So do your kids have anything that they do, that makes you cringe? I am sure every parent goes through what I am going through. A couple weeks ago, I made a surprise visit to Little Man’s school. He didn’t know I was coming. I had him called to the office. Here he comes. Wait for it. Wait. For. It.
With his pants down below his butt.
Lord have mercy, if the old woman didn’t come flying out of my body! I grabbed his ear and through clenched teeth said, “Pull those up NOW.” Catching him off guard, he wasn’t even sure why I had a hold of him so tight. I grabbed the top of his pants and yanked. They didn’t budge. I jerked his shirt up, tried to ignore his boxers slapping me in the face, and yanked at them again. At this point I am pulling so hard, his feet are coming off the floor. He is desperately holding onto his pants, and scanning the halls for any students that are witnessing this violation. After three jerks, I realize the reason they aren’t budging is because he has his belt on. THEN, I come to the realization that not only is his belt on, but it is fastened so that his pants stay safely below his bum. So this is no accident. My sweet, precious, beautiful, baby angel boy looks like a damn thug. My angel below:
Watch this quick video of my sweet little man at the age of five... (I shot the video for my mom-Nama)
You have no idea how much this disgusts me. I want to rip my hair out. I want to rip his hair out. I am scarred for life. In 30 seconds, his innocence has been ripped from my heart and thrown out to the homeless people.
I immediately start asking myself. Where did I go wrong? What did I do to deserve this? Why is my child the one that looks like a thug? Did I ever lead him to believe that this was acceptable in our house? What is he thinking?
He is frantically trying to pull his pants up and adjust his belt again as he muttered, “My belt is too big.”
Trying to keep from physically strangling him, I say, “Are you freaking kidding me? What are you trying to do to me?” My voice is escalating and I can see in his eyes he is panicked that I am going to ruin his chance at any “popular” status in his middle school years. “I had better not EVER see this again! I am going to email every one of your teachers right now and tell them to tell me if your pants are ever below your belly button! Do you understand me? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I stomped out of the school with him keeping a safe distance behind me. After taking him to wrestling practice, I made a trip to Walmart. I walked in and headed straight towards the boys underwear. Shoving three packages of whitey-tighties under my arm, I practically ran towards the checkout. I was on a mission. I drove home, went straight to his room, and emptied out his underwear drawer. I then dove into his dirty clothes and yanked out all of his underwear. I scoured his room for any other evidence of boxers or boxer briefs.
An hour later, he walked in the house with the Chief to find a bright, white surprise on the kitchen table. He immediately said, “PLEASE NO.”
I simply said, “You're lucky they aren’t Strawberry Shortcake panties.” I then stated, “If I receive a report of any sagging, the next step will be commando.”
Problem solved.
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