;)
Tuesday
Jan122010
What Goes Around Comes Around. Twice.
My husband and I have been married for eleven years. Eleven years is a long time to do anything. We've seen our share of ups and downs, and that is the understatement of the year. I am not the easiest woman to be married to, for any number of reasons. I am grossly insecure and particularly needy and excessively sensitive. He's got his things, too, but this isn't about him today, it's about me. I've made him work for this relationship. I change the rules on him constantly and expect him to just keep up. Example: When he met me, I worked three jobs, 19 hours a day, 6 days a week. Now I stay home and let him go to work for at least 12 hours every single day while I fail in every way to so much as wash the dishes. He does this with a smile on his face, or so I assume; it's not like I ever actually see his face anymore. I'd like to say that he at least gets to come home to a hot little body waiting for him in lingerie, but what he really comes home to is a snoring wife wearing his sweat pants hogging his side of the bed who used to be a size -0 and is now a solid 12.
I make few apologies for this. It's not like I knocked myself up with a baby that decided to make me gain 105 pounds in nine months, after all.
However misguided my feelings on the subject, I do feel a little bad that the 98 pound girl with a D cup you could stack plates on that he signed up for a life with has now turned into a National Geographic centerfold. I feel bad enough, in fact, that I, on occasion, will buy him pistachios and roses and have them waiting for him when he comes home in the middle of the night after the umpteenth night straight at work.
He reciprocates occasionally, coming home late from work on the nights he's due in early, bearing gifts for me, too.
That is a gym membership, brought home for me last week, because apparently he wants a divorce. You leave a man enough times and he'll start double-dog daring you to do it again, all for the low low price of $31/month.
To his credit, he did include all-you-can-eat childcare in the package. So now I can't bitch about being fat, having no where to go OR having no one to watch my kid while I go there anymore. It's like he's robbed me of everything, including my lovely lady lumps. Asshole.
But I'm determined to use it, partly because I do want to get the fuck out of this house occasionally, and I would like to do it sans-four-year-old, but mostly because I'm sick people congratulating me and asking me when the baby is due. The best answer to which is, "Four years, three months and eleven days ago; thanks for asking." So I went last night to try this thing out. I got the four year old ready to go and the nine year old announced that he'd like to go as well. So I put my gym bag down, huffed a little, and called to see if I had a two-for-one daycare special. Which I do. I grabbed my bag, my two youngest, and headed out the door when my eleven year old ran down the stairs in full gym gear asking if he could come, too. You know, to work out with me.
Seriously, I just started being able to poop without company. Will there never be a moment's rest from these people?
So I put everything down, again, and called the gym, again, huffed, AGAIN, and lied about his age, again, and found out that I could bring him. So off we all went. 45 minutes after I was planning on getting to the gym, we had two kids checked into daycare and one magically-turned twelve year old on an elliptical next to me. Who beat my fat fucking ass, hard. Every spanking this kid has ever received in his entire life was repaid last night, in full. He pwned me.
Vengeance is a dish best served sweaty, with burning quads.
It's not like I can let me kid out-work me. If he does 50 crunches on the ab-thingy, I have to do 50, also. If he's barely broken a sweat after 20 minutes on the elliptical, I have to grin and pray silently for god to strike us all dead and spare me this humiliating torture. If he gets through an entire circuit and asks to do it again, well, I just have to do it all again. Even if I can't stand upright anymore. Even if I've sweated out every drop of moisture in my body and am now replacing that sweat with blood. Even if my legs are jello and I can't recall where my arms used to be. Even if I just want so scream that THIS WAS MY PRESENT AND YOU ARE RUINING IT, SHORT PERSON. I can't do that, now can I? We're having a bonding moment, right? One of those fleeting mother-son moments that will be over the second this kid learns what a Playboy magazine is. Which, thanks to him, I may be able to appear in someday.
I make few apologies for this. It's not like I knocked myself up with a baby that decided to make me gain 105 pounds in nine months, after all.
However misguided my feelings on the subject, I do feel a little bad that the 98 pound girl with a D cup you could stack plates on that he signed up for a life with has now turned into a National Geographic centerfold. I feel bad enough, in fact, that I, on occasion, will buy him pistachios and roses and have them waiting for him when he comes home in the middle of the night after the umpteenth night straight at work.
He reciprocates occasionally, coming home late from work on the nights he's due in early, bearing gifts for me, too.
That is a gym membership, brought home for me last week, because apparently he wants a divorce. You leave a man enough times and he'll start double-dog daring you to do it again, all for the low low price of $31/month.
To his credit, he did include all-you-can-eat childcare in the package. So now I can't bitch about being fat, having no where to go OR having no one to watch my kid while I go there anymore. It's like he's robbed me of everything, including my lovely lady lumps. Asshole.
