Who knew schools still did this but considering that all 14 wants to do is try to throw his brother, his father and his friends around with moves he's picked up from UFC - it does kind of make sense.
By class 2, Thursday, he's injured himself.
Friday, chiropractor. A 10:15 appointment met with bitterness because of the ungodly hour he now needs to get up.
A quick digression: Toronto has been hit with January-like temperatures and lots of snow. When I left the house for work it was -10*C, when I called 14 with his appointment and to tell him to GET OUT OF BED, HAVE A SHOWER AND MEET ME AT MY OFFICE IN ONE HOUR in a motherly tone filled with love and concern, the temperature warmed up to -9*C.
14 complains but gets up and has the fastest shower ever, dresses and races outside to take the transit to my office.
Then my phone rings.
14: Mom, I'm locked out and I don't have a coat...and it's cold.
Me: Go next door and get a key from the neighbour and get your winter coat.
14: No it's okay, I'll be fine - I'm dressed in layers.
Me: What are you wearing? It's freezing outside!
14: A t-shirt and a long-sleeve t-shirt.
Me: That does not constitute layers.
But that's how the teen brain works: layers equals 2+ articles of clothing = warmth. Comparable to a winter coat. And have I forgotten he's Canadian?
14 runs to the streetcar stop to generate heat and thankfully there's a streetcar. He calls me to let me know when he's off the subway and I run out to get him - in my parka and mittens. Everyone is looking at him like he's insane and I feel like saying, he's 14 so that everyone understands and feels my pain.
Tomorrow: the chiropractor performs miracles on Quasimodo while I pine for coffee.