In case you didn’t know, I don’t like pants. If you do know, then this post comes as no surprise.
In fact, if you have ever even met me, you would know this about me as I make it a point to announce my disdain for the clothing item from the beginning. “Hi, I’m Christene. I don’t like pants. How are you?” Just like that.
It is then no wonder that my children have also caught on to this. Unfortunately they are not fully immersed in this whole socialization thing, so they don’t quite understand that even though we don’t like pants, we still kind of have to wear them. Especially in public.
My daughter is *still* not potty trained. At this point I am just waiting for society to shame her into it, because I have clearly gone wrong somewhere. She knows how to use the potty, has done so in the past, but for whatever reason absolutely refuses to do it on a regular basis. So I took away her diapers, put her in regular underwear, and hope the discomfort helps her figure it out.
The only thing she has figured out is how to change herself. But not all the way. She will remove her soiled clothes, clean herself off, put on new underwear, but no pants. Ever. I asked, and she shrugged, replying something along the lines of “why bother?”
Despite the fact that I am notorious for not wearing pants around the house, I think I am going to have to implement a new pants rule, and actually follow it myself. No one within the parameters of my home can remove their pants for prolonged periods of time. There. Done. Pants wearing shall commence. And pantlessness shall be punished with time-outs and solitary confinement.
So basically, as soon as I get home tonight, I am going straight to my room.