Wednesday, May 2, 2012

How We Roll

When we lived in Michigan my children wore clothes. Lots of them. All of the time.

But when we moved to Texas - which is approximately 23 miles from the sun and where eggs fry on your driveway on August mornings - both Will and Hallie started to shed their layers. Literally.

I suppose I'm to blame, because at first going topless was my idea.  We were consuming considerably more popsicles and ice cream cones than we ever had before, and I wasn't all that interested in washing strawberry red popsicle and dairy-free cookies and cream ice cream stains off Will and Hallie's t-shirts, tank tops, and dresses.

And of course I let them dye Easter eggs in their underwear - I mean, if the dye stains eggs, imagine what it could do to their clothes!  I'm no laundry or mathematical expert, but I'm guessing that Will/Hallie + clothing + Easter egg dye = a great big mess for Erin.

But then Will and Hallie started taking off their tops (and then their shorts and skirts as well) anytime they went outside, regardless of whether or not we were in the privacy of our own home.
Running away from me
down the block.
Flexing his muscles
on the back porch.
Having a tea party at the park.
I could/can hardly blame them, especially in the summer months when oppressive heat and humidity make any and all clothing feel like it's made of heavy wool.  And they're just so darn cute in their underwear.

Some days I'm struck by how old and mature my children - especially Will - seem.  He makes his own breakfast, handles his own personal hygiene, reads bedtime stories to Hallie, plays on two sports teams, tackles his chores, and negotiates, compromises, and problem-solves like someone twice his age.

(As I write this post, Will is in the backyard, wearing baseball batting gloves and a bike helmet and preparing to hit a basketball off a golf tee with a baseball bat.  So while he may be great at negotiating, compromising, and problem-solving, Will's not quite as good at predicting consequences.  I can't imagine this will end well...)

But every once in a while - like when he strips down to his underwear in the backyard - I'm reminded that he's just a little boy.  "Rockin' it" in his underwear (which is what both kids call wearing just their underwear) may not be appropriate for much longer, so I'm going to let them enjoy it while they still can.  For now, this is how we roll.
Helping daddy fertilize the lawn.  With a sword.
Storm Trooper dance break!
Storm Trooper attacks!  (And then receives
a warning for pointing the gun at me.)

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