WELCOME TO HELL

This is the type of signage that I feel might be more appropriate above the entrance to my latest haunt, a newly opened Bikram Yoga studio. Not as a testament to the experience of actually doing Bikram Yoga, but because --- as you may have heard --- they keep it really, really hot in there.

Today's moms seek variety (beyond the variety found in what's being thrown, screamed, or complained about at home). Some of us join moms clubs or endure aerobics classes. Some of us take up jewelry making or scrapbooking. And some of us (read: me) are crazy and masochistic enough to be a great target for almost any dare. I try things to prove either that I can do it or that the darer is crazy. Of course, the last time I tried in a big way to prove the former I ended up with a heinous tattoo on my hip that I abhor but have no idea how to painlessly remove.

I digress.

My latest challenge of this nature was Bikram Yoga. I'd heard a bit about it here and another bit about it there. I'd heard that it was great for one's overall health, great for releasing toxins, great for flexibility. I'd heard that it involved postures the names of which I'd never be able to pronounce. And I'd heard that it was hot. Not hot in a Paris Hilton "That's Hot" kind of way either. The other kind of hot. The kind of hot that makes you sweat your brains out (possibly literally). The kind of hot that could conceivably make you pass out, vomit, or die mid-class. The kind of hot where people such as myself proclaim, "I live in Arizona and I still can't hang out in this studio for more than six seconds" hot.

When the studio opened next door to my son's preschool the week before school began, I wondered, Is it fate? And then, in response to what really did sound like a dare from a good friend I agreed to give it a go. Once. Just so I could say I did it and didn't die.

On that first morning, as I sat in the cool, comfortable, lobby with gorgeous incense wafting around me and photos on the wall of Indian men wrapped around themselves like cobras (and looking mighty comfortable in such positions), I wondered why I needed to go any further to find peace. It was quiet. It smelled good. There was a shower in the locker room that no one under the age of 25 would disturb me while using. Couldn't I just take a 90-minute shower and call it a day?

But my friend brought me out of my fantasy with a summons. "Let's go into the studio and warm up!" She was way too enthusiastic about entering hell. Plus, I couldn't fathom why one would need to warm up for a class that was held in a room that, at that moment, was hotter than it might get outside all day.

"How hot is it in there, exactly?" I asked her.

"It's not bad. 95 degrees. Come on, you live in Arizona. You can take it."

We entered the room. I took four steps and laid my yoga mat, towel, and 32-oz jug of water on the ground. I then turned on my heel and headed back to the lobby. There was no way I was going to hang out in there any longer than necessary. And the fact that there was a woman stretching with a gallon of water next to her --- literally, folks, a 64-oz jug --- terrified me. My jug held only 32 ounces. I needed to hit the lobby vending machine and add to my supply --- to keep me alive and all for the next 90 minutes. In addition, I might add that I'd quickly concluded that there was no way it was 95 degrees in that room. I'm very familiar with what 95 degrees feels like. This was not 95 degrees.

Upon exiting, I asked the owner, who is completely adorable (and very tiny and healthy to boot, motivating me a wee bit to go back inside the sauna), "I'm afraid to even ask, but what is the temperature in there?"

"105 degrees with 40% humidity!" she responded. Frankly, she seemed far too excited to share this information, like "the hotter the better, right?"

No. I was most sorry I asked.

But I tried to remain optimistic. When it was time for class to start, and only when it was time, I returned to the furnace.

Bikram yoga entails going through 26 poses, holding each one for one minute and then again for 30 seconds. The entire class takes 90 minutes. Thank God there was not a clock in that room because those minutes would have gone by like years. Amazingly, they went by somewhat quickly (emphasis on "somewhat"). I was so focused on the fact that I have no balance (really, I was hoping no one was focusing on me in the mirror as they tried to stand in the Dandayamana-Dhanurasana pose --- I told you they were hard to pronounce --- for fear that watching me wobble would throw everyone else off balance).

As we went through the 26 poses, one harrowing minute at a time (when they say you sweat, they are not kidding, and trying to stand in tree pose while the bottom of your foot and the inside of your thigh are as slick as an ice rink is harrowing at best), I began to have a frightening thought: "I think I might like this!" Perhaps I was momentarily delusional.

