The Latest Thing

I heard a This American Life story this week about a mom attempting to communicate with her 15-year-old son. It was funny and sad and terrifying all at the same time. I can't imagine Grayson at 15. All I see in my mind is "tall." But otherwise I can't picture it. Can't picture him stripped of all the childish, goofy mannerisms and obsession with Pokemon. I've only known him as a child. What will he be when all that makes him childish is gone?

He's entering a new phase at present. A return of a phase we've experienced before, in fact. I call it "Perpetual Sound and Motion." In the past couple of weeks he has returned to the annoying habit of repeating sounds or phrases over and over, singing little kid songs, or just finding new ways to use the word "fart." In a continual stream of blather. If he's not blathering nonsense, he's talking non-stop about Pokemon. And if he's not doing that, then he's in motion: striding around the living room, or hopping from one end of the sofa to the other, despite me repeatedly telling him to stop. Dancing around or acting out things from his tv shows. All accompanied by a host of "battle sounds."

Then he flops on the sofa, panting and says "It's HOT in here," and asks for yet another snack. He's turned back into an eating machine again, also. He's always asking for something else to eat. "Can I have a snack?" is his mantra. Chips, cheddar cheese, sliced apples, crackers, peanut butter and jelly, ice cream, cheese sandwich, pepperonis.... he currently requires a constant stream of bite-sized foods administered about every half hour, usually immediately after I've sat down and opened my book. Growing again, no doubt.

I wonder if the process of growing is what makes him so hectic? You'd think he'd be tired all the time, going through a growth spurt like that. But somehow he still has the energy to buzz around like a caffeinated bee. It makes me tired just to watch him.

Hair Schmair

I need a haircut.
No, not like this. Though it's tempting. I need a haircut somewhere between this and what I've got right now, which is like wearing a well-worn mop on my head. And it's time to get rid of the gray-peppered yarmulke that I'm developing at my roots as my color grows out. More gray appears every time it grows out now.

Maybe shaving it again isn't such a bad idea...

Gray and I do not agree on my hair. He always hates it when I get it cut. And then, about the time I want to rip it all out by the roots, he begins telling me it "looks really nice."

I'm pretty sure THIS is how he'd like me to get my hair cut, and hell, so would I. But it ain't happenin'.

The Gym and Why I'm Going

I'm going to the gym tonight. Wheee.

I'm going to the gym so I won't be a weak, crooked old woman.
I'm going because I would rather lose ten pounds than buy all new clothes.
I'm going so I don't have to wear a mu-mu all summer
I'm going because August is my 10th wedding anniversary and I don't want Gray to look at me and think "O My God, What Have I Done?"
I'm going because then I can say I went.
I'm going because I can work out on the eliptical machine and the rower and watch the calorie counter and stop when I've worked off two glasses of wine worth of calories. Then I can go home and have two glasses of wine.

So there. I'm going.
Don't try to stop me.