Toddler sized yoga failure

Today I taught my second ever toddler yoga class.

And I bombed.

I had thought having nursery music coordinated to specific poses would work. It didn't. It was a noisy loud distraction where last week singing went better. I thought a lot of running around things first would help; it didn't. It meant that the eight toddlers wanted to run around the whole class, except Ava who wanted to cling to my leg.

We ended after half an hour and I felt like a complete failure. A failure like I haven't felt in ages, but perhaps that is because I've been running on auto-pilot for a while now and not taking risks. Jumping halfway instead of to infinity and beyond.

I'm pacifying my feelings of failure with a glass of wine. And the three cookies I ate out of the bag in the car on the way home from the grocery store.

T showed up shortly after I got home and after hearing my deflated story told me the two dozen ways that I did not fail, and even if I felt like I did, I showed up. I tried to teach eight toddlers something about yoga. He said it was okay if my idea of bingeing was three cookies and one glass of wine (consequently followed by broccoli and TJ's organic mac and cheese shells).

But I wish I could have failed in private, I whined, not in front of two parents in our co-op.

Ah-ha! He laughed, that's the issue! Failure is okay as long as nobody else knows then?

Busted. I guess that isn't the point of failure, is it? Instead of wrapping the story of failure around me like an itchy blanket, I have to laugh at myself. I'm not ready to laugh, just yet. Maybe in ten more minutes.