I Don't Ask For Much

We're back in Cali again & there are only two things I ask for when Shad is looking for a hotel: one is that the door to the room not open to the outside (reminds me of too many scary movies) & the other is a workout room. I don't need a full gym, I just need a treadmill, because remember, I'm handicapped.

Well, of course we get checked into our hotel & there is no workout room. I thought I had seen one on their website, but I was thinking of the hotel I had picked out, not this one. We had just gotten back into the car to get our groceries for the week too when I realized this & for some unknown reason, I broke down. My crazy pills weren't working apparently. (Note: please don't take offense if you take PPD pills.)

We got to the store & I lost it. I was seriously acting like a 3-year-old, not a 30-year-old & Shad wasn't afraid to tell me that. I had tears streaming down my face while Shad is trying to find out what it was he could've done to avoid this situation. I told him, "I don't ask for much. I only care about two things when it comes to my comfort in a hotel: the door & the workout room." That's when he told me I was acting like a child & asked if I wanted to pick out the bread. "No." Then he asked if I wanted to get chips or crackers to have with lunches. "No." Did I want to get ice cream? "Heck no!" If I can't workout, why would I want to pack on the pounds with ice cream? I was so upset.

I finally calmed myself down by the time we were ready to check out. And looking back, I do feel bad for acting the way I did & most of all, I'm grateful we don't live here in case we saw someone we knew. But c'mon, I really don't think I ask for that much. I suppose I shouldn't be complaining because I'm certainly not contributing to the income of our household & Shad is the world's hardest worker, so the last thing I should be doing is giving him more work.

I had this conversation with a friend of mine though & she said she & her hubby have the same types of arguments. It's as if it's our husband's fault that we're having a "fat day". Maybe it's because they have higher metabolisms or because society places less pressure on men to be thin & beautiful.

My dear friend said she was in her baby's nursery watching the baby play when her husband walked in. My friend had just tried on everything in her closet & nothing seemed to fit, so she was borderline livid. She was rocking in the baby's rocking chair really violently (again, the baby was on the floor playing, far away from my sweet friend - no need to call Child Protective Services here, kids).

My friend's husband walked in & asked her, "want to go out for ice cream?" & took one look at her as she was throwing herself back & forth in the glider & then said, "nevermind". He knew. I think all husbands know - "for Pete's Sake, another fat day??"

Another favorite of mine is when I tell Shad I'm tired of feeling so flabby & he replies, "I feel flabby too." Um, so you're agreeing that I am flabby? He can't win.

I am thankful I'm not the only one who has these breakdowns & that other girls experience these same feelings. And for Shad's sake, I am grateful that other husbands experience his "pain" too.

In addition, I am also grateful Shad isn't as "honest" as my brother-in-law. My sister, Alicia has the toughest skin when it comes to brushing off her hubby's candidness (is that a word??).

One day when she was doing yardwork, Luke came outside & told her she looked like a Line-Backer in the jacket she was wearing. Alicia said, "you could say something like, 'you look nice' for once." So Luke proceeds to say, "you look nice for once." Thank heavens Alicia is tiny, petite & beautiful with strong self-esteem & remembers Luke has no sisters. Girls don't want to look like Line-Backers.

So ... in the meantime, we're moving hotels. Uh huh, this brat got her way! We're moving to a nicer hotel down the road that has a workout room. However, let me first state that I did try to take a long walk yesterday & found myself dead-ending in a scary trailer park. Um, turn around. So, I went the other way & found myself passing what I could only describe as what looked like some sort of drug-deal outside of a neon green camper parked behind a burned down motel. Um, ghetto. Mind you, I have a baby strapped to the front of me while I'm passing all this nonsense.

I swear these towns aren't as sketchy as I just made this one sound. Normally, we're in great areas in a great room with a great view & we're super safe. And we ARE safe, but if you see Cashe & I on the side of a milk carton, you'll know it's because Shad wasn't listening when I told him to get a hotel with a workout room so I didn't have to take walks in the ghetto.

Cashe is practicing his boxing moves on "Ellie" (the elephant) in case he ever needs to protect his mama.

Here he's throwing some gang signs. I think this means he's from the "West Side".

(I know, I'm such a bad mom. I promise I don't encourage boxing or gang-related activity.
I swear my kid won't be the school bully. He's too sweet.)