Wow, anyone who says boys are less dramatic than girls obviously doesn't have a clothes-obsessed 9-year-old boy.
Today was free dress day at school, a reward for completing last month's home reading club assignment. Mark was excited, but even more thrilled after last week's shopping excursion, when I rewarded him with a new pair of pants for doing so great on his report card.
Not just any old pants, mind you. Black super skinny jeans. He's been begging for them for six months now. We're talking Jonas Brother skinny here. Skinny jeans on a skinny kid -- kinda looks like he's wearing tights!
He loved the pants so much he wore them on Saturday AND Sunday, along with his new black Skatedogs t-shirt. And reminded me all week that he was going to wear them again on free dress day. He was so excited he even washed his clothes to ensure they were clean.
To which I said -- right on! Anything that makes him volunteer for laundering duties has my seal of approval.
So he loaded up the washing machine with black clothes, then went to bed. I transferred the clothes to the dryer, and imagine my surprise when a black Converse high top with flames fell out and landed on my toe.
I chalked it up to sloppiness -- I figured Mark scooped it up accidentally when he grabbed his clothes. But then -- literally -- the other shoe dropped, and I saw that the little rugrat had washed both shoes. On purpose!
No big deal. I set them aside to air dry, and turned on the dryer.
Well, this morning, the first thing Mark said to me was, "Did you dry my clothes?"
"Yes," I answered.
He giggled a little. "Did you see my shoes?" he asked, quite pleased with himself.
"Yes," I answered again.
He ran out to the garage to retrieve his clothes. I heard the door slam, and then an angry little voice shouted, "My shoes are still wet!!!"
He stood in the doorway, glaring, demanding an explanation. Mind you, I hadn't even gotten out of bed yet -- and a top o' the morning to you, too!
"Well, yeah, that's what happens you wash them," I said.
He immediately burst into tears. Now this I was not expecting!
"I didn't know they'd get wet!" he wailed. "I wanted to wear those shoes with my skinny jeeeeeeeeeaaaaans!" I realized this was God's punishment for all the years I killed my own mother's dreams of having a little girly-girl with neat hair and fancy dresses.
"Oh lord," I mumbled. Just then my alarm went off, with two radio announcers discussing Friday the 13th. So at least there was a rational explanation for the sudden outburst.
I went to the office to console Mark, who was curled in a fetal position on the bed. He was still crying. I tried to be as understanding as I possibly could before my morning coffee.
"Fine," I said. "If you go get ready, I will put your shoes in the dryer. If you complain AT ALL, I will not." (That's about as comforting as I get first thing in the morning!)
He complied, and 20 minutes later, he was lacing up his high-tops. "They're still kinda wet, but I don't care!" he told me happily.
As we walked out the front door, Mark stopped abruptly, saying "Oh, I forgot my black sweatshirt!"
I looked down at him, in his black shirt, black jeans and black shoes. The only spot of color were the flames on his shoes.
"Come on, Mark, you're not Johnny Cash," I said. "Off to school with you!"
"Who's Johnny Cash?" he asked.
"The Man in Black," I said. "Now, go..."
I could see his eyes grow wide, and I realized I should have shut up. I could see requests for Johnny Cash records downloaded from iTunes in my near future.
Oh well, could be worse. With his penchant for all-black clothing, I should just be glad it's not Goth music he's into. Or Marilyn Manson...
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