I love a man in a uniform

It's only the second day of school, and already we've had our first uniform breech. That's right, the little man decided to take his wardrobe into his own hands, and as anyone who's seen him in his weekend attire can attest, that's never a good sign.

I should have known better, but like I said, it's only the second day of school. I wasn't expecting the infractions to begin so quickly.

It all started last year, when Mark rebelled against the school uniform by wearing undershirts beneath his school polo. At first they were simple white t-shirts (acceptable) but eventually they graduated to black, flaming long sleeve t-shirts (not acceptable). This invariably lead to multiple layers--black flaming long sleeves, with a basketball jersey on top, with a school polo on top of THAT. Kid looked like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man!

So when I dug my heels in and said white t-shirts only, he started sneaking clothes into his backpack. I punished him by making him do the laundry (I figured if he didn't mind causing twice the loads, he wouldn't mind doing twice the loads).

Eventually, he moved onto shorts. But not any old shorts. Kathleen's boyfriend Tim gave him a pair of size 16 boy's shorts (Mark wears a 7), which hit him at the ankles. They were super baggy, and one day I got a call from school that it was not acceptable for Mark to wear such shorts, especially not when belted with a piece of twine he found in the school yard. My child was dressing like a hobo, and the school thought I was responsible! (I didn't know he snuck them to school in his backpack.)

I was suitably embarrassed, and at that point, simply took his backpack into the bathroom when I showered (the only point in the morning where he is alone, and susceptible to mayhem).

ANYWAY...all that leads up to this morning. After Mark sulked on his walk to school (it's going to be a loooooong year), I waited patiently to buy him a school t-shirt and a homework planner. I thought he'd be excited since he can wear the t-shirt instead of a polo shirt. But when I gave it to him, he refused to change in public, and ran off to the bathroom. I opened his backpack to put the new planner inside, and that's when I found the rogue black t-shirt.

Mark returned in a huff because the bathrooms were locked. He watched me pluck the black shirt out of the backpack, the school t-shirt out of his hands, and them turn and walk away silently. There would be no shirts but the polo for him today. He's a stubborn kid, though, and he wasn't going to give up without a fight.

"What about the t-shirt?" he called as I walked away. I ignored him, so he cupped his hands and yelled again, louder. But I was already halfway up the block, two new shirts in my hands and the faint echo of "What about my stinkin' shirt???" in my ears.

Somebody's getting extra laundry duty in my house tonight, and it's not me...