So, all weekend Billy asked to wear his red sweatpants. Unfortunately, they were in the wash and I had to tell him no. Which meant it was an ordeal to find a pair of pants he wanted to wear. He gets this pants optional thing from his father. So, Sunday we do the laundry and the red pants are available yesterday morning.
You know what's coming, don't you?
Yesterday and today, I ask him if he wants to wear his red pants. And of course, he responds in his best whiny tone: No red pants!
He wore a kelly green Rolling Stones t-shirt with a pair of dark green pants and red stripey socks. I can't wait until he's potty trained and physically able to dress himself. I know we'll still have discussions over what is weather appropriate and I will try my best to keep him from looking homeless, but this is really too much. Everyday it's do you want this shirt, which pants, which socks. We even debate which pair of sneakers he's going to wear (after I remind him he can't wear sandals it's too cold and he can't wear boots because he's got gym, I'll let him wear boots tomorrow as they've re-scheduled the field trip to the farm, but he'll want to wear sneakers tomorrow).
He's a teenage girl trapped in a two-year old boy's body!
I haven't been knitting much. Mom's birthday is in two days and I'm only one and a half repeats through the lace border. I'm going to be so late again this year. I should feel guilty. She is my mom. Carried me in her womb, nearly died with the placenta previa thing, raised me and put me through private college, but she's chronically late for my birthday (you'd think you'd remember the date you had another person surgically removed from your body, but she's a procrastinator). It's gotten to the point where I was relieved she was late for Hubby's birthday this year. It means she doesn't love him more than me!
Anyway, last night I cuddled with the Molly and feel asleep watching the Giants pummel Drew Bledsoe. Maybe tonight I'll get the lace finished and into the body of the sweater.