But I'm determined to use it, partly because I do want to get the fuck out of this house occasionally, and I would like to do it sans-four-year-old, but mostly because I'm sick people congratulating me and asking me when the baby is due. The best answer to which is, "Four years, three months and eleven days ago; thanks for asking." So I went last night to try this thing out. I got the four year old ready to go and the nine year old announced that he'd like to go as well. So I put my gym bag down, huffed a little, and called to see if I had a two-for-one daycare special. Which I do. I grabbed my bag, my two youngest, and headed out the door when my eleven year old ran down the stairs in full gym gear asking if he could come, too. You know, to work out with me.
Seriously, I just started being able to poop without company. Will there never be a moment's rest from these people?
So I put everything down, again, and called the gym, again, huffed, AGAIN, and lied about his age, again, and found out that I could bring him. So off we all went. 45 minutes after I was planning on getting to the gym, we had two kids checked into daycare and one magically-turned twelve year old on an elliptical next to me. Who beat my fat fucking ass, hard. Every spanking this kid has ever received in his entire life was repaid last night, in full. He pwned me.
Vengeance is a dish best served sweaty, with burning quads.
It's not like I can let me kid out-work me. If he does 50 crunches on the ab-thingy, I have to do 50, also. If he's barely broken a sweat after 20 minutes on the elliptical, I have to grin and pray silently for god to strike us all dead and spare me this humiliating torture. If he gets through an entire circuit and asks to do it again, well, I just have to do it all again. Even if I can't stand upright anymore. Even if I've sweated out every drop of moisture in my body and am now replacing that sweat with blood. Even if my legs are jello and I can't recall where my arms used to be. Even if I just want so scream that THIS WAS MY PRESENT AND YOU ARE RUINING IT, SHORT PERSON. I can't do that, now can I? We're having a bonding moment, right? One of those fleeting mother-son moments that will be over the second this kid learns what a Playboy magazine is. Which, thanks to him, I may be able to appear in someday.
tagged 
1of3, divorce, exercise, gym, spanking | in An actual post about parenting, Ouch, love and marriage | Permalink
1of3, divorce, exercise, gym, spanking | in An actual post about parenting, Ouch, love and marriage | Permalink 
Reader Comments (39)
Score #1, your kid actually went to the gym-provided child care. Mine scream like I'm ripping their toenails if I try to dump them in there. Good luck finding your arms today ;) Feel the BURN!
Congrats on the anniversary. And good luck on the gym thing. I have allergic reactions to gyms. I start breathing heavily and sweating and even burning calories. So I tend to leave and never go back.
You forget we've seen you naked. The view isn't bad at all. However, I do get the wanting to happy in the skin you're in thing. It's an issue for me, a rather big one at that. Plus, there's health, wellness and longetivity blah blah. This year I've opted for (read: my husband got tired of my complaining) a cleaning person over fitness classes, theory being if I have someone else to help keep up with the housework I'll make time for fitness on my own. I'll keep you posted. :D
Dude! You brought your own personal trainer.
Just think how much you're saving in personal trainer fees! They are seriously expensive. (Also, your guy is a bargain! Mine costs twice that for me + twofer at the daycare.) Good for you for kicking your own booty. Maybe I should take some inspiration. Or eat some more pb&j...
You own little trainer. How cute. Bet you didn't know THAT came with the package. LOL!
Holy FUCK!!
Is this what I have to look forward to?
I thought it was bad when my boyfriend came home one evening, pinched my cheek and said:
"Oooooh...your face is getting soooo chubby!"
:(
It's amazing how long and hard a kid can exercise when walking around the mall for more than 15 minutes results in crys of misery: "Mom, I'm soooo tired!"
Maybe you can train him just as helpfully when it comes to cleaning his room. (Just guessing here.)
The first time Steve came home with a gym membership for me, under the guise of being helpful, would be the last, and he had better hoope like hell that said gym provides a sleeping room for those men who were stupid enough to bring that home for and anniversary present. Just sayin. Of course, what did I get for my aniversary? Um...fuck if I know!
Congrats on getting up the oomph to go to the gym! My six year old wants to do yoga with me and out bends me every single time. Little shit. I say use the little stinker for inspiration!
It may suck now, but I think 1of3 may be the key to your success ;) Have fun at the gym!
: What Goes Around Comes Around. Twice. http://www.whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/01/12/gym/
@daddyclay Worse gift than dishes? Gym membership! http://www.whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/01/12/gym/
ha ha ha. so that was you in the gym in front of me passing out next to a short man? just kidding. i don't know the inside of a gym.
i sooooo can relate to this. so proud of you woman! girl just make that commitment and go for it, just do it! get your body and groove back, not that you don't have a groove through your blog.
and if he gave you this membership, use every inch of your will power to take it on. i'd love to get a membership to the local ymca but i is too broke.
If i had bothered to go back to work within a year after the babies, i'd probably weigh much less. but noooo, had to stay home and wanted to stay home. if only i could rewind. i've found anytime i start a new job i lose weight bc i am working hard, eating less, walking around. i've lost sixish pounds - yes sixish - since december and i'm planning to lose thirty (gulp) more. i was never a size zero. yeah, i weighed 90 pounds at one point in college but then went up to 110...i still don't think i wore a size zero. i always wore baggier clothes intentionally. how stupid i was.
and what i really like is that you took his gift like a real woman, not like one of those crabs who say, how dare he. bc let's face it ladies, there's a lot of women out there our guys can look at and probably do. and men or women, should not be faulted for wanting their spouses to look better, healthier or just plain hot! i totally get that. i want to look hot too!
