The Things We Do To Keep Things "Even" Between the Kids

The last time we were all in Boone, we stopped at Walmart for something, because Boone doesn't have a Target. Yet. Grace has a whole bunch of pairs of panties. We never seem to run out. Johnny, on the other hand, more often than I'd like to admit, gets dressed in girls' drawers because he has fewer Super-Hero skivvies, and the ones he has are usually in the dirty pile.

So, on this shopping trip, I remembered to pick up a three-pack of new underwear for him. I knew, of course I knew, that Grace would want new underwear too, but I became iron-strong-mom, and steeled myself to not buy new underwear for Grace just because I did for Johnny. People only got underwear on this trip if they needed it. And I needed it too.

I can't believe I'm about to tell you the rest of the story, but it was David's idea to post, so here goes: I needed a three-pack of the type of women's underwear that ryhmes with "song." (Whew, I didn't actually have to type out that word). I wear them strictly for professional purposes, because visible panty lines are so last century in the workplace. So, I bought a three-pack, with flowers on them, in my size. When I got back into the car (Can't remember why David and the kids were already there waiting for me--Wait, I do remember, it has something to do with the fact that I probably insisted they go out because getting any kind of meaningful shopping done is a complete NIGHTMARE with any combination of those three right on my tail), Johnny asks me, "What did you get me, Mommy?" "Well," I said, "as a matter of fact, I bought you some new underwear."

He demanded to hold the package. Immediately. Grace then wanted to know where her new underwear was. She didn't have any. I was not going to succumb to their notion that they both get something new each time the other one gets something, or that they get something new everytime we go into a store. But Grace's bottom lip curled out, and big, fat, crocodile tears started rolling down her cheek. I thought fast, like being a mother has conditioned me to do, and I said, "Wait and minute. Grace. I completely forgot. I did buy you a new pack of panties. Here these are for you. I just hope they fit. If they don't fit, we'll get you some more next time we go out," and I handed her the pink, flowered, three-pack of women's underwear that rhymes with "long." She was thrilled. David seemed impressed.

So, then when it's time to actually open the package of "Grace's" underwear, I say with feigned disappointed, "Oh, Grace, look. Mommy completely bought the wrong size. These are way too big for you. You're not going to be able to wear these after all. I'm sorry, Honey." She got that. She doesn't like clothes to hang off of her.

I then think the whole Johnny-got-something-new-that-Grace-didn't-get incident was over--and esentially it is--it's just that whenever Grace catches me in the act of getting dressed, with aforementioned underwear on, the ones that rhyme with "wrong," Grace always asks me, "Why are you wearing my panties, Mommy?"