Twas’ the Night Before Christmas…

Merry Christmas everyone!  I hope everyone’s holiday was as warm and festive as mine was.  On Saturday, Christmas Eve, I went with Frank to his family’s house in Brooklyn.  Nothing like partying with the Eye-talians; we had what seemed like a 15 course seafood themed dinner.  The deliciousness included calamari, a vat of ciopinno, which is like a giant fish stew, seafood salad, lobster tails, (which OMG I actually ate; I never eat seafood) and many more edible delights I can’t pronounce or remember, all prepared by Frank’s stellar chef cousin.  Note to self: “Make one of my future children a professional chef, this way I never have to cook for the holidays”.  Our feeding bonanza concluded with every kind of dessert you can think of and the unwrapping of presents by the Christmas tree. 

Here's a picture of ciopinno!  It's so much fun to say the word, pronounced cho-pino.

On Christmas Day, Frank made sure we woke up at the totally convenient time of 7:00am to get to Mandy’s so we could watch Kaylee wake up and see all of her presents.  Mandy and Justin were so excited to be woken up at 7:30am by an overzealous Francis and myself.  Nothing was more adorable than watching her face light up when she saw all of the boxes surrounding the tree.  Note to self: “Only buy toys that do not need instructions OR batteries”.  Her favorite item was a Little Tyke battery powered train from Uncle Frankie.  Kaylee can actually sit on it and ride it around the kitchen.  It’s Tuesday now and I am pretty sure she still hasn’t stopped riding it yet.

From there we went back to Frank’s house where I was spoiled rotten by his family.  Picture the quintessential rotating red and white Christmas tree with tons of expertly wrapped color coded presents all around.  Frank’s living room layout looked more like a Martha Stewart holiday ad or the centerpiece decorated tree found in Pier I imports.  I started crying on the way home from his house because no one person deserves so many things.  The list included Hunter rain boots, all seasons of Dexter, every perfume imaginable, clothes, (including my favorite but way too expensive brand Free People), an IPad, digital camera, video camera, pj’s, and jewelry.  I must have looked crazy driving home with a carful of unwrapped presents and tears streaming down my face. 

When I got home I had Christmas with my immediate family around 3pm, which is actually the earliest we’ve ever had a Christmas in the Bayiokos household.  Usually mom’s screaming for us not to come downstairs until after she’s done wrapping, which is ALWAYS after 12pm.  I keep insisting that she just throw everything into a giant gift bag, and that at 26 years I am pretty sure I have figured out that it’s not Santa who’s been leaving the presents all along, but she doesn’t care.  Note to self: “Get everything wrapped beforehand at the mall.  Saves time and Santa’s elves from A LOT of stress Christmas night, or in our case, Christmas day”.

 I am always so excited to give out the gifts I have bought for others.  I enjoy surprising those I love with a truly awesome gift.  Frank summed it up best, “My favorite gift was seeing how happy Kaylee got when she opened her train”.  In giving we are actually receiving. 

I hope everyone had a Christmas filled with happiness, friends and family.  It’s a time to reflect on the things we have instead of the things we don’t.  I am fortunate enough to have all the people I care about and all the things I need in life.  I have found that God always gives me what I need and not everything I want, and I am fine with this.  There are so many people with much less, more hardships and more problems and I am grateful for and recognize that my struggles compared to others are thankfully minuscule.  For me that is what Christmas is, to be happy to stand around the brilliance of a Christmas tree with all the people that were able to stand around it the year before. 

And of course, it’s a time to reflect upon religion, something for which I admittedly do not do often enough.  The stories that all religions pass down are beautiful and worth sharing from generation to generation.  Even the atheist has to admit that the morals and ethics that are taught by religions are worth hearing and have lessons to be learned that are pertinent to all.  So, keeping in tune with my Catholic faith, this is one of our most sacred holidays, the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Without his sacrifice none of this would be possible.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

The Games I Play with my Niece

Who knew that I could fall in love with someone so small?  Today’s blog revolves around my niece.   This tiny girl has so much spunk and pizzazz without even being able to formulate sentences yet.  The innocence of a child is, I suppose, the most endearing quality of every child.  The insane frustration that builds up inside me when Kaylee wakes up at 7am melts away when she crawls up beside me in bed, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and begins talking in baby gibberish.  Sweeter words have never been spoken.

Making up songs and dances and prancing around the living room like a crazy person is actually kind of fun. I love being able to solve the world’s problems for her by simply retrieving her favorite toy that’s perched too high or refilling her juice bottle.  I feel like Superwoman, but at the same time I worry for the future about the things I won’t be able to fix, like a personal setback or a broken heart.

I wish there was a way for me to bubble wrap her, to make sure she’s always safe and sound, as impractical and unhealthy as that is.  As my grandmother once said, “I didn’t know how to be a parent; children don’t come with a handbook”.  It is nature or nuture that is mostly responsible for churning out a good child?  What am I doing wrong, what am I doing right?    