Sounds like the quickest reason for divorce and the cheapest personal trainer ...all in one post!
Yep, it WILL be a fleeting mother-son thing. Soon, he'll start bumping into other middle school boys and ditch you to go play hoops with them.
Been there, done that.
I'm getting the entire text of this post tattooed on my ass.
Alas. It will probably fit in a font readable from some distance.
See you at the gym.
Loved this post! I put purple streaks in my hair today. Again. I haven't done it for awhile. My 14yo son told me they look good, but that I'm not supposed to have purple streaks in my hair because I am a mother. His mother. I am a total embarrassment to my teen.
Somehow this pleases me.
: )
PS He would NEVER be seen with me at a gym!
Too funny! Well at least you don't have to worry about NOT getting a good workout. Maybe next time you will think twice about getting a gift for someone other then yourself. HAHA!! This definitely would make me consider twice!
I wasn't aware that Jillian Michaels was one of your children.
My husband and I just had the "we really need to get to the gym" talk. It's just hard when it's so crappy outside. I'd rather run down by the river than on a treadmill--it's boring!
Good luck to you! And yay for "free" childcare! LOL.
The line about finally pooping alone killed me. I'm still giggling. And seriously? They are still going to want to go with me when they are eleven?
I shouldn't laugh. But I am. But I shouldn't.
Sorry. I'm conflicted today. And amused.
(also, writing in tiny sentences. Sorry.)
there's always hope. Dont they baore easily at that age??? maybe he'll wear himself out after three or four times
BORE easily, I cant type before coffee, I really need to remember that, sorry
Good for you, I think. It is good right?
This is too funny! Love that your kid inspired you, though. Mine would wimp out halfway through I'm sure.
Hope you can get away alone soon. :)
@Twenty Four At Heart,
You should tell him to be thankfull it's just streaks in your hair, when my oldest son was 14, he and his 13 year old brother got a brand new BABY SISTER! His best friend (a really great kid!) came over to see her the day after we brought her home from the hospital and said "Dude! I know what your Mom's been doing!" I nearly fell on the floor laughing. The boys laugh about it now that their sister is 2 1/2 and they also have a 1 year old baby brother. 'Cause, yeah, everybody knows what their Mom's been doing, and they're over it. But, you know, it's worse than purple streaks in your hair.
I do know the feeling. My daughter who is all extra tiny is all, can I go to the gym and run with you? That was just stupid to say yes, because then I almost gave myself a heart attack trying to keep up. Damn her for being all young and full of energy.
These are the times when you tell your kid "Ok Mr Fitness boy, let's see you start a blog that gets tons of traffic and is linked to by Starwars.com and..."
Scratch that.
That's why I don't join the gym. Yeah, that's the reason.
Thirty-one dollars a month? My gym is bleeding me dry. But you know what? It's totally worth it for the whenever-I-need-it childcare. If I have to go to spin class for 45 minutes to get some "me" time, that's fine. (Anyway, I can eat M&M's and ride a bike at the same time if I want.) And one of these days, I'm going to drop my girls off at childcare and go read a book in the sauna. I swear.
$31 a month is really cheap when you bring childcare in the mix! I agree with the C-F Mama---just take a book and sit in the hot tub.
ha-I totally laughed out loud at this: Seriously, I just started being able to poop without company. Will there never be a moment’s rest from these people?
There will be...when they are teens. And then you will miss them. Until they totally screw up. Or when they refuse to do their chores. Or when they talk back. Then you won't miss them.
Fake an injury.
It's your only way out of this. Throw yourself down the stairs, run yourself into a wall, toss yourself out of a moving vehicle...do whatEVER it takes. The working out and moving of one's body MUST be stopped!!
You can't put a price on motivation! You need to keep your mini trainer on hand!
And I also seriously cacked myself at this line: "Seriously, I just started being able to poop without company. Will there never be a moment’s rest from these people?"
I totally feel that one!
So funny. Loved it. I tried the elliptical the last time I went to the gym. I had to lay down before I passed out. Trainer said eat carbs first next time. As if. I am just that out of shape.
Ah. So I need an almost 12 year old to motivate my fat hiney at the gym? That's what's been missing.
The first time I got on the elliptical I felt like I was going to die after 3 minutes. I can now make it almost 30 before the feeling of impending death sets in but wow, your 12 your old trainer sounds like a fabulous motivator.
BWAAAH HA!!! This is my first time here and I must say you are HIL.AR.I.OUS!!!!! I love this site!!!
I almost spit my tea all over the computer when I got here.....
"That is a gym membership, brought home for me last week, because apparently he wants a divorce."
I understand COMPLETELY!!!!!
Love it!