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The Agony of the Sleeves

Now I’ve told the same joke twice. Lazy, I know. But how else to describe Simon’s annual freak-out over weather-related clothing changes? Every winter he pulls at long sleeves as though he were a fictional Elizabeth I wearing her poisoned dress, and every summer he yanks at short sleeves as though Mommy had a catastrophic laundry incident.

But the worst of it all is the hats. The first time we try to put one on his head he goes ballistic. When he was one, he cried and thrashed and would only wear a thin ski cap that did not match his coat. When he was two, he cried and thrashed some more, only used words like “no hat!”. And now, at three, he has run away from us, played possum to avoid us, and told us in no uncertain terms that he does not want to wear a hat.

I’ve decided to carefully pick my battles here. Over freezing and he’s free to be cold. Under freezing and he has to suit up. I handled his colic; I can handle this. Tonight though, a funny thing happened. It’s a long, long story, but at 7:38 we all found ourselves heading out to the coffee shop. I thought the temperature was above freezing, but it turns out I was off by a bit.

It was cold out. Sufficiently cold that when a hatless, mitten-less little boy hit our front porch, he hopped around like a jack-rabbit and declared:

“I can’t do this cold!”

At which point he dutifully went back inside our house and submitted to a hat and mittens with no protest at all. Next year I think I’ll skip the histrionics and just let cold-related shock do my job for me.

One Response to “The Agony of the Sleeves”

  1. blg says:

    Good thinking.
    He isn’t going to die of exposure.
    I don’t think.
    I mean, it is Louisville, right?

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