God plays this crafty trick on women.  One day you’re worrying about your weekend plans, your hair appointment and your shopping excursion, and BAM out of nowhere you start thinking, almost wanting a baby.  It’s like God created a schedule for women.  From your first menstrual cycle, to your biological alarm clock setting off, to menopause, God has predetermined women’s lives and even our thought processes.  Not so for men.  Why? The injustice of it all.  How will being a mother affect my plans of world domination?  Seriously.

Veering back, having a niece has brought out qualities in me that I did not know I had.  The patience I have developed when I find my niece drawing on my bedroom wall with my favorite eyeliner, or dumping the dog’s water bowl again, has surprised me.  Don’t get any ideas; right now I am completely content with just being an aunt.  That 24/7 job is still on the backburner for me.  I like having a baby sometimes and then being able to give her back.  I still use way too many wipes when she has a diaper-full of number 2 and I have not quite mastered the art yet of whipping up food in 5 minutes flat for baby.

In less than 2 years of her existence I have consistently learned every day from her, how to love more, how to be more patient, and unfortunately how to worry more.        

I guess my point is that while children are still young, and while kissing their boo-boos will make them feel better again, relish the time you have with them, because today’s problems will not be tomorrow’s.  In years to come when you’re worrying about college tuition, the tough looking guy that seems to be hanging around with her an awful lot, and the nose ring she has been hinting at getting, you’ll look nostalgically back at the time when all that would suffice was a lollipop and a kiss. 

"Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all.  Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me.  And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff.  What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them.  That's all I do all day.  I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all.  I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be."  ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

In-Flight Fears

Wanting to be a world traveler is tough when you are terrified of traveling. My job recently offered the opportunity to attend a week-long training in Uruguay.  I have never been, and one of my bucket list goals is to visit every country in the world, (as far fetched as that is) so this is right up my alley.  However, I have a crippling, debilitating fear of flying.

Indeed, my fears have become progressively worse over time.  In my younger days I was fearless and immortal, a far cry from the cowering creature that scribbles impromptu wills shoved under my pillow before traveling anywhere. 

So why this overwhelming anxiety over flying?  Statistically they say you are more likely to get into a car accident than a plane crash; however I find this statistic grossly skewed because the number of times you drive is far greater than the times you will fly in your lifetime.  Also, the probability of one walking away from a fender bender unscathed is insanely higher as opposed to walking away from a plane crash.  You do not get fender benders in the sky.  You hit a goose in the air you go down, (as evidenced by the miracle on the Hudson) you hit a goose on the street and you get a messy windshield.

This leaves me in a most uncomfortable conundrum.  I have tried sleeping pills and muscle relaxers to help ease my nerves during the plane ride, however my adrenaline pumps so hard while in transit that the pills only become effective when we land.  Once I got so hysterical on a plane ride from Florida, which is a mere two hour flight (in my defense we hit the WORST turbulence), that the kindly flight steward brought me warm, first class Mrs. Fields cookies to pacify me like a child.  Score on the munchies, but screwed by my embarrassment. 

My poor boyfriend exits planes with 10 tiny nail marks on his knees and hands, and with frazzled nerves from spending hours trying to get me to calm down.  From all this you would think I have only flown a handful of times in my life but no, I have been to Jamaica, Italy,(three times) Brazil, suffered plane rides to different states for collegiate soccer games, Las Vegas, (twice) Aruba, the Bahamas, Florida and Cali.  You would think I would get better with this stuff. 

As if I do not have enough of my own neuroses to drive me mad, I start suspiciously eyeing travelers behaving weirdly or flying solo.  Why is that carry-on luggage so oddly shaped?  Forget the panicked look on my face when the turn seatbeats light blinks on, you should see me when I spot a morbidly obese woman two rows ahead of me.  Will the equilibrium of the plane be thrown off?  Why are so many people standing waiting for the bathroom?! Why is that mother allowing her child to JUMP on the plane?  Didn’t the pilot look rather young?

Did you know the highest risk of a plane crashing is during take off and landing?  That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  I had previously dismissed being hypnotized but now that treatment method seems much more alluring considering how much this fear is stifling my lifestyle.

Needless to say, I am still vacillating on whether or not to go to Uruguay.  I envy those that take a plane ride like it’s a bus ride and not a monumental life changing experience like it is for me every time.  I am totally open to any therapeutic remedies, so please send along your advice freely; because a life spent hiding is a life not lived.        

Yoga for Idiots

Happy Saturday lovers!  Today I would like to share with you my yoga experience this past Thursday.  Actually, I would like to start from the beginning, which was about a year and a half ago.  I had heard about Bikram Yoga through a cousin who raved about it.  At first, I was hesitate, fighting with the little voice inside my head, “Yoga Cindy?  You’re not a yoga person, you run, play soccer, occasionally lift, yoga is for eternally happy and blissful people, people that live in a world of sunshine and rainbows, and that’s not you”.

