Respect the Flannel, Children!
Every evening when I get home from work, I immediately change into my comfy clothes. My comfy clothes have not changed since circa 1992. I wear a t-shirt, sweats or scrubs, and a much beloved flannel shirt. The flannel is a men's XX. It has to be that big because it needs to hang down over my backside. My tush requires an extra layer of warmth. I need to interrupt myself here and stress that I'm a very handsy type of mother. I cannot keep my hands off my children and I don't even want to try. I tousle, tickle, pat, pet, kiss, hug, and rub any part of any child that passes within reach. My children sometimes circle widely around me in order to avoid the inevitable mauling. So it's not like they're starved for the human touch. So why, I wonder, do one or both children hang on the flannel shirttail every single night when I make dinner? Claire hangs on to the very edge and rides her socks across the kitchen tile like some sort of carnival ride. Jake slides his head up between the flannel and my t-shirt. He just walks around under my shirt. It makes me crazy. Tonight, I'm tying the flannel around my waist to prevent hangers-on. I will just have to deal with a cold tush.
3 comments:
They love that soft flannel momma! My boys do the same thing - William right now has a hand in the neck of my shirt. Just hanging out.
And then there's the random small hand that's nestled in my cleaveage at any random moment!
Aww. Who doesn't love a good flannel shirt? Hold tight to this Christy, though the thought comes and goes so quickly, written off as a common facet of life, these are the things worth remembering.
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