Indoors Column: Psych-Ward-Robe

I don’t remember being shirtless in my childhood nearly as often as my boys are.  It can be twenty below outside but when I walk in the door, it’s like I’ve entered a nudist colony.  It’s all nipples and navels. I bet I haven’t seen Callum in a shirt since Tee ball season ended last July, which only helps to highlight his inability to keep his pants pulled up.


Clane did go through a short phase during which he would wear a shirt.  When I say he would wear “a” shirt, I mean there was but one shirt that he would actually wear.  It was a neon yellow t-shirt that featured SpongeBob SquarePants in a Santa hat on the front.  It was more than a little awkward, especially since this phase occurred nowhere near Christmas.


I can’t really blame Clane.  He idolizes his big sister, Charlotte.  I’m pretty sure the shirt she just walked past me wearing, is the same one she wore home from the hospital ten years ago.


Our baby Cady is already demonstrating some troublesome wardrobe choices, but it is a little too soon to panic.  She doesn’t seem picky about what we put on her each day, but she is far too eager to rip her shirt off anytime she sees her brothers wrestling.


And this, my friends, is why we have no choice but to home school.