Never mind the fact that it’s five something in the morning. Never mind that my ten year old is going to school on a hot summer day thanks to the Wake County Public school Gods that seem to hover over the lands. Never Mind the toys that I tripped over trying to wake him up! Let’s skip past those events/thoughts/moments. I want to get to the nitty gritty. Wiping the crud out of my own eyes, I managed to create a voice saying “wake up sweetie, time for school.” Holding my breath, I waited to see if this will be the first of 100 calls for him to rise from his deep sleeping pooty slumber. To my surprise, however, the covers tossed toward the floor covering a pile of WWE champion action figures. I knew the time had come. Battle time. I was in the thick of the war zone and I didn’t know what would happen next. I had to be on guard. I could smell a stench already that continued to easily distract me from the task, but I remained focused. “Tyler, um, do you know what you’re wearing?” I didn’t want to ask but there were no signs of anything already out. I guess it’s because EVERYTHING WAS ALREADY OUT! out of the drawers, off the hangers, out of the hampers. GOD, PLEASE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENS IN HERE! I thought. I refocused my eyes on my son to await his response. “No” he muttered. I caught sight of the bright and possibly even clean Holister shirt on the bed. Well that seemed to be a popular shirt these days so I should not go wrong with this suggestion. “Ok, then how about this shirt here and uh….” I headed to the closet. I wanted to reach for a walkie talkie to radio my husband in. I needed back up. I was going in to the terror dome. The closet! Grimacing at the sight of my 4 year old’s underwear that apparently didn’t make the dirty clothes basket, I sojourned onward. AHA! The jeans were neatly hanging. I rejoiced inside. It was a small victory, but It was MY VICTORY. Handing him my pick of the many jeans, I waited for a great “thanks mom.” Since my back up hadn’t arrived yet, it was imperative that things went smoothly.
Before I could read his facial expressions I heard the sound that every black mother has been taught in a secret class somewhere perhaps in our motherland of Africa how to listen out for. It was the sound of the lips smacking! I’ve heard it called several things. popping lips, snitching teeth, sucking teeth, come on…practice it, because you know the sound I’m talking about. “Shenette stay cool.” I whispered aloud which already gave me the appearance of looking crazy. (talking out loud to myself right in front of him) Finally seeing his face, he rolled his eyes, took the pants from me and began putting them on. Back up!!! I need Back UP!!! war has begun! I repeat war has begun! Tyler mumbled as his leg slid in the pants. “mom, I hate these jeans, I don’t wanna wear them.”
“Just try on the darn jeans Tyler!” I heard my voice growing from creaky to crazy.
Once the jeans were on I asked him to follow me to the bathroom where he could see how nice he looked. perhaps I was winning because he followed without complaint, but as soon as he saw him self, TROUBLE!
“Why can’t I just wear the ones on the floor?”
“Which ones on the floor? It’s a lot of clothes on the floor?”
“the black skinny jeans!”
“You mean the ones you had on already like yesterday and the day before that! You have like ten pair of jeans and you wanna keep wearing those skinny jeans which by the way do not look good on you!”
“I don’t like these ma!!!” He yelled.
I stormed into the my safe haven, the bedroom. tattle telling like a child, I reported to my husband, the sergeant. ” Please help! He wants to wear those little funky tight jeans again!” I screeched.
Calm as always, the sergeant calls the young soldier into the room. After hearing our sides, my husband was even a bit irritated. His long insane day was waiting for him at work and we were not doing a great job of helping it start calmly. he sent Tyler to the shower I had time to think and diffuse. I remembered the day my mom made me wear jeans I hated. I was furious. so giving in against my own strong strong strong strong will, I brought him another CLEAN pair of jeans. “What about these too tight size 10 although you’re size 14 jeans, they might look good!” I couldn’t resist the sarcasm. my son peeped from around the shower curtain and smiled. All was right with the world.
but not with me because here I am blogging about it!!!!! DARN KIDS! why did he have to fight me on the jeans? my pick was nice. They were trendy looking, already ironed, clean and they looked awesome. What did I miss? uuggh! the war on jeans in not over friends, it is not over!
thefroggybloggy 