Friday, October 24, 2008

Ravages

I am wearing new clothes. I bought them last Sunday with E as my helper. That’s true; there was a sweater I was interested in in gray – somehow I took it home in purple. (I wore that one yesterday.)

It had been time for a seasonal update. Armed with a really good Ann Taylor Loft coupon and a child who needed to GO AWAY in order that her younger sibling might sleep, we bought me four new pairs of pants, two sweaters and two shirts.

But here’s the thing—I have cute new clothes but I also have cute gross children. ‘Never the twain shall meet.’ If only.

Here is what happens to new clothes:

Yesterday, at E’s behest, I wore the purple sweater. She was pretty peeved at me, I think, that I had waited so long. We got home yesterday evening; she drank her cup of milk and climbed on my back. I didn’t know about that milk; I tickled her. What other reaction is there to a kid who climbs on your back unannounced and uninvited? She snarfed that milk all over my sweater. And all over the back of my neck. And in my hair a little bit, too. Milkshake, anyone?

Today I’m wearing the new corduroys with the lovely new cable wool sweater. E has not defaced this ensemble (yet), but I’ve done damage with L. Her meat-and-rice grease hands and strawberry puffs dessert face left little round fingerprints dusted in red powder all over the backs of my calves. And from swinging her high in the air repeatedly, my sweater has made clotted strings of fuzzies that dangle down from my inner arms. If I hold my arms out they sway in the breeze like felted elements of a noiseless windchime, like ornaments on a chandelier. That means my armpits are the bobeches. File under: things I never thought I’d think.

The worst mishap was on Wednesday. On Wednesday I wore the new velvet brown pants. L overstuffed her face, overestimating her enthusiasm for and underestimating her cubic capacity for shredded cheese. She began to work through the problem by chewing furiously and salivating gushingly, chewing and salivating, chewing and salivating, trying to convey what had become a singular cheese wad through and down. When she came to the disappointing conclusion that through and down wasn’t the path to salvation, she opted for up and out. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I, I have half-digested cheese smushed in my velvet pants. And napkins made no difference. Pin It