Say what?

I was at spinning class the other morning.   After a self imposed several month hiatus from spinning (and the whole gym thing in general) I returned this past week to find the Golden Girls are still there.  And I'm convinced they are trying to sabotage my training.

In the middle of the class (this is an important point because it's at this stage that my legs are starting to feel like noodles) the instructor apparently decides to motivate us.  Here's what she does:

"Come on people!  Whew!  That's it.  Keep those legs going.  Don't stop!  Easy circles, now!  Whew!  Lookin' good!  Don't slow down!  Whew! Move those legs!  Imagine that you have poo on your foot and you're trying to scrape it off.  Move those feet!  Faster....keep moving....the poo is stuck!  It's stuck on your shoe!  You're trying to scrape it....it's on there good!  Scrape harder people!  You don't want poo on your foot!  It's fresh poo.  It stinks.  Bad!  And it's all over those shoes.  Keep scraping!  Whew!"  On and on it went.  For the entire six minutes of the song.

Are you freakin' kidding me?

The first time she said it I thought...did she just say poo?  Nah....but then, yes!  No kidding. 

I looked over at the Girls and I swear they were laughing at me.  Because I was so distracted by all the poo talk that I could barely peddle.  I just sat there...stationary.... with this look of confusion on my face. So they were beating me.  And they thought it was funny.

Then it hit me.  They put the instructor up to it.  I'm sure they did.

Saboteurs.

Does This Look LIke a Jerk To You?

So this morning I was getting everyone's breakfast in front of them and I put a banana on Stuart's tray, which he immediately tossed onto the floor. "No!" Mmmkay. Let's try juice. I set his juice down. It quickly followed the banana to the floor.

So I picked up the banana and the juice, set it on the table and decided to do my best to ignore the foul, offensive little person in the highchair.

Catherine walked by, saw Stuart's juice on the table and handed it to him. "Here you go Sewart," she said as she put it on the tray. "NO!!!" he yelled as he catapulted it once again to the floor.

"Catherine, that was nice of you but he's being a jerk. Leave him alone."

A jerk? Did I just call my 21-month-old a jerk? Surely she wasn't paying any attention.

About that time William walked in the room, saw the juice on the floor, picked it up and, as he was handing it to his brother, Catherine grabbed his arm and said, "No, Weeyum, don't... Sewart is being a JERK!"

Nice, Mom. Real nice.

I mean, really.