Friday, February 26, 2010

Holey Moly

My seven-year-old is a ragamuffin, or so everyone must think. I sent Satchel off to school today in his beloved star hoodie, that has been patched in one place, but has new holes in others. Ditto on his pants. Both knees have been expertly mended, yet he has made new holes in the tender area surrounding the (more than generous) patches. Before walking out the door he showed me a large section of rubber sole hanging from his shoe. I'd repaired it before, but going with the theme here, they needed more repairing. Since he only has one pair of shoes that fit (he refused to wear his sandals, rain boots, or snow boots and I have no clue where his Crocs are), I had no choice but to whip out the Shoe Goo and hope that it could make a seal quick enough to get him through the day. To help with the process, Satchel walked on his heels all the way up to his class, which I appreciated. It made me smile even though I was really annoyed by the state of his affairs. (Don't even get me started on his socks.)

Jiro isn't in nearly as bad of shape, and I consider him to be my rough and tumble boy. He's pretty notorious for getting stains on things, but for the most part he is hole free. Actually he may be the only one.

Like Satchel, I too get attached to certain clothing items (a.k.a. "My uniform"). I just recently had to admit that my black shirt with three holes in the pits was no longer appropriate for work. Ditto on my khakis with the holes in the seam. Just last night I told Warren that if I saw him wear his long johns with the holes up and down the legs and all through the crotch one more time I would secretly throw them away.

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