In Hobby Lobby yesterday, my son asked me why that lady was taking everything out of her cart and putting it back on the shelves.  After we passed, I said quietly, "Did you notice the Hobby Lobby written on her shirt? She works here."

"Oh!" he said, "I thought she was just a fan!"

Wednesday night I was pushing a cart with a ballerina hanging off the front up and down the aisles of Wal-Mart. We were mindlessly singing, sounding something like this:

Me: I want a girl who gets up early (gets up early!), I want a girl who stays up late...

Her: I want a girl with a short skirt and a loooooong jacket!

We were oblivious to the sideways looks of the other shoppers. We'd just finished a day in which we'd made it to all appointments, gotten everybody fed, and otherwise done what was needed. How was I supposed to know that I was about to experience a parenting philosophy shift? I was on auto-pilot, just picking up tortillas. But it started when I looked down at my shopping list at the word "underwear".

The first time I bought children's underwear, (can it have been six years ago now?) I looked disdainfully at the action-figure covered pairs and self-righteously chose all white underwear for my son. Those other pairs were child-indulgent nonsense, and I wasn't paying more so that I could line the pockets of toy and movie companies. Besides, white underwear can be washed in good hot water and that'll get the germs (I honestly didn't think about this too hard) out.

But the word on the list said I needed to buy underwear. And it meant that I needed to buy underwear for all my boys, big and small. So I started at the top. I stood before the wall of underwear and socks and discovered something I just hadn't thought about before. There IS no action figure underwear for boys above about age eight. I checked that with my recollection of being a child (though not a boy) myself, and realized that yes, after about that age it would start to be embarrassing. But at the same time I was struck with complete, penitent sorrow. There was a time in my son's life when he could have worn action figure underwear, and I, No-Nonsense-Here Mother, blew it.

Now if he ever wants to wear underwear with Spiderman or Luke Skywalker on it, he'll have to be clandestine about it, it'll be something he doesn't tell the other boys about, because after a certain point, I can imagine it becoming a serious taboo. But what if it's an experience that little boys just need? When he gets old enough to buy his own underwear, will he search the internet until he finds a store that sells adult-sized action figure briefs and hope that his college roommates don't see them peeking out of the waistband of his pants?

I bought him a pack of white underwear and drove my cart and ballerina with a heavy heart to the little boys' section. There I found an abundance of action-figure underwear, and only a little of the white. Again I stood before the wall of underwear and socks, making a decision. And I watched as I experienced that shift in parenting philosophy. I had been so practical, so disdainful of everything that was impractical, and I heard a phrase I'd never heard my own brain say before as I reached for the pack of movie and toy briefs...

You're only a kid once.

~Mother Bird~

And she did, but with an equal amount of four-O-clocks for good measure.

1 pack of big googly eyes +

1 washable, non-toxic glue stick +

Four bored kids =

summer afternoon fun so hilarious I can hardly hold the camera straight.

~MB~

When you have a little boy who loves to pick flowers, even if those flowers were in the garden or flowerbeds, how can you say to him, "Stop picking flowers"? 

Someday this little boy will grow up to be a man.  Will he remember being a little boy who loved to pick flowers?