Squish has strong opinions on what he should wear every day. Mostly: brown pants. I try to make sure that at least one of his two pairs of brown pants are not streaked with peanut butter. Which is what happens after he puts his hand in the peanut butter jar while I am making his daily pb&j sandwich. He always says, “Oh can I try just a little tiny bit?” and before I can grab it away from him, he’s up to his elbow in the (very large) peanut butter jar, and then: peanut butter fingers on the brown pants. Which then need to be washed. They are only thing he wants to wear, despite having a drawer-ful of acceptable substitutions. I can spend 10 minutes showing him his options, but he is unfazed: brown pants or nothing. Sometimes I think: nothing.
Also, he will not wear socks with holes in them. Today he wanted to wear the same “black” (actually: blue) socks that he wore yesterday. But I had ruined his life by putting them in the laundry. I tried to distract him with his “ankle” (actually: infant) socks (which I never got around to putting into storage once he grew out of them). (And actually, if you ask him, they are “winkle socks.” So there.) He loved the idea of ankle socks. He loved them so much that he even insisted on putting them on all by himself. Five minutes later, the first one was on. And it had a hole in it. I quickly tucked the hole under his toes, out of sight. But too late. He’d seen it and it troubled him. The sock came off and the search for an acceptable substitute was on.
Of course, we count our blessings that he has become slightly less opinionated about his diapers over the past few days. Because who wants to dig through 20 diapers to find the one with Elmo and Cookie Monster, only to be told, in no uncertain terms, “No, not that one!” and to have to start over? Or to have every diaper examined closely to see if it adheres to his incredibly high, yet terribly subjective and unpredictable standard? I mean really, what makes this Elmo and Cookie Monster diaper so much better than that one. They look exactly the same to me. Exactly. But he’s past that now, so let us all bow our heads and give a prayer of thanks.
Shall I mention the owl shirt? It is a lovely shirt, I admit that, and I’m only partially biased for having been the one to painstakingly design and construct it. It does seems so soft and light, and that owl! Who wouldn’t want to wear that everyday? Trust me, if I had an owl shirt, it would be my favorite too. But the owl gets tired. And dirty. He needs a break. (And why on earth had I not put that shirt in the laundry basket last night?!?!) I tried to suggest something similar. The same cut, a nice blue color, and even the same brown trim. Bonus!: I made the blue one, too. It was rejected when, upon close inspection, it was discovered to have no picture on it. Not a boat or a cat or a dog. Certainly not an owl. Thankfully the “running shirt” was spotted just in time. And having been determined to have not only a dog on it, but a boy and a girl to boot, was declared the winner.
Finally: pockets. In pajamas. I had never considered such a thing until Squish was making that big decision of what he and his brother would sleep in tonight. He thought his brother should wear the rocket pajamas, because then he could wear his rocket pajamas too. But Manchild was pretty set on monsters. And I can’t blame him. The monster pajamas seem very soft and warm. Having determined that monster pajamas were all the rage tonight, Squish couldn’t bear to be the only one wearing rocket pajamas (how embarrassing!), and that option was tossed to the side. I pulled out his soft, warm footsie pajamas. You know, the one-piece kind that zips from ankle to neck? He was sold. And so we put them on. He struggled to zip them up himself. He nearly gave up. He even asked for help. And then, the moment they were on his little body he realized: no pockets. No pockets in his “monster” pajamas?! Meltdown!
I told him if he wanted to change pajamas, he could. But I would have nothing to do with it. And I left to go read stories.
Ten minutes later, he walked out of his bedroom, rocking the rocket pajamas. (Which, shhh, don’t tell, do not have pockets!)