her any attention for the negative reaction. She hit the couch several times (which I am fine with. I've had to beat some pillows before in my life). I made eye contact with her and she approached the couch. I told her no. She picked up her teddy bear (who had been watching Peter Pan with us) and threw him on the floor.
"You can't lay with me," she shouted at the bear. Her eyes filled with tears and she ran to him, cradling him and rocking him. "Sorry. I'm sorry." My eyes filled up, and Dano came to put her to bed. She had forgotten her tantrum and her punishment by then (only moments later. Oh, the joys of being 2 1/2). She told me she loved me and said, "Sweet dreams!"

Being an emotionally trying time of month for me hormonally speaking, I proceeded to bite my lower lip and choke back the tears that had been backing up my lachrymal glands. Dano came back down and knew something was wrong. He stroked my back while I cried. I felt terrible for being the cause of Lilah's negative emotions, even though I knew it was most important that she suffer natural consequences for her actions. Aggressive behavior wasn't even slightly tolerated in the house, and no one wants to be around a little girl who's mean. I felt miserably unhappy for having witnessed her acting out her hurt feelings on her bear. It seems stupid to most, I'm sure.

I wondered how many other mothers had cried alone after making a decision that hurt their child. Knowing it was best for her was literally zero comfort. It only kept me from changing my mind. I wanted to write it out, not to make me feel better, but to somehow assuage my guilt. Maybe someday when she was older and I'd hurt her feelings with another unpopular decision, she'd read this and know that it hurt me as much or more.

Oddly enough, I wondered about a benevolent Creator. To create life with freewill seemed the most beautiful curse you could possibly bestow. Why in the world would He need to punish us Himself when natural consequences were so painful to watch if you loved the lives you created. Who needs damnation to hell when your children were suffering and dying by their own hands. I don't know how God isn't driven insane by grief.  As for me, my tears were spent after just a few minutes and I settled in to watch Westerns with Dano. Lilah was peacefully asleep with her bear and doll. I breathed a silent prayer that no matter how many hurtful decisions I had ahead of me, Lilah would always know that they hurt me too.

'Nake's new home

Lilah and I went to the Detroit Zoo because their 17 year old python had been built a lovely new home. I told Lilah about it after we got our Zoo newsletter, and she wanted to see it, as well as visit the fish their (having recently been denied a trip to the aquarium because we won't have time near New Year's). She has trouble saying "S" blends, so it was hard not to giggle when she kept asking to go see the 'nake.

I had a half-day yesterday, so I came home at lunch time. As soon as she was up from her nap, I asked her if she wanted to go to the zoo. She clasped her hands, jumped up and down, and said, "Yes! Yes I do want to go to the zoo!" Then she ran to get her rain boots.

Sans rain boots, we arrived at the zoo. I had two shirts, a sweater, and my pea-coat. Lilah had a tunic, leggings, a sweater, and a jacket. I hoped we'd be warm enough. It was 39 and sunny, but there was a winter chill in the air when the wind blew. We parked and fastened Lilah into the stroller (her clapping and wiggling the entire time, complete with sound effects. "Wiggle, wiggle! Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle!"). The woman at the members gate was more astute than usual, checking not only my member card but my ID as well, and giving Lilah a visual once-over in case she...didn't look like a Lilah?

We went through the Butterfly House first. All of the elderly guides were bored with nothing to do, so they made over the baby and explained the butterfly life-cycle ad nauseum. There were owl butterflies nearly the size of Lilah's head. She didn't appreciate those very much. "I don't want them to wave at me!" whenever they'd open their wings.

We moved along to the Bird House. She saw a few parrots and watched them preen. She walked happily along the path, until I finally got her to look up into the canopy. She gasped. There were so many birds. Nearly 10 bright pink tropical birds with long beaks staring down at her with bright black eyes and craning their long necks closer.