I can't say with any level of certainty that I ever got used to the heat. And at one point, our instructor extraordinaire commented that it wouldn't be long before the only thing we'd notice about the heat was when it wasn't hot enough. Somehow, I cannot believe such a thought will ever cross my mind. But I'll take her word for it.

All that said, it did feel like heat with a purpose. It was heat that allowed me to, through various poses only contortionists can master, touch every organ, gland, fiber, and cell of my being. It was heat that did not allow me to think about the laundry or the laundry list of to-dos because I was too busy listening to our instructor ordering us to "kick higher" while counting the drops of sweat as they poured from my forehead to my towel.

The most alluring aspect of this torture chamber was, I realized several hours later, the realization that none of us was there for anyone else. No of us was there to create a newly shaped body with which we hoped to impress the world. None of us was hoping to get validation from anyone else for who we are as moms, grandmothers, employees, or plain and simple women. None of our intentions involved other people. There was no arrogance. There were no agendas. Just twelve unique journeys folding and unfolding and evolving on their own terms.

Perhaps the concept was, from start to finish, simply too much of everything: too hot, too challenging, too bendy, too spiritual, too crazy. It was so overwhelming on so many levels that while my head said "Get out and don't ever come back," my soul said, "Stick with it. Do it again. I dare you." As I've mentioned, I have a hard time turning down a good dare.

If you have access to a Bikram Yoga studio in your area, give it a try. Just once. If you absolutely hate it, you've lost nothing but 90 minutes and about seven pounds of water weight. But if you become addicted, as I have, you've gained an amazing new way to add variety to your day, your life, and your journey on earth. Tell your kids you spent your morning trying to master the Dandayamana-Bibhaktapada-Janushirasana pose. Their confusion might stun them into silence for a few minutes! And the beauty of that experience, in and of itself, might very well be worth entering the furnace of hell.

Just once.

I have discovered a fantastic new book. We've all wondered, Why do babies cry? (or more specifically, Why won't this baby stop crying?) We've wondered why they suck their thumbs and why they drool so much. I know that I, for one, have wondered on many occasions why babies like to play with their poop.

For those of you who aren't merely muttering to yourself regarding the "why" of these phenomenon but actually might like an answer, Jennifer Margulis has recently released Why Babies Do That: Baffling Baby Behavior Explained.

Margulis, who is also the editor of
Toddler: Real-life Stories of Those Fickle, Irrational, Urgent, Tiny People We Love, explains 40 of the most common—yet often taken for granted—baby habits in this adorable, easy-to-read book. Each answer is only a page long, but don't let that fool you. You are able to acquire the info you need in less than a minute, which is exactly how much time moms have to figure these things out! In some cases, Margulis even offers hints for solving the issue. For example, in the Why Do Babies Cry? section, she provides a few soothing strategies. To boot, the book is filled with some awfully cute pictures of babies in action!

This is a great resource to have on hand whether you're expecting your first or your fifth (even after having my fourth, I found myself walking around the house muttering, "Why is he still crying?" more often than not). Better yet, it makes an awesome gift for a friend who's expecting. Expectant moms often have far more time to lie on the couch learning the intricacies of why babies do what they do before they are here doing it, right?

As spring viruses continue to circulate, my attention has once again been diverted to germ control. My latest favorite product: Clorox Anywhere Hard Surface daily sanitizing spray. It's gentle enough to use around kids, pets, and food, and has been shown to kill over 99.9% of bacteria. Sounds great to me! Perfect for pacifiers, high chair trays, kitchen counters, toys, and doorknobs, and lunch boxes, for starters. You could even purchase some of the travel size spray bottles, fill them, and carry the spray in your purse to use on restaurant tables and restaurant high chairs!

As is much of the free world I'm sure, I'm anxiously awaiting news of TomKat's kitten. Not because I really care whether it's a boy or a girl or how much he or she weighs, but because I'm chomping at the bit regarding exactly how quiet the Kat of TomKat is able to stay while enduring childbirth. Like many, I'm worried about Katie Holmes. Instead of a Free Katie T-shirt, I think I'd like one that reads, "Scream, Katie, Scream!"

Since I am not going to give birth anytime soon—quietly or otherwise—silence and sanity are important to me. I recently came upon quite a gem of a book which, while aimed at providing strategies for new moms, has some interesting tidbits that will benefit second, third, and fourth time moms as well. While many postpartum nurses will merely toss you a pack of wipes and a few diapers once they learn that you have already been through the whole what-do-I-do-with-this-tiny-baby conundrum, the fact is that women could have a new baby each year for all the cool new information, equipment, and advice that hits the market annually (and still feel as confused as they did the first time around).

