"Uh, mumble, mumble, uh huh"
"Can you pull them out for me to see?"
(multiple sighs)
Bug has his bedroom organized these days into the following piles (to the best I can discern): dirty clothes in hamper, dirty clothes under the bed, baseball clothes in milk crate and the floor around the milk crate, cardboard box of shorts and swim suits which I pulled out but which are getting worn without ever being put in a dresser, clean laundry still in a laundry basket, dress pants on a shelf in the closet, a scattering shoes on the closet floor (mixed with toys and clothes which have fallen off hangers.)
He pulls out the dress pants and says "Here, see" in that 'duh, mom' sort of way. I clearly decided to torture him because I then said, "Try them on." (ack, horrors!)
Pook's floor looks better, there is only a hamper of dirty clothes and a cardboard box of shorts and swim stuff but if you look in his closet you will see scores of shoes from years gone by, clothes I hardly recognize because they have collars and therefore are never worn, and well, you really can't get in the closet to see what else is there. That might be for the best.
"Try 'em on guys."
(multiple sighs, groans and "aw, mom"s)
Bug: "I just wore them. They fit fine."
"Prove it."
"See?"
"Why don't you button them?"
"Uh, maybe they're too small."
"What size are they?"
"8"
The next pair was the same. The third pair fit. Size 12. They get pulled off and left, inside out on the floor. I'm picking my battles, so I fold them and set them aside on top of the khakis he's planning to wear to the first concert.
"How's it going, Pook?"
He hasn't started trying on clothes but is instead standing in his underwear playing with the Electronic Pocket Distraction (EPD) he removed from his pocket when he took off his pants.
We find him pants which fit, but he can't locate the dress shirt he says he owns. Turns out, it is two sizes too small and I'd put it in Bug's closet. Nevermind, he needs a tux shirt one night and anything with a collar the other.
Now to Pook's shoes. He pulls out five pairs of black dress shoes, two pairs of holey running shoes and two pairs of sandals from his closet. I immediately throw some in the trash can. He begins to try on dress shoes. Bug grabs a pair and puts them on.
"They're fine."
I suggest socks be added to the try-on process. They begin an argument over who owns which black socks.
Pook is still working on shoes. Bug is now at the top of the stairs looking classy, wearing shorts and t-shirt, black dress socks, and shoes which maybe would fit Pook better but Bug got to them first. Their feet may be the same size.
"Hey everyone!" My mom is standing at the bottom of the stairs. (Holding a cookie jar!) "The garage door was up and the door was unlocked and no one heard me, so I just came in."
I'm trying to avoid losing control now. "No cookies until you're wearing clothes!" She eases herself away and I get them back to the business of trying on shoes. Finally, success. I put aside the remainder and offer them online to Friends With Boys.
If I had a chance to do it again, I'd join with a few families of boys and suggest we buy one pair of black dress shoes in every size. We could swap them around for 18 years.
**************
It is ten minutes until we should leave for the recital.
"Mom! My pants don't fit! I can't button them!"
Sure enough, the khaki pair Bug wanted to wear today (did I ever see him trying them on?) is too tight. Size 12. Super mom that I am, I locate a pair of 14s. I'd cut off his head but it wouldn't make the pants fit any better.
**************
5 minutes later:
We will never get out the door. Bug came down in khakis (which fit, with a belt) but black socks.
"But I don't have any khaki socks!" (Clearly I am guilty.)
I find the child some khaki socks.
**************
in the car, running about five minutes late:
"I guess these shoes are a little too small."
***************
between the car and recital hall:
"My shirt is missing a button."
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