Who you sayin' has wee little mousy muscles?!?!

My little guy has been going to the gym with me lately.  He's rather funny.  Sort of.  He zooms around doing his own thing and then checks in with me when I'm doing the weight machines.  Really, it's quite lovely.  I mean how many moms have fifteen-year-old sons who don't mind hanging out with them?  I shouldn't complain...really I shouldn't.  But the little toot, along with stopping to chat, always, always makes sure to point out how light the weight is that his mom is using. 


Me:  "Um, dude, you weigh thirty more pounds than I do."

Me:  "Think about it, I'm thirty-one years older than you."

Me:  "Hey!  Check out these guns!"  <me flexing...and hoping I don't give myself a cramp whilst doing so>


I figure this conversation we keep having is simply one of those things that we just do.  He smirks a bit, but mostly smiles.  I complain a bit, but mostly I feel loved.

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