Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Please tell me I'm not the only mother who's had this moment:
It's Sunday morning, five minutes before you have to leave for church. As you're collecting snacks, kids, diapers, a sippy cup, a blanket, and ohmygosh I almost left the house in my slippers, you notice it.
That one kid-- you know, that one-- is wearing high waters. Stained high waters. And clearly, his shirt is just a bit too tight. Which could almost be ignored ... were it not for the missing button.
Did I mention the whole family is going to lunch with perspective missionary partners after service?
Tell me you've had that moment, or something like it. And tell me that in that same moment, your husband looked at you and asked, "Uh, does he have anything that fits?"
This was me Sunday before last, gazing at my sweet, doe-eyed Logan, who just didn't get what all the fuss was about. In the eyes of a 10 year-old boy, he was perfectly presentable. Fancy, even.
Two days and $157 later, I had overhauled Logan's wardrobe. Because his body is so different than Atticus', hand-me-downs don't work in this instance. Goodwill, Value Village, Old Navy, and Target had all been consulted. Men's pants, 29x29. Check. Men's shorts, 29 inch waist. Check. Men's shirts, size medium. Check. Men's shoes, size 9.5. Check.
It's been lovely, this past week and a half, to see such a neat, tidy version of Logan. Clean, crisp shorts. Neat, colorful shirts. So fresh and well, un-Logan like.
And then, this morning--
I pulled Logan's new khaki shorts from the dryer. The ones I had to buy brand-new from Old Navy. The ones that cost as much as the ones we'd buy for Mr. Blandings, even on sale.
And there, right across the seat, was a massive, unmistakable grass stain.
I sighed. I bit my tongue.
Then I crept upstairs and nabbed a fresh pair of shorts and a nice new polo shirt, and I hid them in my closet. Because, by golly, I won't tell a boy not to play outside, or to paint, or to muck about with clay or any other messy stuff.
But I also need to have him somewhat presentable sometimes, right?
Seems like a compromise to me.
Posted by mary grace at 2:28 PM