So, a month or so ago, when it looked like the weather might be cooling down (ha!), I bought The Boy some winter clothes. In these parts, that means long-sleeved tee shirts and jeans. I also bought him a pair of long navy pants, because I like for my kids to have at least one semi-nice thing that they can wear on the off chance we attend something fancier than a tractor pull. Not that we go to tractor pulls, what with us being so citified and all, but then we are in Texas, so it's not outside the realm of possibility. Maybe in the spirit of accuracy I should say, fancier than the PTO spaghetti supper. Although this year the spaghetti supper was pretty darn fancy, with a live band and everything. That's what happens when you're city folk, but is also why we skipped this year's spaghetti supper.
Now, my two youngest kids hate to shop. Hate, hate, hate. Trying on clothes is like torture for them. I once made Middle Daughter cry by insisting she try on a party dress. When she was fourteen. But The Boy was very stoic about the trying on of various pants, in the attempt to find some that fit, and in the end we did find a pair that fit perfectly, along with several pair of jeans.
Flash forward to Thanksgiving, and we pull the pants out of the drawer, cut the tags off, and give them to The Boy. They swallow him. They are nowhere close to fitting, even with a belt. With a sigh of resigning myself to a Look from my mother for bringing my kids to a nice family gathering in clothes not up to the task, I hollered for Middle Daughter to grab his jeans and help him change.
Oh, why did I holler for Middle Daughter instead of doing it myself? Well, firstly, because what's the point of going through 36 hours of labor and a forceps delivery after which you nearly bleed to death if you don't end up with someone to do your evil bidding, and secondly, I was still trying to get myself and four side dishes ready to go out the door within the next 30 seconds, lest I face the usual can't you be on time for anything ridicule.
We get to my sister's just in time to help set out all the food (which was a task in itself, because it turns out 26 people for dinner = lots of food to set out) and sit down to dinner, so it wasn't until about an hour later that I notice The Boy walking around gripping the waistband of his jeans. Thinking he had gone to the bathroom and had trouble with the button, I asked him what was the matter, and he said his pants were too big. And they were! Swallowing him up.
Sure enough, when he got home later and changed into an old pair of shorts, they also hung around his hips like he was headed for last year's MTV video awards.
So, this morning I measured him. 4'3". 2 1/2" taller than he was a month ago.