You were so mad because I wouldn’t let you wear your pajamas to school today.
Those are your “night night” shorts, I explained. Try these baseball shorts instead.
No! Not these baseball shorts!
You grabbed your pjs and ran away.
Cursing silently, I drank deeply (coffee – it’s 8 am).
I told him he could change into his jammies as soon as he came home from school.
Observing me solemnly with dark eyes fringed in long lashes, this tiny half-dressed warrior toddler almost preschooler boy child considered my suggestion.
And he put on his baseball shorts.
We walked toward the front door. Let’s put on your shoes, I said benignly, and waited.
Sneakers successfully on, he grabbed a pair of Spiderman crocs from the basket of shoes on our way out, and began crying wildly in the car.
Not these baseball shoes, Mommy!
Dear sweet heaven help me.
Yesterday his big brother asked me to buy him a box of Spiderman Cheez-Its. You don’t even like Cheez-Its, I countered.
Yes, but I will like these Cheez-Its, you see, Mom, because they have Spiderman.
Ah, I do see. That’s called Marketing.
It’s a tricky way to get you to buy stuff that’s not good for you.
Oh. Marketing is like an evil bad guy criminal.
Right. We did not purchase the Spiderman Cheez-Its.
Back in the car on the way to school, my youngest attempted to break free of his carseat and yelled “Open door, Mommy! Open door!”
Would you like me to open the window? I inquired.
This really made him mad. He’s not an idiot, after all.
NO! OPEN DOOR!
I’m driving down the road. I can’t open the door while we’re driving.
Finally he agreed to have me help him out of the car, and he tearfully unclutched the Spiderman shoes.
Damn you, you webbed, taunted spider-bitten hero. My boys adore you.
I love these kids.