The threat of having to work never materialized, and Memorial Day was a big ball of lazy. We’d gotten in late the night before from spending Saturday and Sunday with my mom’s family, and you were still a little fazed when you woke up on Monday morning. You asked whether you could watch cartoons, and I said “sure; let’s go to the potty and then we’ll put some pants on you, and then watch cartoons.”
You started to fuss, doing that jogging-in-place thing upset 2-yr-olds do, and, in a whine building to something more serious, you said “I don’t wanna put pants on!”
Again, a big ball of lazy. I had absolutely nothing to gain from trying to make you wear pants, and I told you so. “You don’t have to wear pants; jeez.” You walked over to your Elmo chair, sat down, looked at the floor and said:
“I just need to get myself together.”
I have no idea where you picked that up, or what you think it means, but I’ve been chuckling about it all week. A 2-yr-old in My Little Pony panties and a tourist T-shirt, hugging her bear and sitting on Elmo, sounding like an alcoholic in a moment of clarity.
Cartoons were watched; pants were eschewed.