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Hubby and I are waking up early a few days a week. We crawl out of bed, stumble into the kitchen, let the dog out and the cats in, put on a pot of coffee, and rearrange the living room.

After placing our mats in front of the television, Hubby tunes in to the exercise-on-demand channel and searches for our morning yoga show. Sitting with legs crossed and spine reaching for the stars, we breathe.

On our yoga mornings, we get up extra early. We want to be assured that the kids aren't awake and there is no possibility of anyone coming to the door. We must be completely focused on our breathing and poses. And, we must not let anyone witness how ridiculous we look.

Several factors made us realize that yoga would be a good addition to our regular routine. First, we bought new bathing suits. Not necessarily because our old ones were weathered and worn, but more because our old suits somehow drastically shrank during the past few seasons. Maybe someone accidentally tossed them in the dryer.

Trying on bathing suits is a great way to kill self-esteem. Because so many style options are out there, the possibility of finding the correct, flattering fit on the first attempt is virtually non-existent. Even a bone-thin Hollywood actor would revisit diet and exercise plans after trying on bathing suits.

Another factor is ice cream. When the stores have sales on tubs of the cool, sweet treat on a hot, sticky summer day, we tend to splurge -- for the children, of course.

Trying to set a good example, Hubby and I finish our food. A finished supper is the household prerequisite for a bowl of whipped cream-topped dessert. Therefore, to demonstrate to the boys what they will miss if they don't finish the grilled squash and zucchini medley still sitting cold and icky on their plates, we dish out our treats and enjoy -- for the sake of the children, of course.

As if bathing suits and ice cream are not enough, the final blow was the purchase of Hubby's new grill. Burgers, sausage, chicken, veggies -- they all taste much better now that Hubby has gotten the hang of all the bells and whistles of his giant, outdoor cooking appliance. And when the food tastes better, very little ends up in the fridge wrapped in foil or stuffed in plastic tubs.

We used to call the boys home for dinner, but with the new grill, they can smell the decadent scent of food all over the neighborhood. When Hubby starts cooking, the boys, who have been scarce for hours, suddenly appear. Sometimes, a friend or two, also enticed by the aroma, tags along.

The night we decided to use the grill for homemade pizza was the defining moment in our decision to do something other than shop for new wardrobes in a larger size. After every member of our family polished off an entire pizza -- one pizza each -- we knew we were in trouble. The pizzas were not individual-sized, but rather 16 inches of melt-in-your-mouth, lightly crispy, golden and bubbly cheesed, perfectly seasoned pizza heaven.

Not only did we not have leftovers for lunch the next day, but we also realized in our overstuffed state of food bliss that we had to make some changes. First, smaller homemade pizzas will be in our future. Six inches of pizza is plenty for any meal. And second, there will be more exercise.

Yoga seemed a good way to go, because it is readily available on television and it seems to be a relaxing way to exercise. We could work not only on weight loss, but strength and stress relief. Plus, how hard can it be to pose and breathe for an hour?

After a week of learning the ropes, we began to get the hang of "seeing" the beautiful person inside and letting that person radiate out. Our toxins are seeping away as we release and let go. We can now more easily let the corners of our eyes sink deep into our brains as we bring awareness to the core of our beings.

One of our boys woke up before we completed our yoga routine, and we did not die of embarrassment. Of course, that might have been because we were distracted by having to administer the Heimlich maneuver when he started choking on his cereal. Don't worry -- he's fine and we did remind him not to laugh hysterically with food in his mouth.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.