The Workout Wars

Hello, readers!

It has been a busy month in my world. As a high school English teacher, I have been mired in marking and report cards - but that tunnel's light is getting bigger. And so - time for me to get back to my blog.

Lately, I've been having a recurring experience when I engage in (the dreaded!) small talk with coworkers: and everyone seems to be OBSESSED with working out and not eating anything that might possible have a calorie in it.

Of course, that last part might be slightly exaggerated - but truly, if I hear ONE MORE COWORKER telling me about getting up at 5am to go to the gym or to hit the treadmill, I will likely defenestrate them.

I too have been getting up at 5am for the past two months - but not to work out. Not even to make healthy lunches or meditate.

I have been - yep. MARKING.

As much as I love all the unsolicited mom advice about getting my children to bed by 7pm, it just does not work in our house. In fact, every time we decide to crack down and really get this bedtime thing sorted, it ends the same way: we fight with the kids for three hours, and they go to bed an hour LATER than the usual 9pm.

So all this means that the only time I have to complete my marking is in the morning before everyone gets up. Most days, I try to mark from 5am - 7am. It's a drag, but it's the only way I've found to manage the marking load since having two kids and returning to full-time teaching.

As I've gotten into a better schedule, I have been able to spend that time doing something I'm a bit more passionate about - sewing! It always frustrates me to try sewing in the evening or on a weekend. My kids have their play area in the same large rec room of our house, but they are adamant about inserting themselves into my activities. Stealing my scissors, turning the tension dials on my machines, unplugging my iron - you name it, they fuss with it.

Add to this that I am usually completely brain-weary after a day at work or on the weekends, and this had led to quite a few epic sewing mistakes.

So 5am has become this very strange yet peaceful, productive time for me to complete some sewing projects. It means I have the room to myself; it means my husband doesn't feel like I'm ignoring him; it means the kids don't distract me; it means that in those two hours, I accomplish more than I might in five hours of "distracted" sewing.

Last week I was sharing with a friend my annoyance at how many women complain to me that they "can't sew anything" (or bake pies, knit, quilt, preserve, etc.). My frustration laid in the fact that all it takes is TIME: we can only excel at activities we spend time perfecting.

And then it hit me - these women WERE perfect at something I wasn't: BEING BEAUTIFUL.

Now, don't get me wrong. This isn't a fishing-for-compliments expedition or a pity-party.

But truly: if the women I know who spend 1-2 hours A DAY working on their makeup, hair, clothing, meal planning, and exercise spent that time honing a skill or developing a hobby - they too could accomplish what I do. I'm not doing anything that hasn't been done by women in every culture around the world for thousands of years.

The problem is, as women, we've bought the Kool-Aid: we truly BELIEVE that we are only valuable for our appearance. In our efforts to develop careers, break the glass ceiling, and earn our place in a male-dominated world, we have somehow lost sight of those other tasks that are valuable, even if they are "traditional." We've quit cooking or sewing or canning fruit because that's domestic work - work to keep women "in the kitchen."

But for most women, they are not replacing this domestic work with meaningful career work. Instead, they slog away at somewhat interesting jobs, work too many hours, still carry most of the mental load of a household - but without the fulfilment of ACTUALLY accomplishing something of lasting value or substance.

Yes: being fit and healthy and beautiful is something I have worked at in my life. But honestly? I finally had to ask myself some important questions.

When I die, will people remember me for looking good in a miniskirt and having a 26" waist, or will they remember that I baked them a delicious pie? Will my daughters eulogize my role as the "hot mom," or will they remember that I made them matching dresses and dolls clothes? When my students leave my class, do they remember me as the "cool" teacher, or the one who helped them love Hamlet?

When we're eighty years old, will the women who spend hours on their outward appearance have fewer wrinkles or chin hairs than I do?

No.

In a way - I feel sorry for the women who believe that their only value is in their appearance. Who don't develop passions outside of being beautiful or taking selfies. Who get career promotions or husbands or attention because of their appearance. I wonder if inside each of those women is a little girl who still hopes she can be "good enough" if everyone tells her how beautiful she is on the outside.

Beauty is fleeting, charm is deceptive, and we will all grow old.

But I can guarantee you this: when I'm 85 years old, I'll still know how to make the best pie you've ever eaten.

THE SIGN ON MY BACK DOOR TODAY:

Kids.

Seriously - there is NOTHING that deteriorates the marital intimacy in my life more than my beautiful, amazing children. Who ironically are the product of that very intimacy.

I realize I am NOT the first "mommy blog" to talk about the topic of finding time for you and your spouse.

But I might be the most honest!

Hold on to your hats - and to my husband's mom (my most faithful reader) - you should probably skip this one, okay?  ;)

(SERIOUSLY. Stop reading this Mom.)

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I remember back when we started dating. Do you remember those days too? When you first start to get romantically interested in another person, the chemistry is off the charts. Just brushing hands will send electricity down your spine. If he actually TOUCHES you on purpose - even innocently? Look out. I can remember feeling like I needed to install my own chastity belt and toss the key on some of those first dates!

