I ran down the street chasing my child in my pajamas this morning, as in all the way onto the next street, and with the little old retired baptist preacher who lives across from us (and who was already in his collared shirt and pressed jeans for the day at 6:00am) watching us. I thought for a moment how embarrassed I was. Then I decided no - you know what? I am a boy mom! I am a 2 year old boy mom and these pajamas were on sale at JCrew outlet and are fall / winter fabulous and I am gonna catch that kid so hear me roar!
And I caught that kid even though, Shel Silverstein, the sidewalk ending poses no real predicament to an escaped toddler. And when I caught that kid I scooped him up with his little legs flailing and all his free will squashed like a pancake and I marched him back home with pride.
Until I discovered once home that some random piece of laundry - I suppose the thermal shirt I had layered under my pajama sweater the day before - was hanging out from underneath.
(A note on the sweater: I took my cues from the mannequin because, quite frankly, she seemed to have it all together and if she wears a sweater for pajamas and I wear a sweater for pajamas then maybe - just MAYBE - I will be like her. Calm. Skinny. Not running.)
So, I could tell you I haven't posted here in months because I am full time working mama of a high maintenance clone, or I could tell you the truth: I am a princess trapped in a frat house. Please find me and return me to Nordstrom.
Sure, hot chocolate is fine. Let me just get a towel and another towel and follow you around like a hawk since you decide to pour your cup out wherever you are standing or sitting the second you decide you're finished.