Every August, Spielberg and I engage in our annual Sheer and Utter Hell That Is Back To School Clothes Shopping…holy shitballs, I’m glad
this only goes on once a year. I don’t understand how shopping for clothes can
be so painful but my son absolute hates it. If it was up to him he’d live in
the same old ratty-ass sweatpants/shorts and grubby tshirt every day of his
life. Since kindergarten I’ve tried arguing in favour of one pair of jeans,
just ONE, but he over-rules me every year and there’s no point wasting my
breath or money and buy him something that will go in the drawer and never see
the light of day again, because this has happened any time I’ve bought him
pants that couldn’t double as pyjama bottoms.
However this year he decided since he’s starting high school, he should maybe attempt to be a little more fashionable and actually wear jeans. Now this is a kid who has not voluntarily worn denim pants of any kind since he was old enough to strip them off and run away screaming “NO OUCHIE PANTS” at the top of his lungs (he’s also the kid who complained bitterly if the seam of his socks were not perfectly aligned and demanded all tags be removed from the inside of every item of clothing because they felt “yucky”). I place the genetic blame squarely on his dad who’s personal favourite item of clothing was a shitty old pair of combat camo pants he owned since he was 15 and literally wore them to rags only last year. And trust me, I spent 19 years trying to throw those fucking pants out and visibly cringed every single time he wore them. Which was unfortunately often.
Before we got out of the car at the mall for this year’s shopping trauma, I made Spielberg swear to me he would a) choose at least 2 pairs of jeans and b) bitter complaining would be kept to a minimum. I swear, the closer we got to the store, the more his face twisted in a knot and the grumbling intensified, reaching it's complainy crescendo when confronted with stacks upon stack of the denim enemy, which meant it was time to employ psychological tactics with military-like precision. This meant digging through eleventy million styles of jeans to find the one pair with the most lycra in them so I could point out how sweatpant-like they were because look, stretchy!! Comfy!!! Just like sweatpants!! Denim sweatpants!! And then as soon as he grudgingly admitted they’re “ok, I guess, but I still hate jeans”, I stealthily grabbed a second pair in a slightly different colour and distracted him with zombie tshirts so I could quickly pay for the object of his pants-related hatred and get him the hell out of the store before he changed his mind. Mom:1 Spielberg:0
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| Thankfully these jeans were not amongst the choices in the store. Because I bet Spielberg would have insisted on them, partly out of comfort but mostly out of spite |
And yes, he actually wears the jeans. The minute he gets home from school however, off come the jeans and on go the shorts/sweatpants. I suppose I can relate, because the minute I walk in the door, I release the twins from bra prison, so he comes by that feeling of uncomfortable-clothing freedom honestly
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Asshat #1 was the one who wouldn't wear anything that felt "yucky". It was years before he would wear pants with a button and zipper. Even so, for the past few years his usual uniform has been a white tee and athletic shorts or pajama pants.
ReplyDeleteImagine my shock when he voluntarily bought himself a pair of khakis and two nice pullovers to attend a Christmas party.
The khakis haven't seen the light of day since but he looks so handsome when he wears the pullovers with his jeans.
I've resigned myself to the fact that my son doesn't give a shit about what he wears unless it's comfortable...but would it ever be nice to see him in khakis and a nice sweater...not gonna hold my breath though lol
Deleteoy, you two are making me dread the teen years more than I already do. I am still not confident mine can handle a zipper and snap if he HAS to go at school, so we are strictly pull ons for awhile.
ReplyDeleteBe prepared to fight over the appropriateness of wearing sweatpants and a ratty old tshirt to go out for a nice dinner
DeleteGood luck with your future clothing battles!
I remember those days of shopping with son with back to school etc. He too was a bit fussy about what he wore. I was never so thankful for when he started driving and I could give him money for back to school clothes with specifics of what he could not get because they would be returned. Took tons of stress of me.
ReplyDeletebetty
Oh, I cannot wait for that day! So much easier
DeleteI'm pretty sure I was never that picky. Maybe it's because my two younger sisters were the ones who constantly got new stuff. By the time they got around to me, it was like giving a canteen of water to a guy who had just crawled through the desert for 2 days. I was all over that.
ReplyDeleteHe's always been picky about everything to do with texture...thankfully he's grown out of the worst of it but still refused to wear any shirt but a tshirt with all the tags cut out because everything else is too "scratchy"...also, he hates long sleeves because they get in the way, according to him
DeleteMy daughter,doesn't like jeans either. She says they feel weird. When I take her school shopping, I let her basically pick out what she wants, minus the mini prom dresses she always wants. (She's 9).
ReplyDeleteShe and I pick out really cute clothes that she adores at the store. Although, when she gets home and ready to wear them for school she hates them all!! ARRRRRRGGGGG.. Like I said she is only 9, WTH am I gonna do when she's a teenager.
My son is like that with his tshirts...he has about 3 that are in regular rotation, out of about 20 in his drawer. There's one my mom hates so much, she's offered to pay him to throw it out because it's so ratty. He refuses. Stubborn bugger lol
DeleteHahaha! "Release the twins from bra prison". I hear ya on that one.
ReplyDeleteMy spawn is the opposite of Spielberg, in that he hates sweatpants. His look is more geek, whereas I tend to dress like a teenage boy and will wear something until it either falls apart whilst I'm out shopping at Tesco, or commits suicide by way of drowning itself in the washing machine.