Which of course, brings us to the very strange thing that is the Christian Dating Culture. Yes. The CDC. It's a worthy acronym to steal.... because honestly, in evangelical Christian circles, S-E-X might as well be a communicable disease.

You're not allowed to HAVE sex.

You likely should not know anything ABOUT sex.

You really should only even TALK about sex if you're talking about why you shouldn't have sex until you are married.

I realize for my readers who grew up outside of this bizarre environment, the very notion is absurd. Not have sex? Um..... what is that?

Now, the strangest part is that you spend an AWFUL long time trying not to think about / talk about / have sex, but then you get married and think you'll be doing the deed five times daily for the rest of your life!

Ha.

Ultimately, the whole sex thing is the biggest joke of my Christian upbringing. 

First: just as many kids were experimenting with sex in my church cohort as outside of it - maybe more! (remember: forbidden ANYTHING is better, right???).

Second: while teaching abstinence seems like a godly and noble idea to the patriarchy running the church, it's purely about - well, some notion of PURITY. Remember the Puritans? Yep. The Victorian era? Yep. The whole "don't have sex till you're married" (or, to quote Josh McDowell - remember him?!? - "I'm worth waiting for!") is a farce. It's a thinly veiled attempt at controlling women and creating in them a sense of guilt and unworthiness. It is the most unrealistic expectation in the world, and it has the complete opposite effect: like I said, if you're NOT allowed to do something, it only makes you want to try it even more. I cannot tell you how many of my friends (Christian or otherwise) were disappointed in their first sexual experience... and I think that had a lot to do with overblown expectations. This is where honesty comes into the picture.

I think we have a duty to teach our children about sex. About how it works, and how it does NOT work. Teach our girls that sex is powerful, and how to use it properly. Not to abuse the power. Not to cry wolf. How to defend against unwanted advances. How to say no - or yes - and when each is or is not the right thing to say. Teach our boys that sex is about intimacy; teach them why pornography destroys intimacy. Teach them how to be respectful and loving, with or without sex involved. Teach contraception. Teach about sexually transmitted infections. Give our kids the HPV vaccine. Buy them a condom, for crying out loud. Help them learn that their sexuality is theirs to control and no one else's.

But I digress... this is about what did happen - not what should have happened.

*     *     *

Fast forward to my early twenties. After many years of working towards that increasingly difficult standard of being a virgin on my wedding night, I finally had just had enough (or... not enough???). I started experimenting with sex in a way that maybe wasn't very healthy, and I directly link that behaviour to those "church" expectations I had been instilled with from a young age.

Without going into a crass delineation of my every sexual experience, suffice it to say that when I met Ian, I initially turned him down flat. 

I turned him down because I wanted to have sex - and I knew he wasn't that kind of guy. Somehow, even just from chatting briefly online, I could tell he was going to be the upstanding, large "c" conservative kind of guy who thought he was forgoing sex because he was respecting women or being a good Christian by doing so.

I honestly figured I would destroy him if I dated him. I was very much interested in being sexually active, and I thought he was a great guy who didn't deserve to be jilted by someone like me. So I gently said, "Thanks but no thanks" and carried on my merry way.

About a year later, we did go on a date (I promise I will write a blog about it eventually, Mary!).

And I was right: he definitely thought we should NOT be having sex. Like - at all. 

It was a pretty difficult time for me! At that point I didn't care about what some minister or youth leader told me - I wanted to share everything with this man I was in love with. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.

During those times of struggling about whether or not we could or should or would have sex, or how "far" we might go down that path and still be considered "Christians" (ugh, I cringe even now), I could not imagine a time when we would be fully "allowed" (I can't believe I even typed that word) to have sex and yet find it nearly impossible to make happen.

Yes - that's where being a MOM comes into this story (and you all thought I was going to tell you whether Ian and I "did it" before we tied the knot!)

*     *     *

I swear, I would do just about ANYTHING to get my kids out of the house for an afternoon or evening or even half an hour so that I could get naked with my husband.

Wait: revise that. At this point, half-naked and ten minutes would be fantastic.

It is SERIOUSLY difficult to raise children, work a full-time job, manage a household, watch my weight, exercise my body, AND find time or energy for sex. (I'm sort of a bit surprised we even MANAGED to have a second child.) 

I have tried sending my kids away for the night. It would be a brilliant idea, except no one wants to take my youngest (see: previous posts about no sleep). I try to explain that just taking one child - and the easier one to manage at that - defeats the purpose.

So now I have resorted to Ninja Sex Warrior tactics.

With my "Latin Loafer" (his term, not mine) working in the same town as me now, it has become a tempting possibility to run home for "lunch." So far, that has NOT worked.  (yes, I'm laughing as I write this, OMG.)

I tried sending the kids to daycare on a recent school closure day and greeting my husband wearing perfume and a Pashmina. Yes. JUST perfume and a scarf.

That also did not work. 

It turns out that shovelling five inches of compacted ice and snow for several hours makes sleep more exciting than sex - for both of us.

