A continuation from Andrea's original post: I Married A Cynic
In my house, every morning begins in much the same way. My husband's alarm clock crescendos into a louder and louder air raid that jolts me into an upright position where I announce in monotone, "Babe, do not press snooze, it's 6:00, get up." He rolls out of bed and shortly after that, the shower starts. That's when on a normal day, I close my eyes and hope that 30 more minutes of shut-eye will feel like a lifetime. This morning however, was a bit different. I wasn’t looking for a few more moments of uninterrupted sleep. This morning I felt energized, stealth-like, quasi-military in my movements – ready to “catch a thief”.
You see, several months ago I uncovered an alarming secret. After repeatedly rebuffing my claims that my purchase of withinUs TruMarine™ Collagen (at our kid's school auction) was an absolute life changer, I was almost certain that my husband was also secretly taking it.
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind sharing my elixir. But after he so gleefully rejected my personal evidence that TruMarine Collagen made my every joint feel better on my long runs, and that friends and family commented on my glowing skin, I had to find a way to catch him in the act. Perhaps the unnatural joy I get from friendly competition with my soul mate is foreign to you, but for me to catch the 'Cynic' with his fingers in the “TruMarine Cookie Jar” would validate my claims.
I waited to hear my husband's shower turn off, the closet doors squeak close and his feet pad down the 17 steps to the kitchen. This was my cue to listen for signs of infiltration. I wanted to actually hear him rummage through the cupboard for my jar of collagen to catch him scooping out the level spoonful into his morning coffee.
I made my way down the stairs and waited behind the kitchen door ready to pounce. But as I peered around the corner with a loud, “AHA! I knew it!” at the ready, I realized I was too late. He was already sitting with the paper, coffee cup in hand, no evidence in sight.
I felt he was on to me, but I was not giving up that easily. I had sacrificed valuable sleep for this mission and so I decided to try to weasel the information out of him. I took out the TruMarine canister, placed a healthy scoop into my coffee and said in an overly dramatic drawl, “Hmmmmmmmm... that’s funny? My TruMarine supply is getting low and I just bought it!” I looked over at him to assess any uncomfortable movement - a clearing of the throat or, a flinch to prove his obvious guilt. And I got nothing. Not so much as a raised eyebrow. Just a man, sitting at a table, taking a big slurp of his TruMarine-laced coffee.
But this wasn’t over. For weeks I tried to catch him. I even moved the collagen into a new cupboard and still he managed to find it and beat me to the punch. I was nearing exhaustion at this constant schedule of espionage, when one day while mopping the hardwood floors, I heard him. I heard the Cynic's voice booming into the receiver, "Well I've been taking it for a couple of months now… yep found it at the kid's school auction/gala thing. I don't know, I think you can take it more than once a day, but I put a scoop in my coffee each morning. Seriously, I'm starting to notice a difference in my joints, especially first thing in the morning. It used to be an event rolling out of bed each day because everything hurt. Now the stretching, the rolling, the Cirque du Soleil act... not so much. I'm not kidding, you need to get this stuff - it's night and day. I’ve read all the studies, it’s not all marketing, it really works."
I damn near mopped the area rug in my haste to sneak away while he was still talking. Incensed by his suggestion that it was something HE just found at the kid's auction, I had a powerful moment with myself, wedged between the occasional chair and the hall closet, I could do nothing more than mouth the word, "seriously?" I wanted to run into his office, pelt him with the canister, and beam it right off his head.
It wasn't like it was HIS idea to buy the product on auction night, nor HIS idea to add it to his morning coffee each day and yet now, only after feeling the positive physical improvements - he's now the FATHER of invention, the AUTHOR of change, the VOICE of cutting edge health improvement? It was maddening.
I will admit, I fumed for at least an hour. I came up with a few scenarios that entailed switching out collagen for powdered sugar but slowly I talked myself off the ledge. Reluctantly, I came to the realization that if my purchase and honking on about it was the catalyst for my husband’s better health, then so be it. I'm a mom and - let’s face it- we're rarely given the credit we deserve.
The next morning I went back to my usual routine. I did not get up earlier in an attempt to catch him in the act. Instead, when his alarm went off, I simply rolled over for that blissful extra half hour of sleep. But when I made my way downstairs to begin my day with my cup of coffee, I was greeted by a sight that was far from usual. Awaiting me on the counter was my cup, a new canister of TruMarine Collagen, and next to it and a small note that simply said:
“Try two scoops, that’s the difference maker ~ Cynic"
Words fail me...
Andrea Gilmour, an at-home mother of three opinionated, thoughtful, and active daughters, delights in writing and creating life stories about the uninhibited joys of raising three young women. In February 2003 with the birth of her first child, she was self elected, Head of Household and became a leading voice for the promotion of the sheer glamour and sexiness of the at-home MOM. In 2013, Andrea was named (by her nine-year-old daughter, Georgia) in a self-written novel as, “One of the most influential moms that she has ever known.”
Today, Andrea writes a blog to encapsulate the joys and wonders of being a CEO with none of the time off, benefits package, or staff required to run a successful company. She is a mum and a wife with a really cool day job…
To read highlights from Andrea's day job visit: https://dropthemombomb.wordpress.com/
Comments will be approved before showing up.