Not These Pants

Sometimes when you have a kiddo who battles with communication, it’s tough to figure out exactly what he’s trying to tell you.  I know, this is starting out to be a real eye-opener, but bear with me.
Today is picture day, and on picture day, as most mommies do, I laid out some handsome little ensembles for my handsome little dudes.  We want to put forth the appearance that we ALWAYS go to school looking dapper and well-groomed, even though on a typical day, it’s more like we are lucky to get our teeth brushed and get out of our pajamas.  (We have managed to get out of our pajamas every day, right?  Teachers, please don’t answer that.)
Where was I?  Oh, yes.  Handsome outfits.  So this morning, both of my little cherubs put on their picture-day finest, and trust me, I wasn’t asking them to go all bow-tie and tux.  Really I just wanted nice shirts and shorts or jeans.  Ok, what really happened was this.  Mommy sucked and only got shorts clean for one of the boys, so I pulled jeans out of the closet to go with Jordan’s nice shirt, which I though would be totally fine.
In my defense, Jordan has always LOVED jeans.  In fact, it hasn’t been that long ago that he went through a phase of nothing but jeans, all the time.  Jeans in the morning, jeans at night, jeans for pajamas, jeans for everything.  So I figured, what the heck?  Surely he won’t mind wearing the damned jeans, right?
WRONG-O.  Apparently.
What took a while was the figuring-out part of that equation.  He got dressed in the jeans alright.  Then he proceeded to bury himelf under the blankets on my bed and refuse to come out, forever and ever, until the end of time.  “Ummm, okay.  Buy why, little handsome buddy?”  (This was Mommy asking in an all-too-bright-and-cheerful voice.)
“But ‘no’ doesn’t tell me why you won’t come out,” I patiently explained.
After a few minutes in hiding, he finally elaborated.  “I can’t run in these pants.”
Ohhhhhh.  Well, if that’s the problem, lemme just tell ya, Buddy, that Mommy can’t run in ANYpants.  Not like without pants, which is totally what that just sounded like, but I mean, no matter what pants I’m wearing, what I’m doing resembles nothing like running.  Unless I’m being chased by a really bad dude wielding a machete…then I might run.  Or unless there are piping-hot glazed donuts on a table, say, 400 meters away.  Might also run for those.  Otherwise, it totally would not matter what pants I was wearing—there would be NO running.
But I didn’t tell him any of that, because I was thinking he would neither understand nor appreciate my running issues.  His issue at the moment was that he COULD. NOT. RUN. IN. THOSE. DAMNED. PICTURE. PANTS.
And he’d made it perfectly clear he was not coming out from under my blankets until I remedied the situation.
The only thing I had washed were towels.  So it seemed like I had a couple of choices.  He could wear dirty shorts.  Nope.  He could wear a towel.  But he would probably veto that, because I’m sure he would have the same not-able-to-run-in-it issue.  Or he could borrow a pair of his brother’s shorts, which would be slightly too big.
Problem solved.  So, gangsta-rap Jordan went to school today in a pair of ever-so-slightly-too-big khaki shorts that just to happen to match his picture shirt.  He was of the mind that he could run in those much better than jeans, which was really all that mattered.  We all just need to cross our fingers that they don’t fall off and end up around his ankles, because I’m thinking that will put a dent in his running prowess.  Other than that, picture day should be a snap.

Another successful morning.  Also, I’m still pretty sure no one wore pajamas to school…except maybe the high schooler, but I hear that’s totes cool now.

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