Honestly - it is not for lack of trying.

But when one kid refuses to go to sleep until nearly midnight, and the other wakes with nightmares at four am, and the alarm is going off at six am... well, it really limits the opportunities to enjoy sex. Or sleep. Or life: really, who am I kidding?

When you spend all weekend working on household projects and marking and laundry and errands - falling into bed at the end of the day is definitely more urgent than sex.

So today, I became the above-mentioned Ninja Sex Warrior.

I went out shopping this morning with a friend, while our kids played at her house.

Ian got some time to himself to unwind and get his list of "stuff" done.

When we got back from shopping, my friend offered to keep my oldest for the afternoon. I left her with her friends and brought Kinsey home for her nap.

And then I told Ian to GET. INTO. THE. BEDROOM. NOW.

I was definitely ready to get busy - and then, it hit me.

This would ABSOLUTELY be the time that our doorbell would ring. 

It would be the girl from down the street wanting to play with Gwyneth. Or the mentally ill fellow who rings our doorbell once a week and wants a pop and some cash. Or my mother. Or my MOTHER-IN-LAW who so help me is likely having a coronary if she's still reading this (STOP!).

There was no way I was going to let someone wake up that sleeping cherub in the next room.

Hence, my sign taped overtop of our doorbell.

All I can say is, thank God for friends who willingly take my kid for an afternoon and for a two-year-old who won't sleep at night, but naps like a champ.

And thank God for tubal ligations, because I am NOT having any more interruptions to my booty calls!

Where Is the Love?

Sometimes, parenting makes you do crazy things.

It robs you of sleep, sanity, and silence.

It brings you joy, agony, and pride.

But often we don't have the time - or the energy - to really evaluate the toll that parenting takes on our personhood.

Or perhaps, we choose to be less than honest with ourselves about the effects parenting has on us.

I'm not sure if this is more of an issue for primary caregivers, or if partners also feel this way. I don't know because I haven't had time in the past seven years to ask my husband if he's feeling this way, too.

Lately, I have been taking time to reevaluate my life: my career choice (high school English teacher), my procreation choices (late in life), even my spousal choice (more on that in another blog).

I have to say that if I'm being honest with myself, I really don't like any of my choices.

Now, before you dismiss me as ungrateful, or gasp in horror at my audacity, or shake your head at my candour, hear me out:

I love my students. Most of the time, I even love what I do every day in my classroom.

I love my daughters. They are funny and creative and inspiring.

I love my husband. He is and always has been the perfect fit for me. After our first date, I called my mom and told her I was going to marry him.

But I really hate being a teacher.

I hate parenting.

I hate being tied to one partner for life.

*        *       *

This dichotomy has slowly eroded the fabric of my psyche. At first, I thought my feelings were silly, selfish, or just plain psychotic. I dismissed them rather than confront them and sort them out and make peace with them.

As a woman, I feel this is my mid-life crisis.

Here I am, forty-one years old. I have a home that is nearly mortgage-free. I'm halfway to retirement in a secure, government job that pays me nearly enough to be on the bottom of the Sunshine List. I get twelve weeks of holidays. I have an amazing pension plan and my benefits are unparalleled. I have a loving husband who doesn't beat or berate me, who helps with raising our smart and beautiful daughters, and whom I still, for the most part, enjoy spending time with every day. My kids are well-behaved and above average intellectually. My extended family all live within an hour's drive (give or take), and I have excellent relationships with both my mother and my mother-in-law.

It's the perfect life - on paper.

So why am I restless, unhappy, overweight, somnambulant?

I think I've come to a place where I can look back on my life and there's something of significance upon which to reflect. No longer am I a student or a new teacher or a newlywed or a new mother. I am in the trenches. I have history. I have experience. The number of new or exciting experiences or "firsts" in my life are becoming fewer - I have crested the wave, so to speak.

But does this mean I've jumped the shark?

I hope the answer is "no."

Do I dream of exciting new adventures? Travelling without children? Meeting a handsome, intriguing new love interest who notices me? Having time to work out, eat right, look my best?

Of course.

I know this is just a time in my life. I have hope that I will soon once again have a life - mothers with children older than mine assure me of this religiously. "Enjoy them now, this time goes so quickly," they chastise me.

Do they remember?

Do they recall the sheer exhaustion of a two-year-old who wakes EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT...? Who screams and strips down and pees the bed twice a week just because?

Do they forget about feeling so disconnected from their partners that the somewhat balding nerdy guy at the photocopier who notices my new hairdo suddenly seems Herculean?

Did they delete all the photos of themselves with baggy eyes, dishevelled hair, and lumpy thighs?

Or do mothers somehow find a "reset" button that eliminates all memory of the daily grind, replacing it with a rose-coloured lens through which they filter their retrospection?


I don't know the answer. I'm still in this trench. I still long for days of sleeping in, having coffee dates, seeing every new film in theatres, and maintaining an impeccably clean house.

I love teaching.
I love my kids.
I love my husband.

I just don't always love my life.