Survivor

I think Olivia Newton John probably, at one time, sang a song that could have been my theme song for today.

I took the boy school clothes shopping in Bigger Town, USA (some two hours up the road from us, because listen:  Small Town, USA is only famous for our online shopping, because we don’t have real stores here), and I survived.

I.  Survived.

It cost me a crab leg dinner.

As in, the boy wanted crab legs, and I wanted to get through all the HERE, TRY THIS PAIR OF JEANS ON without a string of vocal complaints that would make me wish I smoked, so that I’d have something to do with my hands while I waited outside the fitting rooms and quietly beat my own head against the wall.  So I said, “Try all your clothes on without complaining a single time today,” and he said, “Buy me a pound and a half of crab legs,” and somehow, we came out with a contract that worked beautifully.  It was exactly like the United Nations had intervened, and we had an agreement that was favorable to both parties.

The only real problem is that my son is scrawny.  He has no gut, he has no hips… he has nothing to hold a pair of jeans up.  And the size 16 jeans are getting a wee bit short in the legs, because that’s what happens when you eat Fruity Pebbles in your mama’s mixing bowl every morning — you grow.  And then the size 18 jeans are SO ENORMOUSLY HUGE, he looks like a rodeo clown, and what’s a mama do?

I long for some other mother with a scrawny boy to say, “I’m going to manufacture jeans in a size 17.”  I’d do it myself, but HA HA HA HA!!!  Because I do not sew.  Nor can I thread a sewing machine.

The same holds true with the windpants.  The boy has basically turned a cold shoulder on jeans, and he’s demanding athletic pants.  This is all fine and dandy with me, as long as we have nice jeans for church and those school functions, like Christmas concerts, where other people point fingers at the stage and whisper, “Who’s the kid in the Under Armour sweats and the tie?”  But… as far as sizes go there… the boy’s legs are getting too long for a youth XL, so I had him try a Size Small from the mens’ section, and then I threw my head back and laughed so hard, I nearly ruptured my appendix and four ribs.

I think the boy will be a college sophomore before the men’s small athletic pants actually fit him.

So basically, I think the boy is going to wear a pair of shorts all winter long.

No matter.  We bought new shoes today (Under Armour sneakers, that will apparently make him run fast, although he rolled his eyes at me when I said that, because HE’S NOT SEVEN ANY LONGER, MOM!) and some new shirts and plenty o’ socks, because every pair of socks the boy currently owns is a holey pair.

And, for the cost of a crab leg dinner at a fancy little restaurant in Bigger Town, USA, I came home a survivor.

And now, I have to take myself to bed, because the elderly can only pack so much fun into a day before their dentures fall out with exhaustion and they need to lie down on the sofa beneath an afghan.

But… I have a few snapshots from last week, which I’d better throw into the blog tonight, before we suddenly realize that it’s NEXT WEEK ALREADY, and no one really cares what happened last Monday.

But look!

We went to the park… AGAIN… last week, because it’s what we do.  The park is a good outlet for Thing 2 to run off his THIS IS A SQUIRREL ON A MOUNTAIN DEW BINGE energy.

This snapshot is kind of blurry, and Thing 2’s nose is showing off a bit of dried snot, but it makes my heart happy.

IMG_7086My friends, Jodi and Heather, joined us at the park, and they brought their kids, because that’s what moms DO at parks… We bring our kids.  It’s because we want to wear them out so they’ll sleep all night long.

IMG_7081IMG_7079 IMG_7080 IMG_7090 IMG_7098 IMG_7099 IMG_7101This is Vivian.

I kind of have a big crush on her beautiful blue eyes.

IMG_7075 IMG_7077 IMG_7091 IMG_7087And then the boy and our good, family friend, McKinley, went golfing this past weekend, because THAT is what the boy does…

… HE GOLFS.

The boy would golf every day of the week, if he could drive himself out there, and WHY CAN’T THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLDS DRIVE, MOM, WHEN THEY CAN PASS BOTH THE WRITTEN AND THE DRIVING PARTS TO THE TEST?  ISN’T THAT A PREJUDICED LAW, IF I CAN PASS BOTH PARTS TO THE TEST, EVEN THOUGH I’M ONLY THIRTEEN?  SHOULD I SUE?

That’s the argument that’s currently being introduced for discussion at our house.

I know that golf snapshots all start to look the same after a while, but I love watching my boy smack the golf ball from here to Venus.

IMG_7107 IMG_7109 IMG_7110 IMG_7113 IMG_7116 IMG_7117 IMG_7112 IMG_7141 IMG_7131 IMG_7137 IMG_7120 IMG_7123 IMG_7125 IMG_7128 IMG_7126 IMG_7134And that’s going to do it tonight, y’all.

Crab legs or not… I have EARNED an early bedtime tonight, because have I every mentioned how much fun it is to go school clothes shopping with the boy?

Actually, we had a good time today, because he was trapped in the car with me for two full hours up and two full hours back home, and we had some fantastic conversations that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

#BestDateDayWithMyBigBoy

Y’all have a relaxing Wednesday evening.

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