We headed on to the otters next. There was one out chasing minnows. A dad was texting on the steps of the habitat while his two twin boys wreaked havoc. There is a station where you can push one of several buttons and it will play the noise of the corresponding animal. The boys were fighting and crying over who got to push the buttons. Eventually one boy came over to watch the otter. I made eye contact with the father, who shrugged and looked harried. "No naps today." I smiled weakly.
"Yeah, I here ya." Lilah narrated the otter's every activity happily between talking to him and asking how he was feeling about his snack of minnows. She asked if she could push one of the animal buttons. The little snot of a twin shouted in a whiny tone, "NO!" and brandished a stick at Lilah, baring his teeth. I took a deep breath.
"You can play with the buttons on our way out, my love. Let's watch the otter swim." Nearly 20 minutes later, we wrapped up with the otter and Lilah asked again to push an animal button. Both twins threw their entire bodies to cover the buttons. I looked at the dad and raised my eyebrows as a cue for him to get off his ass and handle his boys. He sighed wearily and walked over, stating in a bored tone, "Boys, be nice." The teeth-boy swung his stick again, coming too close to Lilah, so I relieved him of it and tossed it on the ground out of reach. He whined in the general direction of his dad, then swung at Lilah who was attempting to press a button while he was distracted. She took two big steps back and looked at me.
"He can't push, it's naughty."
"Yes, love. You're right." The father looked sheepish.
"They're going through an aggressive stage," he explained lamely as the boys threw their bodies over the station to prevent Lilah from having a turn. I picked Lilah up and moved on of the boys' arms neatly to the side so Lilah could have a turn while the boy collapsed into shrieks of rage. After Lilah pushed one button, the dad stroked the screaming boy's head and praised him for sharing. I tossed him a look of disgust and total parental judgement and thanked Lilah for being such a good girl. We left them and moved on to the reptiles.

The snake was very much enjoying her new home. The venomous snakes were very active, while the more friendly varieties were sleepier. We finished up just as the zoo was closing and packed up to go home. I buckled Lilah in to her car seat and she chattered happily about her visit to the animals. "My Mama took me to the zoo. I saw the animals. I'm a lucky girl." It was hard not to tear up. She was (barring her bad moods and days) so loving and well-behaved. Nothing pleased me more than making her happy, but she still wasn't able to get away with murder just because she had the capability of throwing a fit and making things unpleasant. In fact, that was all the more reason for us to continue to be strict with our expectations of the child. The more she got away with, the more she'd push the limits and rules and make our lives hell. The more firmly in place the boundaries are, the more comfortable she'll be in her world. And clearly we're doing something right.

Future personal trainer

Lilah has fallen in love with the world of exercise. Her pediatrician was concerned at first that she would get a complex; she would be anorexic by over-exercising or some nonsense (not sure when it became abnormal to love a healthy lifestyle in this world, but whatever). This was until I reassured them that we don't practice it to keep from getting fat or ugly, but to stay healthy and sleep well at night. I have noticed, though, that Lilah has taken a page or two from the yoga instructor's book and decided to...encourage me to be better at it. Tough love has become her specialty.
Here's a few excerpts from tonight's session.

 (Instructor) "Have a calm face and a quiet mind."
"Whatsa matter with you, Mama?"
"This hurts."
"Here, let me help you. I will push you," as she pushes me deeper into down dog.

"Whats wrong?"
"This is hard."
"Come on. You can move your hips better than that."

(Instructor) "I know this is hard work."
"That's not hard work. That's sleeping. Here, let me help you." As she sat on my back and bounced.

At one point, she was baking Melissa & Doug cookies on my back while I was in pigeon.

She positioned Baby Doll on the mat with me to "help".

"*Groan*"
"Are you okay? Can you do two more deep breaths? There, there. It will be fine. Come here. *Kiss*"

While in boat, a pose really hard on my abs, the little snot got snarky. "Here, you want my baby dolly? She likes to sleep like you. Here she is.
(Sarcstic) "Thanks."
"Oh, not a problem."