Back then, in our onlycoldpants crisis, a number of you were very helpful in locating replacements on the internet. We bought some on eBay. We went to Kohls. We bought a number of pairs of pants, none of which fit the bill. All summarily rejected. NOT cold pants.
Even though they were just like cold pants.
But in the end, after too many sweltering summer days where Jordan was basically a walking sauna (pronounced SOW-na) in his dreadfully hot double-layer polyester cold pants, which by that point had multiple holes and fit him like leggings, we took matters into our own hands. We did the only thing we could do.
We lied.
We hid them, and then told him they were dirty every day. Day after day. After a while, they faded from memory. He even began to wear shorts. He no longer called them broken pants. They were just, you know, shorts.
The new just-like-cold-pants-but-somehow-not got pushed to the back of the drawer. And then, when school started, Jordan had to wear a uniform, or anyway, uniform colors, every day. There was no fighting about pants.
But it turns out that the littlest kids don't really have to adhere to the uniform. Which makes my son happy.
He hates wearing a plain old white shirt. His entire little school life brightened recently when we learned that he could wear any shirt he wanted to school. The backhoes! The bulldozers! Oh, the tractors!
So yesterday, as he and Nick were rummaging through his drawers to get him dressed for school, he spotted a pair of pants tucked way back in the corner.
"Daddy! COLD PANTS!"
He said it almost reverentially. (Cold pants! From Jesus!)
"It's going to be very hot today."
"COLD PANTS!"
"They're not cold. They're hot. You're going to be too hot."
"COLD PANTS!"
Right. Because reasoning with a three-year old? Cold pants.
And India, for her part, has discovered Mahavira.
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