Just Breathe

"MOOooOOooOOooOOooMMEEeeEEeeEE!" 

Ah, the joys of babysitting. 

She really is too old for this. I slung her over my shoulder and dragged her up to my lair as she continued to wail and howl as though I was extracting a molar sans anesthetic. 

I threw her down on the bed, lecturing her as I made the preparations for bedtime, drawing curtains, clicking on night-lights, finding the blanket that was just the right weight. At which point I noticed that her hands were clamped over her mouth. 

"I wanna stop but I can't," she sobbed piteously. 

At which point, of course, I ceased to be Admiral Aunt, and mellowed. "This is what you do," I crooned. "Breathe in . . . and out . . . breathe in . . . and out." She loudly sucked in and expelled air, and within the minute she was calm. I had just started reading a book when she thankfully dozed off. From 60 to 0 in five minutes.

I had learned this simple breathing trick the hard way, from experience. 

I'm not the best of travelers, and small, shaky jets inflict the worst damage. I actually had to use my air-sick bag. 

Via deviantart.com

I staggered off the plane, near tears, knees dangerously wobbly; I collapsed onto the first chair I saw. Then a Voice began to soothingly instruct me from somewhere to the left. "Breathe in . . . and out . . . breathe in . . . and out . . ." I automatically obeyed, and despite my sniffly disbelief, was shocked that practically immediately I felt human again. The Voice belonged to a smiling middle-aged nurse, who was really so kind to talk me off the edge. 

Take two with my niece occurred but a few weeks later, when I arrived on my brother's doorstep for Shabbos. The parents were going to a dinner that night, leaving the brood in my care. As soon as I stupidly informed her of that fact, she disappeared. Then the telltale caterwauling rang from the depths of the house. 

I tackled her, hauled her downstairs, bawling her out as I did so. "Such a big girl to behave like this! I'm not going to tell you anything if this is how you behave! This is not how a big girl acts! And now—we are doing yoga breaths! IN! OUT! IN! OUT!"

The fuchsia-mottled face, composed mostly of open mouth, subsided into a creamy-hued doll-like visage in about 74 seconds. She lay on the couch, blinking dreamily. Her stunned elders sisters, who had witnessed my "cruelty" with wide-eyed horror, could not quite process the magical result. 

"Yoga breaths," I said smugly. 

I kept invoking "yoga breaths" the whole night. By the tenth time, the 12-year-old said, "Oh! She's saying 'yoga breath,' not 'yogurt breath'!" 

Call it whatever you like; it gets the job done. 

If I feel overwhelmed, short of temper, ready to collapse—I slowly inhale, expanding my stomach, and gradually deflate. Then repeat.