We were at a friend's house the other day, and I was in the living room with Elsa, chatting and stuffing my face with donuts and enjoying being in the company of other women who get equally little sleep as I do, when I heard one of my friends say from somewhere around the corner, Whose clothes are these?
Silly me didn't think twice about it. There was no warning bell, no inclination to go inspect the scene. I just sat there, laughing with the other moms, thinking, ha ha, isn't that funny? Someone's kid is taking off his--uh-oh....
Just then, Rollie streaked past me, clad in a polka-dotted diaper, making revving engine noises as he blew by.
"Rollie!" I called. But he rounded another corner and disappeared.
The other moms chuckled politely, no doubt relieved it wasn't their kid who was auditioning for a nudist colony. At least he'd kept his diaper on.
I really should have seen this coming. Every day, pretty much around noon, Rollie decides that he doesn't want to wear his clothes anymore. It's like an internal rooster crows in his head, telling him it's time to get naked. He could be in the middle of playing with toys, watching TV, or feeding the dog a puzzle piece, and suddenly he decides to drop everything he's doing and perform a little strip-tease, like Elizabeth Berkley in Showgirls, only without the terrible acting.
When we're at home, it seems his motivation for doing this is a fuzzy throw blanket my mother-in-law got us for Christmas. And I'll admit, it's nice and soft and feels like the top of a puppy-dog's head. After a long morning of playing or running errands, Rollie likes to unwind by stripping down to his undies and rolling himself up in that blanket like a bratty little burrito. So I can see the appeal in that. Sure. If you're on ecstacy....
My mother had warned me about one of the quirks little boys have: They like being naked. You could live in Antarctica, in an igloo with the AC on full-blast, and your darling little boy would still insist on running around in just his undies (if you're lucky....because apparently some poor souls out there can't even get their sons to keep that last precious layer on. And now that I think about it...this phase doesn't really go away. I think as men grow up, they just learn to be a little more discreet about their nudity. You usually won't see a grown man disrobing in the middle of a party. Well, let me clarify that...you usually won't see a grown man disrobing in the middle of a party unless he's either a.) drunk and about to jump into a neighbors' freezing cold jacuzzi while they're out of town or b.) drunk and has just lost a bet because his ping-pong ball failed to land in the last plastic cup of beer.).
Anyway, on the occasion that I can actually convince Rollie to wear clothes, he is also on this kick lately where he insists on choosing the outfit, and also on dressing himself. But his criteria for clothing is: Will it make me go super-fast?
Unfortunately for me, I started this little trend. For a few weeks I had a hard time getting him dress voluntarily. And one morning when I was in a hurry and frankly just pissed off and tired of his antics, I told him that if he wore a certain shirt, he would be able to run really fast. So now, every morning he pulls out one of the three magical t-shirts that grants him super-sonic speed, and proceeds to put it on upside-down, inside out, and backwards. So if you see pictures of him lately in either a faded Star Wars t-shirt, a faded t-shirt with a dude playing guitar on it, or a faded t-shirt that says 2 Cool on it, those are his super-fast t-shirts (see below). When he's actually wearing a shirt, that is. Thank God we live in Florida....