Growers Anonymous

Like all mothers of boys both large and small, I buy The Boy’s clothes a size or two bigger.

Not because I am cruel and sadistic, a popular theory around here, but simply because he grows every time I glance away from him.

The size 12 basketball shorts I bought at the end of the summer?

The ones that drooped four inches below his knees when school started?

They hit him mid-kneecap.

And we are only in Week 8 of the school year.

You see why I waited until cooler weather rolled in to buy his jeans.

It’s Texas – 86 degrees counts as a lovely, crisp fall day.

He was trying on jeans – we were going for the not-too-baggy-but-with-at-least-four-inches-to-hem look. I have to give him credit – he doesn’t complain, models each pair for me and the Fitting Room Lady, and puts up with being compared to her son/grandson/great-grandson.

He finally broke, and asked, “Mommy, could we buy just one pair of jeans that fits me now? I promise I won’t grow.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I told him. “You’re growing right now.”

He regarded his reflection thoughtfully, and slouched down an inch or two.

“See – it’s okay. I can stop any time I want.”

He got his jeans that fit right now.

Two pairs – there’s a girl he is trying to impress.