Yesterday while at work, I called the house to check on the kids. Matt answered and promptly set the phone on the counter and told Claire to talk to me.
No. He wasn’t mad at me. He was in the middle of working out. My husband. Matt. Working out. He was using the Wii (because it’s AWESOME) saying that he needs to strengthen up his knees before he kicks my ass next month. Oh, snap. Them be fightin’ words.
I honestly thought he had forgotten his vow to beat me in the race next month. But clearly he is taking this seriously. This makes me happy because:
1. He needs to get his skinny ass in shape. It’s not fair that he’s thin no matter what he does (or doesn’t do in this case) and can eat whatever he wants. ‘Bout time he earns his skinniness.
2. He sits at a desk all day and types. I’m such a nurse, but I tell him all the time he’s a blood clot waiting to happen. Seriously. It could happen.
3. I love a good challenge.
4. He needs some sort of stress reduction. I won’t even start on his blood pressure, but with his family’s history of heart attacks and such, nope. Not for him.
5. I can’t wait to kick his ass.
Overall, I’m excited that he’s taking this whole thing seriously. I’d hope my avid working out would start to rub off on him. I mean, damn, I’m at the gym 5 days a week, work the other two, still have time to make dinner and take care of the kids, mow the lawn, keep the house somewhat presentable and look damn sexy doing it all. There’s no excuse that he can’t do the same.
When I asked Claire who was going to win the race she looked at Matt, then looked at me and said, “Mommy’s gonna win by a lot.”
That’s my girl.