Yoga Studio

The kids take a yoga class on Monday afternoons at The Dragon's Egg in Ledyard. The class is 45 minutes long. I could theoretically go for a little run or a quick grocery shop, but I like to stay. I like to be in this space.

Marya, the yoga teacher, radiates peace. She floats on her toes waving incense before class begins. The smell reminds me of Portland, of being 25 and drinking coffee in shops with beaded doorways. The conversation in those days was intense. Everything was so important.

All here is glass and wood. This epitomizes Marya's teaching style. She keeps the kids in check, but gently. Nobody flies out the window. The ground is solid under their feet. Safe.



I sit in the little lobby and look at the yoga books on the shelves, the Buddha tapestries, the elephants. This place is calming. The Other Mothers are lovely. We chat in whispers, but not lightly. Conversations here too can get intense. We are Homeschooling Mothers after all. We have a lot to say to each other.

Sometimes I think I'm too harsh for this place. I was trying to get Ben to leave last week after class, but all he wanted to do was run and slide in his socks. Who wouldn't? I grabbed his arm to force him into his jacket, and it felt violent. It felt like a betrayal of The Peace.

I don't do yoga myself. It gives me a headache. Literally. Bending backwards makes me nauseous, and lying on the floor invites all manner of dust into my sinuses. Not to mention I'm neither graceful not bendy. I like the bang bang bang of running. Yoga has no bang for me.

But the kids love it. They giggle and bend. And all is well with the world.