Why We Shouldn’t Be Allowed Out of the House

Because I’m fairly confident a great number of you have boys, perhaps you can feel this momma’s pain when I say our kids are jeans poor. And yes, we do hand-me-downs but by the time the pants make it to Boy Three, they are thread bare which may explain why my youngest typically looks like a poster child for Goodwill instead of a johnny-suit-wearing preacher’s kid.

{Okay, I interrupt this post to inform you that I have no idea what I’m talking about.  Because I’m certain you haven’t figured that out yet.  I’ve always heard the term ‘johnny suit’ used to describe the shorts/jackets/knee sock number that moms with style and class put on their little children hence the reason I’ve never bought them for my kids.  I just googled it and apparently this is the new johnny suit.}

Y’all seriously can not imagine what it’s like to live in my head.

But I digress.

Luke and I went to the Big City to visit darlin’ church members and new parents Brent, Katie and doll baby Easton today.   We decided it would be a great idea to jeans shop since we would actually be in a town that consisted of more than a Walmart and Army Surplus store. 

I don’t know how many of you shop with your husbands on a regular basis.  Maybe you do and like it?  I don’t know.  I love hanging with Luke when we don’t have an agenda but when I’m on a mission he throws off my mojo.   Case in point:  We were in and out of Old Navy today in 9  minutes flat with nothing in a bag but 2 pairs of jeans and 2 packages of socks.  He practically drug me out of there because “We don’t have time to browse!  We have to get what we came for!  Jeans!  Only Jeans!”

It’s like I was sucked into a vortex of stereotype.

We went in the mall and headed towards Aeropostale because their jeans are cheap and fit the oldest boy well.  As we sprinted down the concourse, we passed a Journeyz store and stopped in to see if they had an Element t-shirt.  For those of you who don’t have a middle child dancing on the edge of rebellion, that is a brand of skateboards.  Yes, Boy Two is a skateboarder now and even though we have resisted encouraging him in this freaked-out sub-culture, he’s needed a little TLC lately so we decided to bless him in a totally unexpected way.  If you have a skateboarding child, please don’t be insulted by my remarks.  I don’t think there is anything wrong with skateboarding per se.   I just get a little concerned over the skulls and darkness and black fingernails and flat-billed hats and pre-occupation with death.  Not that my boy is doing any of that.  But only because we haven’t encouraged him and are closely monitoring his nail polish.  And also, you should know his Element shirt is a safe shade of aqua blue. 

The second one that is.

The first one was black.  The first one that we lost somewhere in the mall. 

Seems that in all that hurrying we were doing, one of us – one of us yet to be determined – laid down the bag with the Element shirt in it. 

So, what did we do?  We backtracked to all the places we had been but, of course, the shirt was nowhere to be found.  To the person who picked it up:  You are welcome.  I hope it matches your child’s fingernail polish. 

Luke, being the tenderhearted Dad he is, went back and bought another because he knew how happy it would make Two.  Really – how lame it would be for us to simply not give him a shirt because his parents are not only flirting with Alzheimer’s but dating it steadily?  Very. 

I’m still in a bad mood about it but I have to be careful because it is just as likely that I lost it as Luke.  Truth is, we are danged dangerous together.  Usually there is one high-functioning spouse in a relationship but Luke and I are two peas in a forgetful pod.  It’s nothing short of miraculous that we have kept up with the kids as well as we have. 

Now that I think of it, there have been a couple of blips.  As in the time I forgot my  toddler daughter in the car whilst it was in the parking lot of a restaurant.  Our group was mingling around waiting for a table so neither Luke nor I knew the other didn’t have her.  I figured that out while having a conversation in the foyer with THE COUNTY SHERIFF’S FATHER who wanted to see the baby girl.  Who was in the car.  Alone.  I may have totally lied about her whereabouts (Oh!  She’s around here somewhere!)  and then quickly run to the car only to cry my eyes out after realizing I had no business having another human under my care.

Remembering that suddenly puts the shirt thing in perspective. 

I feel better.   And now that I do, it might be a good idea for me to go check on my children.  It’s been awfully quiet for a while now.

Love,

Lisa

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