It has been such a long time since I last laughed so much that I had tears streaming from my eyes. I was way overdue for it, and maybe that’s why I laughed so hard and so long that my kids were actually getting concerned that Mama might die from lack of oxygen. (Really, my 9 year old told me he saw it on 1000 Ways To Die.* Some dude named Charlie or Chuck or something like that heard a funny joke and laughed for 32 hours straight and died.)
*I’ll let you know how it goes when I ground his little butt for watching that crap.
I opened the door for the kids as they were getting off the school bus this afternoon. I saw my daughter running across the front yard, then slow down and start yanking on her pants. That’s when I realized that, for some reason, the pants didn’t look right.
I flashed back to this morning when I was helping her get dressed. We all overslept this morning, so we were already rushing around. My husband was the one who pulled the pants from her closet for her to put on. She came running to me because they needed to be adjusted. (We tend to mostly buy pants for them that have the adjustable waists, they were cursed with the skinny-no-booty disease.) These had never been adjusted, so I thought they were the pair that my MIL had gotten her that were a little too big. I adjusted, and I adjusted some more. The kids had just enough time to fly out the door to catch the bus, so I admit I never looked closely at her pants after that, especially after she got her jacket and book bag on. And let’s face it, we all know I don’t function so well in the mornings anyway. I don’t really “wake up” until after 9 am, no matter how much sleep I’ve gotten the night before.
She gets in the house this afternoon, and she’s indignantly hollering that her teacher kept joking with her, “Pants on da ground, Pants on da ground…” and that these stupid pants kept sliding down and going over her shoes and making her slide in the hallway.
That’s when I realized what really happened. I had put her older brother’s school pants in her closet.
In my defense, when you wash/dry/hang that many pairs of khaki pants, they all start running together.
I turned her around, peered at the tag in the back of the pants, and sure enough…size 8 Slim, not size 5. I couldn’t help it. I busted out laughing, slumped to the floor, and just sat there…laughing until I literally had tears running down my face. Every time I managed to pull myself back together, she’d say something about it, and I’d be laughing again. Then my son kept saying “No wonder I was out of pants!” and “I’m gonna wear her pants tomorrow!” And the mental picture of that happening sent me off again.
So now I’m off to inspect her closet, and make sure I didn’t mix up even more of their pants. My poor, poor baby. Now y’all know I’m sitting here looking at this, wondering how on earth I could have missed seeing it this morning…and I giggle every time I look at the pants all bunched up around her shoes. Mother of the year, I tell ya.