The New Mom's Manual: Over 800 Tips and Advice from Hundreds of Moms for Baby's First Yearprovides tips and tricks that I'd not yet heard—even after having four children. I mean, putting a piece of coal in a diaper pail to absorb odors? Brilliant! (It works to absorb odors in a refrigerator, so I don't know why this idea didn't occur to me sooner, but...) And while I consider myself quite creative (read: resourceful when necessary), I've never thought to use 3-D fabric paint to make regular socks non-skid.

Whether you have a newborn on the way, one (or more) in the family room, or are simply are curious about what new maternal inventions necessity has recently prompted, check this book out!

Back to the kitten watch...

I'm still going strong on the whole No Yelling thing. I did slip this morning when I saw George grab my coveted Starbucks Tall Nonfat Latte with two Splenda and proceed to hurl it like a baseball (Roger Clemens style) toward the television. But I realize now that technically, that whole fiasco was my fault. After all, I left the beverage buried three feet back in the corner of the kitchen counter backsplash where, apparently, he could easily acquire it by using a chair to crawl up onto the counter (in thirteen seconds or less). I should have seen that coming.

As a stay-at-home mom, I sometimes finding myself wondering just how the "other half" lives. To this end, I enjoy a bit of Hollywood news now and then, either to stimulate my fantasies or remind me why living in the middle of the Midwest in the winter isn't so bad after all. I've found a great site to provide me with just that sort of entertainment: Celebrity Babies.

I also recently found a book that had me nearly crying with laughter, and I believe that any such book should be immediately shared with as many other mothers as possible: Be Happy or I'll Scream!: My Deranged Quest for the Perfect Husband, Family, and Life by Sheri Lynch is hysterical. Honestly, do you need a better title than that to pique your interest? Check it out.

So far so good on the No Yelling plan. I must say, I'm significantly less stressed overall. A critical lesson learned on Day 1 is that when all four kids are all yelling, I cannot get their attention using my No Yelling voice. My solution: I purchased a whistle. I wear it around like a soccer coach. When all else fails, it tends to get their attention.

Have you ever noticed how much time you can spend online trying to find a site that consistently provides solid information and resources regarding parenting? When I find a resource that consistently provides quality, beneficial information, it can be more thrilling than a day without blowing the whistle.

One of my favorite resources is The Mother of All Blogs by Ann Douglas. Ann is an award-winning journalist and author of 28 books, including The Mother of All Baby Books and The Mother of All Toddler Books. Early this spring her newest book, Sleep Solutions for Your Baby, Toddler, and Preschooler: The Ultimate No-Worry Approach to Every Age and Stage hits the bookshelves. (I'll be first in line, as "sleep" is not a word anyone in this house under the age of 33 seems to be fond of.)

Ann's brief, easy-to-read commentary on myriad parenting issues and sanity-saving products for parenting (not to mention the mom who's in desperate need of escaping the challenges of parenting for an hour or two) has made The Mother of All Blogs a daily necessity. Check it out!

As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red again, I sat there thinking about life. Was it nothing more than a bunch of honking and yelling? Sometimes it seemed that way.

-Jack Handey [Deep Thoughts]

Every year I try to come up with something unique to give up for Lent. Most years it involves foods with high fructose corn syrup as the first ingredient. I typically make it less than 36 hours.

This year I'm going to attempt something different. My plan: I will give up yelling.

Yelling exhausts me. The kids are loud; I yell so that they can hear me; they yell back so I can hear them; and on it goes.

I have 48 hours to consult with my parenting bible, Parent Talk by Chick Moorman, to identify at least five phrases to utter (calmly) during those scenarios for which I most often resort to to yelling.

My friend Mollie takes a different approach to Lent. She takes on something. She strives to pay a compliment to at least one person each day. If it's someone who's annoyed her, such as a rude check-out person, she gets double points. She might offer to pick up groceries for a neighbor. She might commit to one more day volunteering at her twins' preschool than she normally would.

She is most intrigued by the No Yelling plan. She doesn't think it's even remotely realistic and doubts I'll make it even 36 hours. I'm committed, but I'm going to need a lot of high fructose corn syrup available if I hope to stand a chance.