The White T-Shirt Saga
You just never know what each new day will bring, what adventure we might take, or what might be running through Michael's head.
(the blue grey is my shadow)
Let me back up a few years. Michael is not what I would call a slave to fashion. Quite the opposite...he could care less. It has to be comfortable and very ordinary. One year he wore only sweat pants. The next is was only scout t-shirts. Once year all blue colored t-shirts. Last year it was white t-shirts with a black vest, with a jacket tied around his waist with his brown hat turned around backwards. Now I am talking everyday the same thing.
Before the school year started we had a conversation about his choice of wardrobe. I explained to him my dilemma. I couldn't tell if he had a clean white shirt on everyday. We would need to number them so I could tell. The next day he comes down to breakfast with his fleece jacket that he usually ties around his waist zipped up to his chin. Now I am no dummy so I asked to see the shirt under the fleece. Sure enough it is a white t-shirt and I notice a huge Roman numeral on it. I was silly enough to ask about it. He said, "Mom, you now can tell if I have on a clean white shirt...I numbered them all, just like you said a colored t-shirt everyday. I sent him back upstairs to change.
Also the jacket tied around his waist. It was there to carry all of his things around school all day...the pockets had his pencils, pens, and paper. I just shook my head.
So we came to an agreement. I would hem all of his pants so he didn't have to cuff the 4 inches, he would wear a colored t-shirt fours days a week and he could have Wednesdays as White Shirt Wednesdays. And we would get him something like a satchel or messenger bag (he had a black backpack). I am hear to report that the world can begin to turn on axis again because he has kept up his end of the bargain since the first day of school.
Somedays you just need a good laugh. I love that he wants to be an individual. I am almost positive that he will never be a follower. He definitely marches to the beat of a different drum. That's what makes him Michael...or should I say The MEllis.
Let me back up a few years. Michael is not what I would call a slave to fashion. Quite the opposite...he could care less. It has to be comfortable and very ordinary. One year he wore only sweat pants. The next is was only scout t-shirts. Once year all blue colored t-shirts. Last year it was white t-shirts with a black vest, with a jacket tied around his waist with his brown hat turned around backwards. Now I am talking everyday the same thing.
Before the school year started we had a conversation about his choice of wardrobe. I explained to him my dilemma. I couldn't tell if he had a clean white shirt on everyday. We would need to number them so I could tell. The next day he comes down to breakfast with his fleece jacket that he usually ties around his waist zipped up to his chin. Now I am no dummy so I asked to see the shirt under the fleece. Sure enough it is a white t-shirt and I notice a huge Roman numeral on it. I was silly enough to ask about it. He said, "Mom, you now can tell if I have on a clean white shirt...I numbered them all, just like you said a colored t-shirt everyday. I sent him back upstairs to change.
Also the jacket tied around his waist. It was there to carry all of his things around school all day...the pockets had his pencils, pens, and paper. I just shook my head.
So we came to an agreement. I would hem all of his pants so he didn't have to cuff the 4 inches, he would wear a colored t-shirt fours days a week and he could have Wednesdays as White Shirt Wednesdays. And we would get him something like a satchel or messenger bag (he had a black backpack). I am hear to report that the world can begin to turn on axis again because he has kept up his end of the bargain since the first day of school.
Somedays you just need a good laugh. I love that he wants to be an individual. I am almost positive that he will never be a follower. He definitely marches to the beat of a different drum. That's what makes him Michael...or should I say The MEllis.
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