No Clothes

This morning, Big V comes up to me and says, "Hey Chief.  How come we don't ever put our clothes on?"

Now stop right there.  We are not a crazy nature-nudie family who shucks down to our birthday suits as soon as we come in the door and play Naked Monopoly on family night.  Contrary to what one gentleman I was arguing debating with said regarding nudity and "learned shame," we do not clothe ourselves because we have overdeveloped senses of guilt and shame stemming from a cultural bias toward clothing - we clothe ourselves because I already have one overgrown toddler husband who likes to grab a boob in passing; I do not need a four-year old and an infant doing the same.

What he was referring to was our habit of the Vs remaining in their underwear and me in my pjs all day, since we spend 99.9999999999999999% of our time at home, and facebook could care less that I like to rock scrub pants and tank tops all year round.

ANYWAY, so after I told him to not tell people in public that we don't have our clothes on most of the time, I pulled pants and shirt out of the clean laundry pile on the sofa and tossed it to him.  The pants reached his ankles.  Shit.


I then went through all of Vincent's onesies; each would perfectly fit a 6-to-9-month old, which he is not.

Shit again.


The moral?  If your kids wear clothes every day, you can tell when they no longer fit.  Husband's going to love our Visa bill next month.