Balance

After that last post, it’s time to give him some guff.

Simon and I are a perfect match in many ways, and then there are the differences in how we approach life that walk the ridge between “your way of looking at the world is refreshing and inspiring and, oh darling, I admire you so very much” and, on the other side, “dear god, you must be insane to think that; what is wrong with your brains?”

The thing that got me thinking about this was his reaction to my having bought him Oreos at the grocery store last week. They’re his favorite cookie–maybe his favorite dessert-type item of all time–and something he only indulges in once or twice a year. That’s why I was surprised when his response to my generous and thoughtful gesture was, “You bought Oreos? But I’ve been working out SO hard! Why would you do that?” I.e., “What is wrong with your brains?”

For the last few months, he’s been getting up early to go to spin class, and now that he works directly across the street from a gym, he goes spinning and bouldering in the morning and then bouldering and/or running again at lunch. As in TWICE IN THE SAME DAY. And I of course admire his effort immensely and want to support him in this and his other sporty endeavors, but I also think this level of increased activity means he can have TWO Oreos at a time instead of just one because otherwise what’s the point?

He insists that working out makes him want to eat healthier, and while I understand that in theory (imagine my huge air quotes), I think my method of rewarding a jog with french fries is truly the way to live a fulfilled life. I guess it just depends on what your goals are, though. To wit: One of his goals is to get back into triathlons after a several-year hiatus following a back re-injury. One of my goals is guilt-free french fry consumption.

The triathlon thing is pretty great, though, because he had SUCH a good time doing it back in the day (six years ago!) and I’m all about supporting that. Another difference between us: whereas I’m great at talking and talking and talking about the many grand plans I have for my life, Simon’s all “I want to get back into triathlons, and therefore I am going to sign up for one happening two months from now. *click!*” When I pointed out that we’ll be parenting a four-weeker when that happens, he said, “You’re welcome to bring the boys(!) along or stay at home. Whatever’s easiest.” I found it simultaneously charming and maddening that he thinks he’ll not only want to do a triathlon that soon but also that he thinks he’s going to have time to train for it once the baby’s here. Right now, leaving the house at 5:45 a.m. to make an early spin class is no skin off my back when Wombat doesn’t wake up for another two hours, but am I going to let my co-parent (and, let’s face it, the more competent of the two of us) go that easily when Mompth is here jacking everything to high heaven? Oh ho ho.

And yet none of this is surprising, of course. Whereas my life philosophy is Prepare for Every Worst-Case Scenario, his life philosophy is Eh, Shit Happens and You Just Deal with It When It Does. This man would go to the grocery store with an infant and not take a diaper bag that contained a spare of everything, assuring me that if something dire were to happen to anyone’s clothes, they wouldn’t die of shame right there in the cheese aisle but sack up (sac up?) and come home, if that’s what the situation warranted. In response, my brain goes BLEEP BLORP DOES NOT COMPUTE. 

All of which, of course, means I adore and admire him all the more. Oh, to be so brave and confident and not at all cripplingly neurotic about things that simply do not matter! To be so irrational that he out-rationals my hyperrationality! To be free! To be…normal!

Oh hell. Now I’m veering into sappy territory again, and that wasn’t my intention. My intention was to give him grief about not eating the Oreos I bought him. How inconsiderate! How thoughtless! How inhuman! Sometimes your feet stink and you snore! There. The universe is in balance once again.