Last week I had some important paperwork that required my undivided attention. Seldom is my attention ever undivided. But this job involved the use of math skills. And general level headedness. In other words, I couldn’t just put myself on autopilot, as usual. I had to think.
Autopilot is the reason I find my reading glasses in the vegetable bin of the refrigerator.
So, I needed to get rid of the children.
I asked the girls to keep Jensen occupied back in their rooms until I could finish. “Sure Mom!” And they all trotted happily down the hall, turned the corner, and were out of sight.
I grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat quietly for a moment, enjoying a moment of dread. You know, that minute just prior to digging into a task you really don’t want to do. And then I got to work.
As I was figuring, scribbling, and muttering, I could hear intermittent giggling from all three children, back in their rooms.
No cause for alarm.
Total silence is a reason to panic. Or blood curdling screams, followed by “I’M ON FIRE,” might give me pause. But, not intermittent giggling.
A few minutes later, the snickering drew closer. I looked up to see Jensen shuffling down the hall wearing his sister’s black lace pumps, clutching his Blues Clues blanket. Following him at close proximity were his personal designers, Mutt & Jeff.
My eyes went from the pumps northward. He was decked out in a blue floral, floor length sleeveless cotton dress. With a brown v-neck crop top. He sported silver hoop clip-on earrings, and other assorted gaudy jewelry. In his brown hair were two beaded barrettes and a lavender headband completed the ensemble.
His smile was radiant. He knew he was pretty. Of course I grabbed my camera and snapped a couple of pictures. You know, for his baby scrapbook. Or whatever.
And then, suddenly, I watched reality set in. The testosterone, of which he has an abundance, took over. He looked down in horror, and began clawing at his clothes. “DRESS OFF. DRESS OFF.”
I chastised the girls, while stifling a giggle. And got Jensen stripped down to his Elmo diaper. His usual favorite attire. And he ran down the hall squealing with glee. Still wearing the forgotten headband.
The pictures mysteriously disappeared from my camera after telling Fiddledaddy of the incident. So, there is no evidence.
Save for this post.
Which I will show him when he is a teenager. And I will then allow him a free pass to play the revenge card on two older sisters who may or may not be of dating age.
And I will lean back, in my barcalounger, sipping my Metamucil, and enjoy the show.
Yes, I think I’m going to enjoy them when they are teenagers.