Laugh Lines of a Misinterpretive Sort

I started taking a yoga class with some friends back in the fall, and it resumed a few weeks ago after a winter break. I do like it -- it's just my speed, and an hour's worth of exercise to make me feel less guilty.

Recently, the kids asked what yoga is, so I showed them a few moves which, of course, they tried on their own. Little did I know Grace would take this to a whole new level.

A few days ago, while waiting in the line of cars before Grace's class started, we had a friend's daughter join us (a classmate of Grace's), and the two entertained themselves during that 20+ minute wait. Our car has third row seats which fold down flat, making a perfect "play area" for these mornings. To pass the time, Grace decided to teach her friend the art of yoga.

The first move: downward dog, with two little butts sticking straight up in the air, smack in the middle of the back window. I earnestly hoped the mom behind us didn't think she was being mooned.

"Now," said Grace in a very serious tone, "we are going to do something very important." With that declaration, she closed her eyes -- very dramatically -- and moved her hands together into the "hands of prayer" position. Her friend immediately spoke up.

"No, no, no!" she said. "That's what you do when you enter the spirit world!"

Hmmmm ... I think I need to have a talk with her mother.

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During this same car episode, the girls moved on from yoga and began playing "dinosaurs." For some inexplicable reason, Grace blurted out, "Time to get brainwashed!"

"Yeah!" piped up her little friend immediately. "That's what they do in yoga!"

Hmmmm ... I think I need to have another talk with her mother.

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Throughout the winter, the kids haven't taken much advantage of their playroom. It is cold, I must admit, even with the heater blasting full steam. Slowly but surely over the past few months, the toys began creeping back into the house, until this past week where it's gotten out of control. Legos cover almost every surface in the living room, while Grace has literally taken over every corner, filled with her "bits" and stuff and junk, all of which look awful and chaotic to me, yet seem to make perfect sense to her.

This morning was the last straw. Grace came out with a box full of more "bits" and surveyed the living room. In her usual dramatic way, she burst into tears. "I have no more room!" she wailed. Suddenly she quieted, spying one last empty corner. She instantly brightened. "Oh! I'll just take that space for my new office."

That did it. I lost my temper. "What??!!" I blurted. "YOU have no space?! You've got to be kidding me! You have three "offices" and now you want a fourth ... and I barely have one! You're crowding me out -- I feel like I live in Toys R Us! I can't stand it anymore!"

More tears -- apparently she was highly offended by my territorialistic outburst -- and I ordered them back into the playroom. I was met with great resistance at first, but I held my ground. While there are still Legos in my living room this morning, they're only stacked on our 300-year-old blanket chest, contained. Grace's "offices" have all but disappeared, save one that's tucked away in a corner. The kids are now in the playroom, having divided the "play table" in half, with each occupying a side.

Ahh ... but trouble was bound to ensue. I heard muted yelling, and I went out onto the front porch to investigate. Aidan's Legos were indeed on his half of the table, but he was sitting on her side. She was outraged.

Now, our "play table" is actually falls into the antique category, very old barn wood of great length converted into what we used as super long (and super cool) coffee table years ago, when we had room for a coffee table. While sturdy, I still didn't think it was a good idea for Aidan to actually be sitting on it. I advised him to get off, since it's an antique.

"Yeah!" said Grace. "It's an antique. Antiques come out of the basement!"

Somehow I believe the Grace of the Future is going to be an IKEA girl ...