Life’s the same, except for my shoes

I want to be Rick Ocasek.  He must have a lot of shoes.  Unless you count flip flops and a torn up pair of fleece slippers, I have worn the same pair of shoes for at least three years.  I only have one pair of shoes (OK, that’s a lie.  I have baseball cleats and bike shoes and basketball shoes and a pair of boots I wear to mow the lawn).  Now that I have corrected myself, I have to admit that I only have one pair of shoes that I wear on a daily basis.  They are functional shoes, as I like to remind my children when they turn a snotty nose in my direction, extra wide width boots that I bought because I thought they would be comfortable.  They are too wide for my feet, except for the sixth toe (i.e. bunion) on my left foot, so they really aren’t terribly comfortable.  They have too much room.  But I think they look real cool with the baggy carpenter jeans I wear.  Life is not the same except for my jeans.  I have two pairs of jeans.

No one really needed to hear that.

I really can’t say that life is the same.  For me, except for a few constants such as the joy brussels sprouts and a good poot gives to me, life really never stays the same.  I have two teenage children.  It is impossible for life to stay the same for me.

A good example happened just this past week.  Nate is in that awkward thirteen year old boy state of confusion where he is just trying to survive through figuring things out.  I remember how that felt.  Heck, that really hasn’t changed for me.  Any way, he’s also starting to put the whole sex thing together, his curiosity piqued by an increasing interest in eighth grade girls whose boobs and curves are beginning to become obvious, as well as having to take the cursed health class at school where they teach the boys about useful items like tampons and douches.  Wonderful.  Nate comes home and asks questions like “what’s a vagina?” with a less than confident smirk on his face.  He’s my son, meaning he lives to annoy people, so dinner time this week has had Nate making sure he throws out those smirked questions in front of his older sister.  Fights are a common occurence at the dinner table now that we have two teens, and the smirked questions started one up.  Nate followed up one of his questions by reaching out and grabbing his sister’s boob.

That’s not proper dinner etiquette.  I did not make any points with my wife when I quipped “it’s not proper to cop a feel from your sister at the dinner table”.  I do believe I’m lucky I can duck quickly, something in my life that has indeed remained the same.

So I find myself wondering what changes next week have in store for my family.  I kind of dread the day when life ceases to change.  That is likely coming within a few years, as the children leave the nest.  What I really hope is that I find that groove that works for me, one that remains the same.  That would be nice.

And so it goes.  EXCEPT FOR MY PANTS.  I tried that David Letterman in my blog several years ago, where you follow everything you say by ending with EXCEPT FOR MY PANTS.  It was fun.  That’s not the groove I am looking for, but it’s much better than talk-like-a-pirate day, which I find to be extremely stupid.  Maybe tomorrow will be EXCEPT FOR MY PANTS friday?

Life’s not really the same, except for my pants.