Spending Money

I found out today that training to be a fitness instructor will cost me $300. On the upside, I won't need to get a hotel during the three days because one place is five minutes from Husband's grandmother's house and the other is ten minutes from my parents' place.

Still, I told Husband and he winced at the sum because the gym really doesn't pay well. They mostly cover your expenses and the monthly gym membership fee is waived, but I somehow only pay $16 a month. Shhhh. I think they screwed up and I don't really want to tell them that info, you know?

That being said, I overheard Husband telling a friend that $300 is worth it if he can say he's married to a fitness instructor. Yeah, that's if I pass the test, darling. And the key word here is "say". You can still tell I had three c-sections, if you catch my drift.

Mind you, I couldn't do any worse than this one instructor I went to on Easter Monday near my mum's house. Her choreography was waaay off and her positioning was, well, dangerous. Middle Sister came with me and by the second song, I told her that she should just watch me do the moves. You go for a workout; not tendonitis.

My parents dragged their knuckles out of the Stone Age and bought a computer a little while ago. I took my dad out and told the sales guy exactly what we were looking for. If you know my father, you could well imagine that he did his research before buying anything.

The only problem was getting online. These are two people who asked, "What's that flashing line, Jennifer?" "That would be your cursor." Yes, Baby Boy can maneuver his way around better than his grandparents. Dad tried to get hooked up on his own but couldn't. He doesn't hear well and the tech support has been outsourced to India. An accent and a hearing-impaired computer newbie isn't a good combo. I was there on Easter and realized that the computer was, in fact, already online. Mum and Dad just didn't know how to connect. I couldn't get their email going, though, and I tried for hours at the expense of hanging out with the family unfortunately. I'll get email for them another time and as far as the family goes, Dad is just super happy that the computer is working.

Shave the Last Dance For Me

Ding dong. The beard is gone.

Husband came home Friday at lunch (I was home with the kids because it was a PA day. Yes, a PA day on the Friday before March Break. Go figure). A local dentist called that morning to request a meeting to discuss a possible association with him. Like I said before, money talks. The beard came off because Husband thought it would make a better impression.

"But you never told me I look like a dorkstick. I have a weak chin!" he complained.

He doesn't have a weak chin at all. In fact, I think he's handsomely angular. Okay, he's got a youthful face but he IS younger than I am, after all.

Counting

The days of Husband's beard are numbered. People telling him he looks like the guy on the Febreze commercial didn't deter him. Having the kids run from his kisses didn't deter him. Threatening him to carve "ew" with the Lady Remington while he slept didn't deter him. No, apparently money talks.

He had just finished his lunch and went in to see his 1:00 for a consultation. The patient seemed a little distracted but it wasn't until the guy left that Husband looked in the mirror. He had a drop of his milkshake hanging on the left side of his mustache.

Husband promised it would be gone before my 40th. I told him it wouldn't matter because I'd be gone by then. No, I wouldn't leave him over something like facial hair. I was thinking that I'd like to go on a road trip. One of my friends suggested it because she just came back from one and saw a sweet retro polka dotted raincoat and thought of me.

But, chances are, Baby Sister will be going into labour that weekend so I don't want to gas up the Falcon just yet.

On that note, I'm almost done creating the invitations for her baby shower (April 13 at Mum's). I thought the invitations would be the biggest thing I'd be doing this week (I'm not even joking, sadly), but I was wrong. I got a little editing gig and – wait for it – I was asked, point blank, if I would be seriously interested in being a fitness instructor.

I've been taking a low weight/high repetition class religiously for two-and-a-half years. I really like it and I can open my own pickle jars, thank you very much. There is one instructor who is cutting right back and she does most of the early morning classes. They have people who have reluctantly agreed to take over, but no one else will substitute for them. So, given the choice of teaching or having the class dropped, yes, I'll instruct. Am I physically ready? I doubt it. I need serious work on the shoulders. I must take a break mid-way through the track, but I do half of my push-ups on my toes. Does that count for anything? And I really ought to have stronger abs. Anyway, I'll know more about it tomorrow.

This came on the day someone told me I had a killer bum. She doesn't know how hard it was to earn that Jennifer Lopez booty, let me tell you. Here's a video of the exact class I take, but this one is from Chile.