Denim and Dudes

This morning, like so many others before, was filled with the chaos of running late. Late for work, for school and for play date drop-offs. Charles had already left with JB for his day of meetings and her day of playing with her best-est girlfriends, leaving me and BW for the final scramble.

Somehow, between the craziness of work, school, (trying to) keep house, raising two active little ones, chasing after our greyhound and Mr. Toad, we managed to not only wash, but also dry the laundry. Well. Charles did. When I do laundry, I separate the clothes by person so that as each one is done it can be folded and put away. Charles ‘gets the job done’. For that I am ever so thankful. Most of the time it even gets put away, it just might take a few days.

As with other mornings, when asked to get dressed, BW whined “Can you get my clothes for me, PLEEAAAASE?” After grumpily getting an outfit from the dryer, we proceeded with the rest of the routine; I’d hold up his shirt – he’d change into it and so on.

When I held up his pants and told him to put them on, his eyes grew big and said “I’m not wearing those.”

“Yes you are. You asked me to get you some clothes, I did, now put them on.”

“No, mama. I don’t want to wear those.”

“GRRRRR. There is nothing wrong with them. We are running late. Put the shorts on we need to go now!”

“Mama, please don’t make me wear those…please turn them around and look at them … Please?”

Flustered and frustrated I turned them around to see what all the fuss was about. Poor child.

There in all of their glory were butterflies and sequins.

In my haste, I’d grabbed his sister’s shorts.
He prefers khakis now.

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