Urkel, a Swim Shirt & THAT thing Mom Wears

What is it about boys and undergarments?

First my youngest goes on strike against wearing underwear, (no, chaffing has yet to be a problem,) then my oldest suddenly realizes that mom has her own set of undergarments for the upper half. Somewhere on his journey of life, he learned that there is in fact such a thing called a 'bra.'

Help.

That's all I've heard on vacation this week. If I'm in the bathroom, with the door locked no less, my 7-year-old can be heard from the other side saying, 'Whatcha doin', Mom, putting on your BRA?' Laughter always follows. If I'm lounging on the bed, he says 'Uhhh, Mom, I see your brastrap.' So, I hide it behind my tank top. 'Nope, still see it.' C'MON! IT WAS THERE THREE MONTHS AGO AND YOU NEVER SAID A WORD!

My youngest is also obsessed with clothing, but his focus is on his own. I've already told you he would rather eat a bushel of broccoli than put on a comfy pair of SpongeBob underwear. And we learned on spring break this week that he is addicted to his 'swim' shirt, kinda like his Mom is addicted to a Venti non-fat extra-hot white mocha, with no whipped cream. In other words, he's got it bad.

Hayden wore his new swim shirt with pride the first day we got to the beach, yet it was way too cold to step foot on the sand. When it was time for bed, he begged to sleep in the same shirt, then begged to keep it on the following morning. It came as no surprise when he begged to wear the beloved swim shirt to lunch, then dinner, then back to the hotel pool, and you get the idea. It has been a constant game of back-and-forth negotiating, with me winning only by a hair some nights, mainly because it is soaked from a swim and smells of chlorine. My shirt-obsessed 4-year-old wore a collared shirt to dinner tonight, but returned home to once again don his favorite clingy shirt to bed. So I tell myself, 'Will I really care ten years from now?' And the answer is...no.

We've also noticed Hayden's desire to tuck his shirttails in. His swim shirt, and on the rare occasions he's worn something else, has to be tucked in to his shorts. 'That's how you look good,' he will say. He even tucked in his sweatshirt that he threw on when it got chilly this evening. I must say, I love my boy, but he looks a bit like Urkel.

Nothing to worry about, after all, no fashion patrol is coming to write us a ticket, just something I want to remember years from now when the boys are long gone and I'm wondering what happened to these silly years.

By then, they'll be grown men and deny it. But, I've got the pictures to prove it.