When I think about you I punish myself.

Last night I finally had time to go to the gym for the first time since I was put on restriction with Ivy and since my membership began being charged again.  I was pleasantly surprised with myself.  2.1 miles in 30 minutes on the elliptical is not far off my normal mark.  Tomorrow I am going to go to the yoga class.

 

See, I’ve never liked working out.  Sweating and breathing heavy does not make me feel endorphin’s or whatever else those work out nuts feel.   Jason has said a few times that he knows how much I enjoy my work outs, no I just enjoy not having to grease doors to fit through them.

 

That’s not to say I don’t look forward someday’s to my work out.  When I’ve been stressed and the irritation and urge to maim burn deep hitting the gym really does help.  Instead of venting on those around me I punish myself.  That cookie?  10 minutes of running!  A whole cheeseburger?  Girl get your ass into the pool and swim extra laps!  Finally had it with having to send back charges for correction?  Yoga baby yoga!

 

That’s my secret to staying with my work out.  My motivation is a sort of self punishment system.  Really, I’m my own personal trainer.

I admit it, I like it when you do manual labor.

As some of you may be aware, or as most of you are about to find out, I’m a member of the MOPS group at my church.  MOPS meaning Mothers of Preschooler’s.  As by member I mean I just joined the steering committee.    And yes, I do belong to a church and we do attend.

 

I bring this up because this last meeting was about the 5 Languages of Love.  In case you haven’t heard of it, the 4 Languages of Love is the idea that each of us has different ways we express love to those around us.  Some people like gifts, others physical touch.  Some people like compliments or quality time.  Or you could be like me.  You like people showing you love with manual labor.
Ok, not manual labor but as we watched a bit of a video about how we show others love or how they show us love I heard the angels sing and there was a light flowing into the room.  That might not have happened, but at one pointed the speaker said “If you wonder what your love language is think about what upsets you most.”  I realized that my love language isn’t presents or being kissed or held (though that is nice), it’s when people do things for me.  And in this house it’s picking up.

 

I realize that we all have different things we may or may not be ok living with, clean wise, but to be blunt, clutter makes me insane.  When I was on strict bed rest the hardest thing for me wasn’t the staying in bed and not playing with Bug, although that was very, very hard.  The hard part for me was when I had my few moments I could get up and go into the kitchen to get something to eat or drink was walking past the clutter.  I didn’t even lie on the couch like I was allowed because I knew seeing Bug’s toys all over would drive me up a wall.

 

I also realize that Jason has extremely different ideas of what is and isn’t clutter.  I’ve really worked hard to come to terms with the fact that things cannot be as tidy and organized as I’d love them to be because, frankly, this is his home too and he needs to be able to enjoy it without feeling like I’m going to go crazy white girl if there is something on the floor.

 

Knowing that I perceive my value to him by how he picks up after himself or cleans his bathroom  makes me more aware of how my husband does try and tell me he loves and values me.  I admit tonight it didn’t stop me from wanting write up a check list for how the kitchen is actually cleaned.  It did; however, stop me from actually doing it.

 

I’ve asked him to sit down and take the quiz too.  I actually don’t know what his love language actually is and I know if I guessed I’d get it wrong.  Besides, I don’t want to guess, I want to know what it is so that I can use it to tell him how much he means to me.