My son wore dirty underwear today. The older two boys would like for me to clarify that I am referring to the three-year-old, Caleb. I would like to tell you that he wore dirty underwear because we were told to evacuate our home due to an impending landslide or something of the sort, and we were only able to leave with the clothes on our backs. Sadly, this was not the case. He wore his two-day-underwear because he was adamant that the Storm Trooper underwear were infinitely better than the (clean) Thomas the Train underwear and I just did not want to engage in the battle. So, he wore the Storm Trooper underwear proudly and I did not have to deal with a knock-down, drag out, three-year-old-sized temper tantrum.
The old Corinn – the Corinn with just one strong-willed child – would have engaged him. She would have physically put the clean underwear on that sweet little behind and then proceeded to Target with a very well-coordinated child who was donning clean underpants. She also would have judged a mother like the current Corinn. “Lazy” would be the term she probably would have used.
I don’t feel like I would be classified as lazy now. I feel old, but not lazy. I just have learned, unfortunately for the firstborn, to choose my battles. This was not a battle I wanted to start. I could see the end and it was going to get ugly. For Caleb. I would have been the one to win, but he would not have gone down without a fight. It’s a strange day when you actually find yourself weighing whether your child would be better off wearing the same underclothing for two days versus working himself into an absolute frenzy in an attempt to win the right to wear said skivvies. I chose sanity for him and me.
This is also the reason that you will, on occasion, find us out and about in some superhero get-up paired with anything from camo rain boots to dress socks and shoes.
I. Don’t. Care. Anymore.
Yes. We actually went to three different stores like this. He stayed in character the whole time too.
Note the word anymore. I used to care. My firstborn never even got to wear character tennis shoes. He still resents me. He always looked perfect. And he always wore underwear. Clean underwear.
Then came along the free spirit, Evan. It is a crapshoot as to whether he can remember to put on his underpants daily. We still have to check with him on a regular basis. He also got the first pair of shoes with some cartoon guys on them. Michael contends it is because we like Evan better. No, sweetie, you were just the practice child.
As sad as that sounds, it’s kind of true. I think he will turn out okay. I hope the other two will. All I know is our fundamental parenting style has not changed. We still try to instill a sense of responsibility, respect and love for the Lord in our children. We also use the phrase “I’m the boss, applesauce” frequently. Caleb recently replied that “You a MEAN boss, applesauce”. Maybe he should talk to his oldest brother about that assessment. He may have a different definition of mean for the wee one.