Why Do Boys Not Feel The Cold?

This week the weather turned in New England. The mornings and evenings became distinctly brisker. People started wearing fleeces, scarves. Fireplaces were lit, heating turned on. Everyone felt the chill.

Except my son.

Who, until Wednesday this week, was still wearing shorts and a t-shirt everyday. And who has lost/misplaced every single sweatshirt, hoodie or fleece he’s ever owned.

I considered it a minor victory that, on Wednesday, he actually agreed to wear long pants. But refused a long-sleeve shirt. Fine, be cold, I said being the caring parent I am as I dropped him off to walk the back path to school. Yes, I felt a tad guilty about packing him off in just a t-shirt when it was 40F out, but I figured he had to learn the hard, cold way. Supportive tweets from pals in similar situations made me feel less of a bitch about it.

Well, that backfired. The little dude didn’t complain one iota about being cold.

So I now have his theory. Not that I’m a scientist, anthropologist or anything ist that qualifies me other than being a mom and observing hoards of other kids in their natural habitats.

My theory is that boys aged roughly between the ages of 6-12 years-old have no nerve endings when it comes to feeling the cold. They have these crazy metabolism that run riot inside their energetic little bodies that keep them running wild and warm. This, surely, is why they reject long sleeve pants and tops even when the rest of us are freezing our nipples off. In my son’s case, this also applies to rejecting pajamas at night.

So there you have it.

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The Two Words That Moms Love Most

(Other than “love you,” of course.)

Picture this. A crowded shopping mall, two and a half week’s before Christmas. I’m taking my son to Build-A-Bear for a pre-school class mate’s birthday party. I’m fully prepared to hang out for the hour or so, watching a gaggle of five year-olds stuff and clothe some furry creature. I know a few of the parents, I’m ready to chit-chat. But then, the parents of the party girl offer the following wonderful utterances: “This to totally drop off. Just come back in an hour or so.”

The angels wept. A free hour. In a mall. Christmas shopping. Without a child. Hallelujah!

Off I scampered, barely even glancing back at my son who, I knew, was far more interested in the impending stuffing (of bear and of cake) than whether his Mom was hanging around watchfully.

This was just the beginning of what I realized was a major paradigm shift – and I don’t use those words lightly – in my parenting journey. All of a sudden, every party was a drop off party. Every play date was a drop off play date (unless the Moms want a play date too! I mean, haven’t you read The Three Martini Play Date?)

Moving from having to negotiate the universe with an infant/toddler/pre-schooler constantly attached to your side (or at least within a meter’s arm grab) to a few sacred hours without them was an eye-opener. What to do with this free time? Most often, it was the gloriousness of solo grocery shopping which is so much more efficient ‘sans enfant.’ Or other such errands. Very occasionally, I treat myself to a mani or head to Starbucks and join the cool folks, sipping their lattes, comfortably ensconced in an armchair with the sunday papers or a good novel.

Let it also be known, being a fan of paying it forward and good karma and all that, that I also happily host the drop off play date and let my fellow parents experience the joy of a few solo hours. I can always see the relief on their faces.

So, to all the parents that have said to other parents those two delicious words, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Kids, Sensory Issues & Battles Over Pants

This morning I spent a good 20 minutes trying to convince my six-year-old to put on some pants.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to wear pants. (Though I know several grown-ups who would prefer this option.) It’s just that she didn’t want to wear ANY of the six pairs of PERFECTLY GOOD pants in her closet. All her favorite pants were in the laundry. “Go clean them, please” she sweetly but infuriatingly demanded.

I cajoled, I explained, I empathized. I insisted, I bribed, I threatened. I gave in and let her wear shorts. (The seven stages of dealing with obstinate kids?)

What is it with kids and pants? I went through the same dramas last winter with my son who was extraordinarily picky about pants that had to feel just right.

An informal survey of a few of my Mom friends made me realize two things:

  • This is quite common. Kids aged between 5-8 ish have these sensory issues with their pants, especially pants that – horror or horrors – have a button and a zipper.
  • This explains why so many pants that I’ve been fortunate enough to receive as hand-me-downs are in such excellent condition. Clearly, every kid that has ever owned them has steadfastly refused to wear them. And so they get handed-down, practically good as new. Again and again.

So my question for you parents out there …. Is this normal, have your kids thrown a wobbly when faced with the abomination of unsuitable pants? How have you handled? And have you contributed to the never-ending chain of perfectly good pants being handed-down?

Cos any day now, these six pairs of PERFECTLY GOOD PANTS are being shipped out. Some things just aren’t worth fighting over.

Source: Unearthed Comics

Guest Post: How iMessage Ruined My Morning

by Angel the Dog

Zzzzzz, zzzzzzzzz, zzzzzzzzz … ooooh here comes She-Owner. Wow it’s early. Could this mean, does it mean, oh boy boy, yes it does mean – WE ARE GOING OUT FOR A WALK!!!!!

Oh, we’re getting into the car? That’s cool,  we must be off to romp around the doggy park. It’s kinda dark out but hey, I got a nose so it’s all good with me.

Oh, we’re not heading that way. Oh I see, we’re going down the street. She-Owner must be meeting with She-Friend and we’ll walk around her neighborhood. Oooooh, maybe there will be bunnies!!

OK, so we’re parked outside She-Friend’s big square box. C’mon, let me out the trunk! Let me out. Let’s go, let’s go. A dog’s gotta walk, run, pee.

What the what is going on? Why are we still sitting here? Where is She-Friend? Why is She-Owner looking perplexedly at her phone-thingy? (Note to self; must bury that some time.)

OK, this is strange. And disappointing. She-Owner has started the car and, what the what, we’re going home? Boo, boo. boo. No fair.

Now she’s mumbling something to He-Owner about iMessage not working and her texts to She-Friend not getting through.

Whoever that iMessage is, I’m going to find you and chew you. You spoiled my morning walk.

Oh hey, breakfast!

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