When my boys were little, I did the unthinkable. To this
day, I don’t think they have forgiven me.
Perhaps it was the times – perhaps it was being a Southern
Mama, but I confess and freely admit that - - - I dressed them alike.
At first it was big brother, little brother outfits –
especially when Zack was a toddler – in which manufacturers used the same fabric
or design detail, but the outfits were different – but as they grew and these
outfits became unavailable, I turned to an even worse habit. I bought them
identical red, white, and blue bathing suits every summer! I thought (and still
do) that they looked ADORABLE!
But you need not fear, they paid me back in spades.
From late elementary school onward, they balked, resisted,
complained, and refused to go clothes shopping. My compliant and engaged
children turned into mules who refused to step foot in dressing rooms. I
honestly believe they would rather go to the pediatrician’s office and spin a
giant roulette wheel of immunizations and suffer the consequences that
try on a single pair of Levis.
I pleaded, I wheedled. Nothing.
Eventually I took to guessing the right waist size and
length and bringing home pants for them to try on in the comfort and privacy of
their bedrooms. But there was always an
excuse. At night time it was “I’m too tired.” In the morning I was “I’ll do it
after school.” After school it was “I don’t want to try them on now, I will at bedtime.” Which resulted in “I’m too tired.” Yes, an infinite loop of refusal,
broken only when a school program or too small pants necessitated a fresh pair.
And always, always accompanied by eye rolls, heavy sighs and horror.
The acquisition of new pants was such a dreaded task, that Earle and I spoke of a punishment for them that was worse than death. We threathened that we would take them to Pants Mountain, a demented variation of Space Mountain, where they would be eternally trying on pants. Hell on Earth.
As they grew into high school and college students, they
seemed to think that 2 to 3 pair of pants was all anyone could ever need. Zack,
in particular, wore jeans so “broken in” that they appeared to be held together
by dental floss. I tried not to comment. I tried to look away. It was to no
avail. Their pants were the stuff of my nightmares. And they could not have cared
less.
And finally, finally – when my
own involvement in their wardrobe selection had dropped to zero. When all
control was relinquished and all hope was lost, I heard the words that every
mother of sons longs to hear.
“Mom, will you take me pants shopping?”
It seems that in Japan, Zack is a bit of an oddity. At 6
foot, he’s taller than most of his peers and their “skinny jeans" just don't fit him properly. On his week long visit to America he needed American pants. Nothing special. 32 x 34. But bonafide NEW PANTS.
So my answer? “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll happily take you pants shopping!”
And though I was gripped with pain from a a gouty big toe, and anticipating a
massive summer evening thunderstorm, Zack and I ventured out to Target, where
Zack PICKED OUT and TRIED ON MULTIPLE
PAIRS OF JEANS AND CHINOS. And I, happily, paid for them.
It was a parenting moment I thought I’d never see. And it
happened to me. To all the mothers of sons out there, keep the faith. It CAN
happen to you, too.
Now, if only I could get matching jeans for Nat…..
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| At Nat and Lilly's wedding in 2014 - the last time they dressed alike! |
