Chickadee finally managed to get that darn tooth out, today. She fairly flew off the bus this afternoon, grimy tooth clutched triumphantly in her hand, big hole in her smile with the tip of her tongue poking through. (After dinner discovery: even a large front tooth doesn’t leave a hole quite large enough to suck Skittles through, although they didn’t get stuck for lack of trying.)
Maybe it wouldn’t have bothered me if I hadn’t spent an hour shopping for pants for Monkey, today. Yesterday, I was trying to get the kids ready for church, and every pair of pants I tossed over to Monkey was met with “Um, Mama? Little problem, here.” They were all too short. It turned out that other than a bunch of jeans and one pair of cordoroys in not-so-stellar condition, the boy didn’t have a single pair of pants that made it down to his ankles. Whoops. So today I hit the consignment store and got him some appropriate “church pants” (someday, maybe, he’ll call them khakis or chinos…?) and a few other miscellaneous things.
They’re getting bigger; they’re growing taller and shedding baby teeth and no one–NO ONE, I tell you!–has asked my permission. This is unacceptable.
But as any good mother knows, there is revenge to be had. They grow up without asking, but we can subtly influence them along the way. It doesn’t have to be anything overt. A few little things are all it takes. Say, a miscellanous purchase when you’re out picking up some pants, for example. A casual, “You will never guess what I found on the clearance rack today….” Before you know it your mini-me will be coming along nicely.
(Here in New England, there are three certainties in life: death, taxes, and LL Bean.)