Monday, February 23, 2015

Sometimes I Like to F With My Kids.

Sometimes I like to fuck with my kids.
I know what you're thinking. I'm sure that makes me sound like a horrible mother, even worse that I so casually drop the f-bomb but it's true. I also like to think that since I'm responsible for keeping them fed, relatively well-adjusted and alive each day, that it's only owed to me to be able to screw with them every now and again.
Take for instance, my middle child, my favorite child. There is this sole pair of pajamas that he absolutely refuses to wear. They could be (and have been) the last pair of clean pajamas in his drawer at night and he would much rather roll around naked on the carpet and throw himself on the floor in a fit of desperation than wear them to bed.
You would think that I'm asking him to do the unthinkable- that I was dipping his fingers in hot wax and plucking off his fingernails one by one judging by the nature of the tantrums that any attempt to get him to wear these pajamas elicits.
Keep in mind, there is nothing wrong with these pajamas.

I have not the faintest idea as to what these poor pajamas ever did to him to make him never want to wear them EVER. In fact, they're a rather adorable pair of soft flannel pajamas that boast a small Mickey Mouse applique and were handed down to him by his older brother who wore them (and loved them) only a year ago. As a matter of fact, I'm almost certain that he would still wear these pajamas if only the pants didn't fit him like a pair of Bermuda shorts.
These pajamas were lovingly handed down to Maclane over a year ago and the child has yet to wear them. With temperatures and wind chills in the negative double digits lately, I couldn't think of a more fitting time for these pajamas to be worn. I've tried bribing and begging but to no avail. 

He just won't wear the damn things... Until two nights ago.
After a particularly busy day of being two and a half, particularly a two and a half year old whose naps are becoming less and less frequent, Maclane made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch before he could make it into the bath before bed.

In our house, falling asleep that early and before baths is akin to passing out after a college rager with your shoes still on. In other words, it's a free for all. Since we've hidden all of our Sharpies (because, toddlers), I knew that I had to think of a Plan B.

Light bulb.

I scooped up that sweet sack of sleepy sugar and whisked him upstairs to his bed. Now, you have to understand that Mackie not only plays hard all day long but when he crashes, he crashes hard as well. There was no waking him.

I peeled off his pants quickly and deftly, changing his diaper with hardly a sigh. And that's when I slid open his drawer, chock full of pajamas in all colors and patterns but the pair that stood out the most to me was that plaid flannel set, boasting that much-loathed mouse.

I couldn't stop laughing. "How sick and twisted am I," I thought to myself. To take advantage of my child in a weak moment, a moment where he wasn't even able to defend himself from The Pajamas. A moment when I could proudly declare, "I WIN!" as I slipped his fast asleep little body into those jammies.

You bet your ass I did it. I slipped him into those jammies so fast- that god forbid he were to wake and demand, "no, mom! no mickey!" and I would have to abort mission. I tucked him in, making sure that he was surrounded by the menagerie he insists on sleeping with each night. Tigey, Bear-Bear, Blue Puppy and Bunny. I kissed his forehead before slipping out of his room to begin the bed time routine with his brothers.

"I bet you can't guess what I just did to Mac," I said to my husband as I began to draw the bath water. "Do I even want to know? Is he going to require therapy later in life because of it because if so, you're totally footing the bill for that one," he replied. 

I couldn't help but go to bed thinking, "I WON," a rather immature thought when dealing with someone thirty years your junior. But hey, a mom's gotta get her licks in when she can, am I right? 

5:30 the next morning I awoke to a rather well-rested and boisterous two year old running into my room exclaiming, "MY SOFT PANTS! I'M WEARING MY SOFT PANTS!" After all, he had just slept twelve and a half hours. I don't think I've been that well rested since 2008. 

His soft pants. The soft pajamas pants that he refused to wear for months have quickly become his favorite pair. A pair that he now requests to wear night after night after night. A pair that brings with it a new concept of "but they're in the laundry" that he can't quite grasp. 

So I wash them. So that he can wear them. Night after night after night. 

Which begs the questions, "who really won after all?" 

Toddler - 673 , Mom - 5.    


  1. Hahahaha that's awesome and so something I would do!

  2. This is just so awesome! Totally something that I would do!

  3. Haha! I would say awesome, except for the laundry part. I really dread laundry.

  4. You never win they flip the script.

  5. Oh to be 2!!!! And the middle child! Lol

  6. I've been a "silent" reader for a while, but I just had to comment on this one! That is hysterical! And totally something I would do, putting him in his least favorite pajamas! We also have the battle of which ones to wear each night! It can be SO exhausting!! Thank you for being humorous about it!


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