Did You Check For Underwear Today?

It's not a surprise when a 5 year old boy gets a hole in his pants.

It's not completely unprecedented for that hole to be across his behind.

But I'm pretty sure my kid is the only one who wasn't wearing underwear when that particular hole happened.

He'll wear rabbit ears. He'll wear necklaces. He'll wear his coat.
Anything but underwear. 

Lately Hugmonkey has had an aversion to underwear. I try to remember to check to see if he's wearing any, but since he's been dressing himself (WITH UNDERWEAR) for two years now, I'm not very good at it. Obviously, I didn't check on that fateful day.



Talk about a rookie mistake.

We don't know when the hole happened. Apparently, Hugmonkey didn't notice. I can only assume it was after school, otherwise I'm sure his teacher would have called me to bring him some new pants. And underwear.

But instead there he was, running around the playground, mooning his schoolmates and their parents - until Hot Guy (who was doing pick up that day, #thankyoubabyjesus) happened to notice. They left the playground at once. I'd like to think that no one noticed, but that seems unlikely. It was a BIG hole. Seriously big. He really was giving the full moon to everyone, which I really didn't expect to happen until he was at least in high school.

I'd  also like to think that no one who knows our family noticed; surely our acquaintances would mention that our son was exposing himself to the entire playground? Right? You'd tell me (or rather, Hot Guy), wouldn't you? Right?

I'd also like to report that Hugmonkey has learned his lesson and is consistently wearing underwear again, but that would be an exaggeration. However, I have gotten much better about checking before we leave the house.

I have also gotten a little paranoid. I find myself eyeing the other parents suspiciously, wondering if they were mooned by my 5 year old and didn't mention it to me or Hot Guy. And then I wonder why they didn't mention it and what they must think of parents who let their kids go to school without underwear.

But then I remember that the idea of a five year old mooning people is pretty funny.

One of My Most Embarrassing Moments

What's your most embarrassing moment? 

Lately I've seen that suggested as a blog topic, seen it discussed in some magazine and actually had someone ask me the question. I hate questions like this, not because I hate sharing my embarrassing moments (I used to have a series on here called "Mildly Embarrassing Monday", after all), but because I find choosing my MOST embarrassing moment just about impossible.

There are so many to choose from.

One of the few that still makes me cringe, though, was one that happened in college. And I was COMPLETELY SOBER.

For most of my early college time, I had a boyfriend - the first serious boyfriend I'd ever had. I was over him long before I actually got around to breaking up with him, because I was so clueless I didn't even realize that my lack of interest in talking to him on the phone or writing letters to him (it was 1991, okay?) meant that I'd probably lost interest in him altogether.

Until I met Trip.* Trip lived in the dorm next door. He was witty and tortured and cute, which basically made him catnip to me. He also had a HUGE drinking problem, but I didn't notice. Anyway, so I develop this crush on Trip, finally break up with the boyfriend and keep hoping that Trip will do something other than flirt with me and kiss me good-night.

I write to Trip over the summer, Trip does not write back.

But we start talking on the phone in the fall, as I have moved off campus. We go on one lame date. I still like him even though he has shown me numerous times that he is not that interested, has a drinking problem and needs therapy for his mommy issues. I persist, and he asks me out on a "real" date with dinner plans and everything. He is supposed to call the day of to tell me what time he will be picking me up.

He does not call that day.

He does not call that evening.

I get pissed. And teary. Mostly pissed.

Do I go out with my roommate and get drunk? Do I call a friend and cry? Do I write the paper that is due on Monday? Do I realize that there are approximately 10,000 cute young men in Boston?

Nope. I call him. I call him and I start yelling about what a jerk he is. Except I don't think I used the word "jerk". I go on and on and on. I barely pause to take a breath, I am so full of anger and hurt and disappointment and months of daydreaming.

When I am finally done, the guy on the phone says, "Do you want to repeat that for Trip, or should I just let him know how you're feeling?"

And I realize that I have just vented all my emotions onto Trip's best friend.  Who is laughing.

I still cringe whenever I think about it.

I think Trip called my apartment a few days later, but I had my roommate tell him I was out. So I never spoke to him - or to his best friend - again. Which is why I will encourage my children to attend large colleges in metropolitan areas. And to not make phone calls when they are extremely angry.

Definitely my most embarrassing phone call. Have you ever made a fool of yourself on the phone?


*Not his real name. But it could have been.

Once I Was The Crazy Girl

You know you've been blogging a long time when you read a funny story on Aunt Becky's blog and that inspires you to write a story about one of your college roommates on your blog, and then you realize you've already written that story because you were inspired by another of Aunt Becky's college stories.

In other words, I just tried to tell a story on my blog that I have already told. It's like we're married.

I didn't have any other crazy roommates in college, but I did get to be the crazy person once. For most of my freshmen and sophomore years, I dated this one guy. We can call him Chris, because that was his name and it's pretty generic. Chris was called up to active duty during the first Gulf War, but all he did was work in a hospital in Philadelphia. While he was gone doing grown up things, he got really interested in us having a SERIOUS relationship.

I got really interested in being single. And in the guy down the hall from me. And in staying in Boston on the weekends.

