Give Her the Batman Underpants Off His Backside

I have knocked wood. Crossed my fingers. Held my breath. Told very few people, unless it seemed to be in somewhat therapeutic circumstances. Shed quiet tears. Taken deep, cleansing breaths. Pretty much kept it cerebrally nameless with each free-floating thought about it. And I have definitely kept mum on this little venue.

So, in keeping with not wanting to jinx it, I will not make any concrete declaration or statement that can come crashing down on me tomorrow. Instead, I will tell a little tale.

Tonight after baths, both children were in Heath's room. Stella was already pajamaed for the night, and Heath was busy picking out his nighttime attire. For someone who for so long had zero interest in what he wore, or putting it on himself, he has decided that it is an activity worth self-involvement. It often includes several changes of mind, and thus, attire. And you can be sure it is going to include a full spectrum of color and arrangement on his person.

Our Winter of Disunderweared, crystallized into a Spring of Boxers, and melted into a puddle of discarded and disinterested superhero loin cloth. As the summer blazes on, as of Monday, we are back on with underpants! Tonight he picked through his bottom drawer looking for just the right briefs. He pulled on red Batman riding a motorcycle. No. These are too small, he declared, tossing them on the floor. Then rummaged through, pulled out, tried on, and discarded two more Batman, and one Lightening McQueen. The Lightening McQueen did seem taut about the rear-region, but the Batman seemed okay. Nevertheless, they ended up in a small pile of too small underpants on the floor.

I went downstairs to get their nighttime milk, while the two played with trucks for a few more minutes. When I returned I found the mound of no longer desirable undergarments in Stella's room. Across the hall, I spotted the two still in Heath's room, taking turns rolling trucks into the fire station. Briefly, I caught a glimpse of Stella's bottom; red Batman riding a motorcycle beamed back at me.

Heath, did you put the underpants in Stella's room? I asked.

He pushed his Mack truck across the floor, and without looking up, he answered, They're too small. Stella can have them. Then he stood up, pointed at Stella, who was still busy with Chick Hick's hauler, and said, Look! I helped her put those Batman on, too.

I do believe...

(Don't say it.)

we have...

(Seriously, once you put that out into the universe, you can't take it back.)

turned...

(You are so going to regret this.)

a...

(Just enjoy the sweet moment. Knock some more wood, and move on.)