A word to the wise: if you ever come visit me, you might wanna call first. Because if you drop by as a surprise, I can almost guarantee that a fair percentage of this household will be naked.
If you've been reading here for a while, you know that my kids have a penchant for running around in the buff. It started with Colin, and now has continued with Cameron. It's probably influence, but it could also be genetic: I do have memories of my grandma Collier striding down the hall after bathing, in all her wrinkly flappy nakedness - regardless of who was in the house - and lifting up first one long boob and then the other to dust the undersides with Shower to Shower powder.
... You're welcome.
Anyway, the point is, the only people that are usually dressed in this house are Coby (I'm guessing that's only because he's still too little to take his clothes off), Curtis, and myself. (And I can't even guarantee that I'd be wearing a bra, but whatever.) Colin strips his clothes off within minutes of walking in the door after school, and Cameron ... well, Cameron feels the need to be completely nude when he uses the toilet. Number one or number two, it doesn't matter, he just needs to feel the air on every inch of his skin while he does his bidness in the bathroom.
So all this nakedness means I dress my kids twice a day. At least. Once in the morning, when we all get ready and drop Colin off at school, and then once again in the afternoon when we venture out to pick him up. And I have it down to a science: it takes me about eight minutes to get everyone fully clothed and shoed. (Shod? Whatever.)
Yesterday, I was running late leaving the house to pick Colin up, which rarely ever happens. I think it was because it was Wednesday, and Wednesdays throw me off because Colin gets out of school at a different time than other days. So I was hurrying to get the kids dressed, and as I was stuffing Coby's uncooperative feet into a pair of almost-too-small shoes, Cameron announced that he needed to pee.
Of course he does. Because to just leave the house without a hitch would be far too simple, wouldn't it?
I put on my most warning tone. "Okay," I said, "but do not under any circumstances remove ANY of your clothing. Do you understand me?"
"Yes!" he called on his way to the bathroom.
A minute or so ticked by. I started to get uneasy. Then I saw him emerging from the bathroom and - lo and behold - his clothes were still on, from his shirt to his shoes! I was rejoicing in the Hallelujah chorus when, as he came closer, I noticed that his hair was wet. Dripping.
And so were his sleeves ... up to, like, his elbows.
And his shirt was supposed to be white, but the sleeves were stained a pale yellow. And with horror, I realize what had happened.
"I fixed my hair!" Cameron said proudly. "And Mommy, I left all my clothes on!"
I wish he had just gotten naked ...
PS - Thank you all SO MUCH for the wonderful, supportive advice you gave me on yesterday's post. I appreciate it more than you could ever realize. I knew I could count on you! :)