But he’s mine

I sort of hate venting about Sam like that, even when it’s justified, because he’s human, too. Growing up is hard. I can remember that, though it’s easier to do so when I’m not consumed with how hard it is to actually be a grownup, and a parent, to boot. I’m not blind to the troubles he’s facing and fording, and neither am I unsympathetic – at least, not when I’m outside of the moment when those troubles are smacking me in the face. Boy, it’s amazing what you don’t consider when you’re a kid; life feels so much like a sledgehammer to your soul that you feel justified in railing at everybody around you, regardless of whether they’re able to help or not.

Sam doesn’t want to hear my explanations about how this is all part of growing up, because, as I’ve mentioned, he doesn’t want or plan to do that. Grow up, I mean. He’s still this kid, two years after I recorded it:

(Sheesh, look at Gabe!)

We’re going out tonight to get him some new pants, since he’s rocking the Pee-Wee Herman look lately. (I pulled up the old Tequila scene to show him what I meant, and he watched it with raised eyebrows, just taking it in with solemn bemusement; suddenly, I felt really, really old, imagining the same thoughts going through his head that went through mine when Dad would listen to “old guy” radio in the car.) He’s pessimistic, though.

ME: “So, where do you think you want to go?”
SAM: “Um. Not Sears…”
ME: “Okay. What brought it to mind, then?”
SAM: “They had a commercial. They have all ‘rocker clothes’ that I don’t really like.”
ME: “Maybe you should tell me what you do like.”
SAM: “Um. Nature clothes? Things with animals on them.”

Somehow, I doubt he’s talking about alligator shirts. My big kid still wants to wear the adorable jungle prints of his toddler years. I hope to be able to find some more conservative clothes that won’t make him feel rushed into the teen world; I think that’s what he means by “rocker clothes.” In anticipation of his frustration, I’m already secretly planning an ice cream consolation prize for after our efforts tonight. A kiddie cone somehow manages to make almost everybody feel small again.

I booked my flight for Marine Corps. Looks like I’ll be hitting DC around 10:30 AM on Saturday, October 24th, racing on Sunday, and then hanging around with the folks there in town until my 6:30 PM flight on Monday. Not looking forward to flying on my own (which I’ve never, ever done; I’m as scared of missing the flight or ending up on the wrong one as I am of crashing and burning…); is it odd that the marathon seems like small potatoes compared to the travel?

We also booked our hotel for our mini-vacation to Green Bay next weekend. It even has a tiny little water park in it, as well as a hot tub in our room! And the price isn’t obscene, for that! There looks to be a ton of things to do in the town while we’re there (not a tourist attraction, but I can’t wait to eat at this place), though we learned from last year’s Dells trip that keeping no plans at all is what works best for us for now. If we leave the hotel at all, and nobody is shrieking about it, we’re ahead of the game. (Hence our desire for the hot tub and the water park that don’t require travel beyond crossing the hotel grounds.)

Of course, between now and then is my tooth extraction. Focusing on the other side of that particular event is what is keeping me sane right now. That, and these cookies.