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.
 

Monday, August 25, 2014

I wanna whip out my squirrel.

 
 
Hi.

I decided to take the summer off from the blogosphere, or whatever the coolest bloggers are calling it these days.  Bloggy-land?  Blogsylvania?  The Digital Written Self Promotion Depository?  I'm sure it's one of those.  Instead of trying to schedule being funny three to four times per week, I decided to allow my brain and body to do as it would. 

Today is the first day of school, the first day of schedules and homework and going to bed early, and it's time to get back at it.  The break was needed but I've missed it.  I've missed you.

Summer proved a lovely time.  My family took the time to be with each other in a new way.  It was good to be relating to my husband in a new way since his Aspergers diagnosis.  Where I usually gird up my girdle for summers because of the increase in the demands of family life, the loss of space and the over abundance of housework, I can genuinely say that is summer has been simple and wonderful and harmonious. 

Summer simplicity has made me realize that I was suffering from literary constipation. You get backed up when you think you always have to try to be profound with the funny.  It was like my every post needed to impress that I'm deep enough that if you stepped in it, you'd have to pull your feet up out of your shoes and leave them stuck in the mud of my mind.

OK, so the jokes are stuck in the mud too.  We'll fish them out eventually.

Deep as mud seems to be the way with blogging these days.  There is so much you want to touch upon because it's stuck on our collective social media psyches.  Everyone has an opinion on politics and pop culture and race relations and war and charity and celebrities and healthcare and family life.  Some even expected that I should voice an opinion on this sort of thing or that sort of other thing...which is a reasonable expectation when you've written other opinions on anything from sex to why other people's children smell funny...so being obliging is a natural response.  These things matter and being of the world, they matter to me too.

I found, however, that instead of husband and kids and cats pushing in on my space, it was everything else that I thought I should be concerned about.  It's all so much noise and then my brain went down with the shoes and the jokes.

Nothing mattered more on some days than feeding the ground squirrels in my yard.
 



This is everything that is right in the world.
 
Today is my 21st anniversary too.

It's a great day.  The weather is cool and gorgeous.  I can smell rain in the air.  The kids came home happy and healthy.  None of my cats have vomited on the carpet.  I sewed.  I ate yogurt.  There will probably be nooky later.

Hi again.  Nice to be here.

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