Earthmovers and Sandcastles

My triceps are a little sore. Actually, a lot of tiny muscles are a little sore, though only the tiny ones, it seems. I feel perfectly normal, until I go to make some sort of movement, and then – little twinges in little places. It begins to wear. Went to what was purported to be a cardio/strength interval class yesterday, since I was feeling bored and didn’t feel like doing my regular routine; turned out to be almost entirely strength and very little cardio, other than about five minutes of “side, together, side, together” style movements at the very beginning. Oh, well.

Wondered how my shoulder would take it. Since the injury in November, it’s been steadily improving, and I hardly notice any pain at all these days unless I particularly tax it, but some of the movements yesterday were certainly more than I’ve asked of the joint in months. It feels…okay…today, but I do think I’m going to baby it and watch it for a little bit. I want strength back there, certainly, but easy (still) does it. It was primarily the overhead exercises yesterday that worried me.

Sam and I ran during Gabe’s swim yesterday, which ended up being, well, not exactly “miserable,” but not a cheerful happy time, either. Should have brought a hat along for him; his wet head after his own swimming lesson made him feel very chilled in the wind and cold air. I was in shorts, myself, but I’m used to it; he griped and moaned for almost the entire run about how his ears hurt. Mind you, his legs and lungs did fine; it was just the temperature that bothered him. So I’ll still count it as a decent run for him – just not a decent day. (He had trouble with listening and working in swimming, too, so it’s likely he was having a bad day all around. He seemed confused when I brought that up, though.)

Here’s something interesting, though (and I’ll be as vague as I can, because he is definitely growing and finding some things very definitely “private” lately). Sam has never been a kid who keeps feeling locked up; he’s got as much of a poker face as I do, which is to say that neither of us should ever expect to leave Vegas richer than we arrived. (I am also not allowed to attend any high-pressure sales events; Eric told me, after witnessing me at one, that the salesman immediately zeroed in on me in particular as his “mark.”) A couple of nights ago, Sam scraped his knee slightly, and he began to freak out about it, whimpering and whining. After only a few seconds of it, though, he abruptly stopped himself. “I’m not going to whine,” he said. “[Name of girl] wouldn’t like a boy who whines.”

I really like this girl, and I’ve only met her in passing.

Yes, Sam has fallen hard for a classmate, in exactly the manner I suppose I could have predicted he would from when he was a dreamy preschooler: saying their names together, making her necklaces and giving her flowers, writing her notes. For her part, she’s giggling with friends and doing the whole “group think” flirting behavior typical of the age group; messages get passed like, “[J] says that [M] says that she likes Sam and one other boy. Giggle, giggle.” I remember when I was a fifth grader, and I’d say fully half the “relationships” in our grade took place between kids who may never have spoken about it face-to-face between the two of them. Sam is…well, he’s Sam. He doesn’t do things that way. On Valentine’s Day, he bought a silk rose and handed it to her himself – in front of her friends. That takes nerve, for an eleven-year-old boy, I think.

Anyway, we like her. Apparently, she has the power, without saying a word, to stop whining. She also has the ability, without being present, to get Sam to try sushi (under my suggestion that a girl who practices Ninjitsu might well like sushi), even if he spat it back out immediately after valiantly popping it into his mouth (“For [M.]!” he cried). I just hope this all doesn’t end in a precociously broken heart and bad poetry about never finding love again. Ah, my young romantic.