 I was also concerned about my zero experience level.   How can I just jump into a class if I know nothing about poses?  I can barely touch my toes without my knees quivering; don’t you need to be somewhat flexible?  And from what I heard, Bikram Yoga is pretty intense.  90 minutes doing poses in a 100°+ room; the prospect seems daunting.  I decided that it couldn’t be that bad, I mean, I made it through 4 years of preseason with soccer in college, 3 a days that made me drop 20lbs in 2 weeks and speed & agility tests that made teammates puke; it’s only yoga…right?

I arrived for my first class wearing a t-shirt and shorts.  Little did I know then how absolutely overdressed I was.  The fee is $20 per class if you are not a member, but since the closest Bikram studio is in Brooklyn, that equates to a pretty expensive workout for a Staten Islander.  I had prepared by drinking lots of water, as was advised, and eating a light meal a few hours beforehand.  The lobby of the studio smelled like the ball pit at McDonald’s; everyone was walking around barefoot and half naked.  Yikes!  As soon as we entered the yoga room, or, as I would more aptly call it the sauna, the experienced yogis took their spots closest to the mirror.  I tried to sink into the back wall as much as humanly possible. 

There were people there from all walks of life, older adults, heavyset individuals, a painfully pregnant woman, petite yoga junkies and my ex-athlete self.  What’s great about this form of yoga is that all levels are in one class.  The idea is to push yourself harder every time you go, a concept I love.  Seeing this eccentric crowd made me more relaxed, because if this 60 year old, heavy woman next to me can do it then so can I.

What ensued was probably one of the most pain experiences excercise-wise in my life.  I couldn’t adjust to the temperature and I couldn’t keep my heart rate steady.  My balance was terribly off.  I felt fat and hated looking at myself in the mirrored wall.  Water would not satiate my extreme thirst or fatigue and I began to panic.  I was screaming in my head as the yoga instructor belted out instructions in her way too happy sing song voice.  IS 90 MINUTES OVER YET?!  I was pouring sweat.  I say pouring and not dripping because I have never been so soaked in my life.  It looked as if I had just gotten out of a pool.  The yogies I originally scoffed at for being so scantily clad I was now immediately jealous of.  I just wanted to strip down, crawl into a ball in the corner of the room and cry.  When the class ended I had an instantaneous headache from being dehydrated. I resolved to never go again.

A week went by.  A little voice somewhere inside started to whisper:  

Maybe you should go again. 

Uh-uh, no way, that was terrible, probably not even healthy for you. 

The whisper grew louder. 

You’re chickening out of doing yoga Cindy, that’s sad, you’ve lost!

UGHHH.

I am an insanely competitive person, and I could not stand the idea of being beaten.  Really, it wasn’t the physical breakdown I was worried about; this yoga mentally tore me to shreds.  For a woman I think it's even harder, because your staring at yourself in this mirror with all of these flaws that seem to be screaming out at you and all you can think of is the extra chub on your leg, let alone trying to do a damn tree pose.  It doesn't even resemble a damn tree. 

Well if I am going to voluntarily suffer again I am totally making someone suffer with me.  I chose my boyfriend Frank.  “Yoga Cindy?  Please, I got an A in my yoga class while I was in college, this won’t be a problem”.  Needless to say, Frank’s first time doing Bikram yoga was his last.   Afterwards in the locker room our male yoga instructor stood naked in front of Frank asking how he liked the class; that also solidified his intent to never go back again.  When we got home Frank laid on the floor in his shower puking from being dehydrated.  I had to feed him Gatorade through a straw from the other side of the shower curtain as his mother fretted around me saying “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BABY?!”.  I never laughed so hard in my life.

Flash forward a year and a half.  I went to class on Thursday evening with a friend.  The one thing I need to work on is to lose my overwhelming feeling of self-consciousness.  It didn’t help that the girlfriend I went with has Barbie-like proportions.  Damnit this tank makes me look fat!  Sitting in the waiting room before hell began, I noticed some of the other yogis around me.  One woman had a faint vertical scar down her back.  It is the scar an individual is left with after having corrective surgery for scoliosis.  Another young man had folds of loose skin around his belly and arms, something common in people after having Bariatric Surgery.  I realized then how many personal issues people deal with, health-wise, and here they were half naked for all the world to see contorting their bodies into awkward, unflattering poses.  My body dsymorphic issues are probably just as bad as everyone else’s.  People at Bikram Yoga aren’t there to judge.  It’s about attaining the best you, feeling good about yourself and pushing your body to its absolute limit.  Never mind the Barbie sitting next to me, my little tummy is a whole lot less of an issue considering what some of these other people appear to have went through.

The first class will be the worst.  After that it gets better.  I encourage everyone to try this type of yoga, not for the first time, but for the second.  You will be amazed at how much easier it is.  My goal is to become more comfortable with myself, because we all reach that point at times when we are just so fed up with what God gave us.  Flexibility may not be my forte, but overcoming my worst enemy, myself, makes it all worth it.  Even if it takes me $20 bucks and a ridiculous toll charge everyday, I will learn how to do a flawless Full Locust pose, and feel comfortable in my own skin doing it.          

Full Locust-