I yearn for the good old days. The days when I could dress my boy any way I wanted – because he was too young to care – or at the age when he really didn’t care. When the only requests where that the shorts/pants had pockets (for his rocks and other treasures) and snaps not buttons (because those chubby little fingers had a hard time with the buttons).
Then there was the period when he’d only wear basketball shorts and tee-shirts that never matched. Even this was an easy time.
In middle school he had a uniform – so there were no requests to be made. He wore a polo with the school emblem and khaki pants or shorts. Easy.
Even last year there wasn’t much fuss. His school’s dress code requires khakis, collared shirt (tucked in), and a belt. As long as I didn’t buy polo shirts in “girlie” colors it was all good.
But this year it’s a different story. We went through all his school clothes and discovered, of course, that he’s out-grown everything. Fine. So off I go to the mall, which I hate especially on tax-free, back to school shopping weekend. I only go because Man-Child asked that I get him some clothes from a specific store. Okay – not a problem as said store isn’t too terribly pricey.
I have to fight through crowds trying to pick what I think MC would like and look good in. I stand in line for about 30 minutes with only three people in front of me because the clerk is offering some kind of deal to each and every person. Sign up today and get so much off your next purchase kind of thing. And people were taking them up on it. Who cares that the line is practically out the door? And that it’s hot in that store? And then when the guy pulled out his checkbook – well, it was all I could do to restrain myself from beating him about the head with my shoe! Really, a checkbook? Anyway, I digress . . .
So I get home and give Man Child his new clothes. He okays most of them without any real enthusiasm – but the one shirt that I really liked and knew would look good on him was nixed. Because he said it make him look like a zebra. WTH? Fine, I’ll return it. I’ll brave the damn mall again and try not to maim people with checkbooks or silly clerks who offer things when the line is out the door.
Then I asked Man Child if he needed any basics – you know socks, tee-shirts, underwear. He said yes, he needed it all. Okay I’ll pick them up next time in Target. He then informed me that I can’t buy his underwear without him. Apparently, I can’t even do that right anymore. Hello?? It’s undies! But according to him, the last time I bought them – which took forever because he wants boxers that have a closed flap (do you know how long it took me to find those?) – the material wasn’t right. The material? We are worried about the material?? He said it wasn’t “boxer” material. Is there even such a thing?
Once again, I am thankful he’s a boy – what kind of holy hell must the mothers of girls go through at this time of year?