So I dumped poor Chris while he was on active duty and started trying to entice the guy down the hall. There was much flirting. After I moved off campus the next year, there were phone calls and drives and make out sessions.

But the guy from down the hall, whom we should call Erik because that was his name, had some issues. One of which was that he didn't like me half as much as I liked him. But I persisted - without being direct about it - in trying to date this guy who didn't really want to date anyone.

One night he was supposed to take me out to dinner. He didn't call at the appointed time. Or an hour after that. So I called him and I went off. I just yelled about his mixed signals and the kissing and his drinking too much and whatever other bullshit I'd picked up from Cosmo. After a long pause, the guy on the phone said, "Hey Jen, sounds like you're pretty pissed at Erik. Should I get him so you can tell him?"*

I'd just spent several minutes yelling at his friend. I stammered something and hung up. I had never been so embarrassed in my entire life.

Until they called back a few minutes later, laughing. They asked me to do it again so they could record it. The friend offered to take me to dinner.

I unplugged the phone and spent the next month avoiding anywhere I thought I might run into either one of them.

*This is the kind of shit that happened before cell phones and caller i.d., kids. Be grateful.

Faux Purse

As I've gotten older, I've gotten less trendy and more sure of my personal preferences. So sure, that I gaily said to another mom today at preschool pick-up,
"I love your purse! It's so fun!"

The "purse" in question was hot pink. From a few feet away, it looked leather. I swear. I thought it was fun and offbeat.

Apparently it was actually a cosmetic gift-with-purchase bag that the woman's daughter uses as a play purse. I don't even think it was pleather.

Needless to say, it was like a flashback to seventh grade when I thought my crush came up to talk to me because he might like me back, but in fact he had a mirror on his shoe and I was wearing a skirt.

Because, really, what do you say when you realize that you've been supremely, embarrassingly naive?

Not that I had a crush on this woman, but I didn't exactly want her to think of me as "that bitch who thinks I'd carry a hot pink plastic bag" or "that poor woman who doesn't know what leather is supposed to look like".

Unlike seventh grade, I did not turn tail and run into the girls' room. I babbled something about liking pink too much. I did not convey my mortification, I'm pretty sure.

Yet I'm putting it out here for public consumption because I'm not even sure I should be so embarrassed. Most of the people I know fall into 3 categories; those who could care less what people thought, those who wouldn't think of giving another person a compliment and those who would have known that the bag couldn't be this woman's purse.

I will never make it into category 1. Despite tabletop performances of "Baby Got Back" during karaoke nights at more than 1 bar in Kansas City (in my defense, I was really drunk. . .each time), I don't like it when people think I'm an idiot. Make that "people I know".

Category 2 is not really me either. I like compliments.

In my youth, I'm pretty sure I would have been in category 3. But now I have 3 kids and I'm a freelance writer. . .I probably would use a gift-with-purchase bag as a purse, if it was cute enough and big enough.

I think I'll just have to embrace my naivete. Because I'm 38 years old and I'm just going to have to accept myself. Though I don't accept boys with mirrors on their shoes and women who carry their daughter's purses the same way they'd carry their own. That's still wrong.

It's Funny NOW. . .

I was reading WordVixen the other day and came across this fun link to Lillie Ammann's challenge, "It's funny NOW, but then. . .

Wow, I thought, that sums up my whole life. I had to do it. But which embarrassing moment to pick? It was a tough choice. Then I realized that there are two that illustrate my personal growth perfectly.

#1 In my senior year of high school, I tried out for cheerleading at the behest of an acquaintance who didn't want to go by herself. Because turn-out was low and I was loud, I became a cheerleader. Though I kept missing practice to go to play rehearsal, I still went to enough that I had the requisite practice "uniform" of men's boxers and a concert t-shirt (I don't know why, it was the '80's). Cheerleading was not really a sport yet, at least not at my school. So we often had practice in the hallway. Naturally, members of real athletic teams came by and watched us on occasion. During one such observation, for reasons known only to him (and probably a few other football players), James Sullivan (Yes, I realize I don't normally use real names, but maybe I'm still a little bitter) came up behind me and yanked on the boxer shorts. They fell right down, as I was a tiny little thing who wore all her clothes too big. James seemed surprised when they actually fell down and seemed almost as mortified as I was. The footballers players watching practice turned away politely, while laughing loudly. I pulled my shorts up and mustered up enough dignity to walk to the girls' room.

#2 After the pantsing incident in high school, I didn't see as much humor in flashing as other people did. I made it through college with underwear only seen by roommates and boyfriends. By the time I was a newly single teacher with a crowd of wild friends, though, flashing undies no longer seemed horrifying. So when I was dared to flash my new bra at a male friend, I took it in stride - especially since I'd had a few shots. He had just gone to the bathroom, so I waited in the alcove outside the restrooms - reassured that no one else could see me. The men's room door opened and I lifted my shirt. Naturally, it wasn't my friend. It was a man possibly older than my father. I pulled down my shirt and mustered up enough dignity to walk to the women's room, while he stared after me in shock.

Do you see the growth? In #2, I chose to embarrass myself instead of letting someone else embarrass me. Isn't that progress?