Wednesday, August 27, 2014

You told me you were combing your hair!

This summer my sweet and gentle fifteen year old middle son suddenly slammed right smack dab into puberty.  I knew it was coming but the whole suddenness of it was hilarious.  One morning he was cherubic and high pitched, the next morning he'd become a bass voiced towering pimple. 

He weighs 94 pounds and wears size 27 X 34 jeans.

No, those numbers are not fudged even a little bit for dramatic purposes.

He's only around 5'8" so this makes him a pair of boney legs with a head on top.  Finding clothes to fit this kid has been an adventure that I wish could have been solved by an eagle sized plot hole.  Instead I just had to buck up and start searching for pants at the beginning of July and for the most part I was successful.  He might have brickwalled into puberty but I didn't think he'd gain thirty pounds in two months.  He be skinny. If there is anyone that couldn't climb a rope in gym class, it's him.

In fact, he tried to get out of his sophomore gym class this morning.  Without parental permission.

He had this silly idea that he could successfully complete his entire high school career without attending a single gym class.  The school counselor foiled his plans and enrolled him in a weight training course as a little first day surprise.  That is her job.  She makes sure the youth of the community get their fair share of math classes and P.E.  She's seen me shoot tequila so I don't question her methods.

I did think that weight training was an fine choice considering it was about the only choice he had left for a gym class.  It's not necessarily how much you can lift but how loud you can grunt, right?  Any weight can look impressive if you give the act of lifting it full dramatic effect, screeching and moaning and quivering with effort.  Then if you bang the weight back onto the floor after your reps, it's like putting an exclamation point on the whole act.

This is what is was like when I had weights in high school and I was a 100 pound, 5'10", little girl.  Barely even broke a sweat.  I took a class called, "CoEd Jogging" the next year.

The boy comes home from school, glares at me and says, "I about puked in gym."

He never glares.  Ever.  Even this glare looked kittenish.

I feel badly about this for about a half second.

Then I reminded him that at least he doesn't have to take gym while he's on his period.  Leaking through your tampon during a dead lift is embarrassing.

On the upside, I doubt he'll get so into weights that he'll outgrow his impossibly sized pants.

He'd better not.  You can't even hand me down pants that size.

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