Pants Required

At the risk of irritating Backpacking Dad, who has a complicated argument about feminism that requires me not to mock my husband, I am about to mercilessly mock my husband. In my defense it's not just for a cheap laugh or because I want to paint him as the stereotypical incompetent, buffoon father. It's because that's what we do. That's our marriage. We mock each other mercilessly. I was brought up to equate teasing to the point of pain with love. It works for us.

He mocks me because I can't boil water without burning something. I mock him because he can't cook anything without destroying the entire kitchen and possibly creating the need for a counter poultice. He mocks me because after five hours, an entire winter's supply of newspaper, two fire starter logs and a lot of cursing, I can't get our damn wood stove burning. I mock him for having the skill set of Pa Ingalls. Seriously, if the apocalypse occurs, we are golden.

He's an incredible parent. He is patient, kind and every bit if not more competent than I am. He spent the entire day on Tuesday first at Nate's well baby check up and then driving around to various clinics tracking down H1N1 vaccines for Ess and Gee and Cue. My point being, this post is not about gender stereotypes, it's not perpetuating the image of Dad as floundering, unnurturing and intentionally flummoxed by the role of caregiver. Matt handles three toddlers and a newborn with ease.

It's about pants.

In particular, an adorable pair of pants in which I dressed Nate on Tuesday morning before I sent him off to the pediatrician with his father. Believe me, I get that dressing babies and toddlers in clothes that you care about is silly - but it still happens. Sometimes, things are so cute that I can't resist. Sometimes, a grandma or an aunt sends something beyond adorable. In this case, a friend sent me this absolutely ridiculous pair of natty, frat boy, J-crewy patchwork pants with a tiny blue belt in size three-month and oh my god I love them.

So, I dressed my baby all frat-boy cutie and sent him off with Matt for measurements and shots and stuff. I took Cue to toddler class. Matt dropped the baby off with me after the appointment and we traded cars so that Matt could pick up Ess and Gee at preschool and take them to harass our health cooperative about flu vaccines.

He walked in the door with Nate in the car seat carrier tucked in sweetly under a knitted blanket. We conferred and kissed and swapped keys and off he went. I'm tempted to lie here and say that the baby was starving and I pulled him out to feed him. I didn't. I pulled him out to show off his natty pants. Except natty pants showing off = complete failure because he was not wearing said natty pants. He was not wearing ANY pants.

I suppose that was some kind of lesson that the universe attempted to teach me like: Do not take thy baby's pants in vain. Or: The baby is more important than the pants. Or: No one cares about how cute thou baby's pants are.

I didn't give a shit because where were his freaking pants? My favorite pants! Not on the baby's bottom half, that was clear.

That is Matt. He leaves the kids' stuff everywhere. No joke. We loose more hats, mittens, sweaters...pants. It makes my type-A, stuff-tracking, constant-inventory-taking head explode.

I thought about calling him, but I knew it would be an exercise in useless frustration.

Me: Where are the baby's pants?
Him: The baby's pants?
Me: The cute little patchwork pants? I put them on him this morning.
Him: ?

Instead, I swallowed my ire because I am an unbelievable martyr like that. I took my pantsless baby and my fully clothed toddler home and put them down for naps. I thought about calling him again and sending him back to the pediatrician for the pants, but fortunately I waited because I found them in the car.

The discovery of the pants would have made me feel bad for cursing his pant-loosing name all afternoon, but then he got back from the preschool pickup/vaccination of Ess and Gee and I cleaned out their lunch boxes. Gee's water bottle was not in his lunch box.

Tragedy of epic proportions. I had to endure Gee's mental breakdown over lack of water bottle all day today while Matt was safely and conveniently at work. With his lunch box and water bottle. And pants. I hope.

I don't ask for a lot. Okay, I ask for a lot and I'm asking for one more thing. Bring them home in their pants. Unless they've peed or shat on them and then throw them away with my blessing. (The pants. Throw the pants away, not our children.)

I'm closing my comments for most of the month of November while I participate in National Novel Writing Month and National Blog Posting Month. I can't ask you to talk to me every freaking day for thirty days. That's cruel and usual punishment. My email is always open - anymommyoutthere@gmail.com.


E&E Tally: 6764 words
Blog posts: 11/30