The passive aggressive trait.

Yes, that is me, I've been told. Though I think the issue is that I was raised to respect and revere my elders, to never speak out or answer back, but at the same time to not put up with people's b.s. Perhaps this is the Asian-American fusion thing going on. You know, like sweet and sour chicken, or something.

So even though I'm a bit on the pissy side at the moment, I am going to write this post in order to add a sweet buffer to the previous post. Because really I am oozing with love on this Valentine's Day, complete with chocolate sprinkles and wishful dreams of bling from Tiffany's (for what girl doesn't dream of Tiffany's on Valentine's Day?). But my bubble was almost burst. This is to prove that it really wasn't.

Yesterday I took a BodyPump class at the gym, and my second time to take it so I was still a bit intimidated. When the class was over, not one but two instructors approached me and said I had perfect form. Me? Flabby mom of three? Perfect form???

Normally I hit the scale before I leave the gym, just to keep track of how I'm doing. But last night I felt no need to do this. I am a perfectionist, normally (though seeing my house today, one might doubt that). But most days I feel over the hill, especially when I'm surrounded by gym rats with rippling muscles.

It just comes to show how far a compliment can go. Tell someone they're pretty, or the tie they are wearing brings out their eyes. Or praise the scribbling art a child creates, even if it mars the living room table and turned her hands pink.

And now that I am ending a blog entry on a positive note, I can pick up the clutter in my house with a little bit more glee.

Bend at the knees, breathe in, breathe out.