The comedy of errors that is my life.

Oh the funny story of the pants.

In our rush to get ready between our trip to the library and a basketball game, Cole needed to get dressed up in Sunday clothes, because he was going to the temple with his youth group. As I was dishing up chicken enchiladas so that everyone could eat quickly, Cole called down from upstairs.
“MOM! I need pants!” he yelled, “Mine are in the wash.” Oh, yes, that’s right, I did put his church pants in the wash. Because that’s the kind of efficient, loving mother I am. Washing my kids’ clothes for them.
“Just pull them out of the washer and put them in the dryer.” Yes, that should work. We have 20 minutes.
“The washer’s full of water!”
Oh, yes, I guess I left that load soaking for a while, and it didn’t go through the rinse or spin cycle. Darn. There is no way those pants will be ready in 20 minutes.
“Don’t you have any other pants?” I yelled back up the stairs, “What about that suit?”
“I haven’t seen that suit in a long long time.” was his reply. Of course he hadn’t.
I dashed up to his room and found, on the floor of his closet, the suit pants. Proud of myself and my extra super finding skills, I handed them to him. “Here. Put these on.”
I went back to the kitchen to supervise the feeding of the children, and I heard him call again, “These do NOT fit!” Then he came downstairs to show me how MUCH they did not fit.
“Oh,” I said, “Those won’t work.” He had about two inches of waistband that were NOT coming together. Not to mention that these pants were at least three inches too short. Darn teenager. “Don’t you have ANY other church pants?”
“Not that FIT!” he was starting to get angry and frustrated, and so was I. We were down to 10 minutes before he was supposed to meet his group at the church. I was trying to feed everyone, including him, and he couldn’t find any pants that fit. I told him to just eat something, and I ran upstairs to rifle through Ryan’s pants to see if there were any that might do in a pinch. I found two that are too small for Ryan, and brought them down.
“Here, try these on,” I said.
“I got these buttoned up,” he told me. Sure enough, he did have the pants done up, but I don’t know how the kid was breathing.
“Well, do you want to wear those, or do you want to try these of Dad’s?” I asked, trying not to laugh at how silly he looked.
“I’ll just wear these,” he said in his sad and dejected voice.
“Well, we’d better get going, it’s already time for you to be there,” I said in my mom voice.
We pulled into the church parking lot, and then he said, “Oh, I forgot my recommend!”
We pulled out of the church parking lot, and drove back home. On the way, I had him call Megan and ask her to get the recommend and meet us out front. As we drove up to the house, there she was, in her socks, running with his little piece of paper. We grabbed that, turned around, and drove back to the church. On the way, we passed his leader. “That’s Them!” he said.
We turned around once more, and so did his leader, so that we could let Cole out. As he walked over to the other car, I could see some of the other boys laughing. I don’t know if they were laughing AT Cole and his floods, or if they just happened to be laughing. Let’s hope it was the latter.

While we were making this exchange, Ryan drove by, wondering what all the hullabaloo was. I pulled into the garage just after him, and he thought I had all the kids in the car. He thought we were already going to basketball. “If only it were that simple,” I sighed.

We did manage to get everyone in the car and off to Megan’s basketball game, which they won easily 11 to 22. That means they play again tonight. Megan was on fire, and scored 8 points. That means I payed her $8. Yes, I do pay my children to make baskets, want to make something of it?

When we got home, Cole was already there, and had already changed out of those way too tight pants. He had been home for “a while” according to him, and he was complaining about the garage door. It seems the battery to the keypad was dead, so he had to go next door and borrow a nine volt battery from the neighbors, put that in the keypad and THEN he could open the garage door. Yes, the torture and embarrassment never ends for the poor kid. Ryan wanted to know why he hadn’t take the battery BACK to them after he had used it to get into the house. “I will take them a new battery tomorrow. Don’t ask him to do it, he’s suffered enough.”

So, it’s been made abundantly clear to me that my poor growing boy needs more church pants. Buy the kid some khakis already! Oh, and add nine volt batteries to the list, too.