Tres chic

My SIL once teased me about my kids' wardrobes.

"So preppy, so GAP," she laughed.

I purposely don't shop at GAP so I didn't really agree with her. We have mostly hand-me-downs and gifts from other people so their clothes are as varied as it gets - or so I thought.

A few days ago we made an unavoidable stop at Toys 'R Us. This being a favorite shopping destination it was no surprise to me when, instead of the usual whining and begging to stay in the car and watch DVDs, Rascal and Tweenie tore off their seatbelts, jumped out, and ran across the parking lot toward the front doors shrieking with delight.

I shouted at them to hold hands and watch for cars. They turned toward me, and then for some reason their outfits caught my eye. Tweenie was wearing a dark blue denim skirt with discreet pink stitching and a pink polo shirt with an embroidered tennis racquet on the pocket. A matching pink scrunchy and (surprise) GAP sparkly flipflops completed the ensemble. Rascal was wearing a striped blue-and-white button-down offset by a red T-shirt and khakis. They were both impeccably attired.

Thinking this was just a strange coincidence (at least on Rascal's part), I thought nothing more of it until yesterday when I was folding laundry with Rascal.

Apparantly he's ok with wearing gitchies now; however, he has discriminating taste. He stood yaykit beside me as I fluffed and folded. Then he reached into the basket for a pair of underpants, held it up and gazed at it with a discriminating eye.

"No dis gitchy mama," he said, pointing out the dangling thread. He found a more suitable pair, then started to dig for clothes. I suggested a cute sporty outfit with State Champ emblazoned across the chest.

"Nope, no dat." He didn't approve of the Winnie-the-Pooh shirt and shorts set either.

Finally he found his striped shirt and khakis from the other day and held them up triumphantly. He started looking for the perfect T to finish off his look, but I objected since it was at least 90F outside and his choices were too warm to begin with. He was mad but eventually allowed me to dress him. His pants were to be cuffed just so, as was his shirt. He admired himself in the mirror.

"Is my buddy a handsome boy?"

"Yeahhhhhh!" He pranced and giggled, then ran outside and promptly plopped himself down in the flower bed. He came to me later in tears.

"Is dirty, mama."

I undressed him and went in search of replacement clothes. While I was gone, he escaped outside and shrieked "YAYKIT!" to the neighbors. He refused to wear anything else that day and personally oversaw the reloading of the washing machine, including his vêtements beaux.

Side effects may include--

So we got Rascal on the yaykit train to help him learn to put his peebeep and 'tinky in the potty. Now we have to train him to put his clothes back on.

"No itchies!", which is the Rascal-ism for gitchies.

He has Thomas the Tank Engine and Finding Nemo itchies. Apparantly they're soooo last year. He has a birthday coming up, and Gamma has as much as promised him some Lightning McQueen itchies. Who knows, maybe that'll do the trick.

He has also decided not to wear anything for bedtime, and so far we're accident-free! However, this has opened up the door to a whole new getting-out-of-bed opportunity. It used to be he'd ask for milk or a certain blanket or toy, but we had worked around that after several months of effort. It came to the point where he realized no amount of asking was going to get my attention. My policy (such as it is) was to respond to the first 2 or 3 requests and then the store was closed for the night.

Now, all he need say is that he has peebeep or 'tinkies and I'm flying up the stairs to attend to the little driblets he rations out over the 2 or so hours bedtime takes to complete. A few times I have tried to hard-line it with him and not allow him to get up, but then he makes a mess and teaches me a lesson.

Sometimes I wonder who is being potty-trained here.