Pants and the uncool Mom

A truth: I never take my kids to the store to buy clothes.

Like: never.

Okay, so it can't be never if we have gone. But I've decided. We all have things we choose to spend money on.

We eat organic food.

But we wear nearly all hand-me-down clothes.

In fact, two years ago we were in WalMart one day looking at clothes and I wanted one of my kids to try something on, and they looked at me like how do I do that? 

I informed them there was a dressing room. And they informed me they hadn't ever used one of those?

Man. I missed that Mothering-thing.

(Although I recently took a friend's teenager out and she informed me she had never purchased a single thing out of a vending machine! That seems like a Mom fail too, don't you think?)

However, there comes a point that you need something to wear and you don't have it in your Kotysnki/Kitsteiner Kmart stash. Sidge needs khakis for his piano recital. He doesn't have any. In fact, Sidge really has no pants because, gosh darn it, the kid is growing hourly.

(I mean seriously! Hourly! I turn around and the jean he put on for church are too small when we drive home. It's that fast.)

(We think Sidge may end up about 6'5-6'7" so I think this is only the beginning.)

Any-who ... I'm not really sure what you do with a teenage boy after he leaves 16 boys clothes behind? We went over to the men's, but they start at like 32/32. The kid needs a 32 length. But he needs about a 26 waist. 

I couldn't find those anywhere. 

Back on track ... I have always thought I'm a pretty cool Mama. That I will not be one of those uncool Mamas. But I've come to discover that it's sort of inevitable. Impossible. Moms are moms. And there comes a point that they just aren't cool. 

John looks at me often and just says: Wendi! You are doing that Mom-thing. I don't mean to. It's just in me somewhere.  

Man. It's really hard. My girls still like me and think I'm cool. But all-of-a-sudden, my boys don't want me to acknowledge them in public. Kisses are NOT cool. (I have, however, told them that in private, I will give them a kiss on the cheek now and then. It's my payment for childbirth/motherdom.)

So Sidge is trying on pants. He doesn't want me in the dressing room with him. But he doesn't want me to be talking about the pants out in public. So I'm trying to see if the pants fit and he's furious at me for embarrassing me. 

When I got home and told the story to JB, he flashed back to the amazing show The Wonder Years -- one of my Dad's favorites (and mine too!) John remembered a clip and we found it on Youtube. Here it is! Enjoy!