Ah, angst.

Today is Symphony Day. It ranks right up there with Ballet Day. A day in fourth grade when the music teacher sends home instructions to "dress nicely."
A day The Big One would rather spend in bed.
Or at least in track pants.
Since his toddler days when I promised my chubby, sweet boy I would limit trademarked apparel festooned w/ dinosaurs and Superheroes and movie characters to PJs only, I have tried to "class up" his wardrobe, i.e. not embarrass him w/ Christmas sweaters or Scooby Doo sweatshirts or turtlenecks w/ cartoon-y trucks and trains. Or footy PJs in size 14.
This is evidenced by the much too expensive board shorts we chose together yesterday. "I don't know why swimsuits are so expensive," he said upon returning to the car. "You're under the water the whole time anyway." I'm thinking he could've shared this nugget of wisdom IN THE STORE, but by this time I was so happy to have a suit we agreed upon and he was so relieved to be OUT OF THE PUBLIC EYE SHOPPING WITH HIS MOM that I would've paid for the matching hat!
But, I DO BELIEVE "dress nicely" means "Your mama dresses you funny," in fourth grade vernacular.
"I AM NOT WEARING THIS SHIRT."
"That's fine. YOU choose. I'm just getting you started since you seem unwilling to get off the couch this morning."
"Fine."
"Please get dressed."
"FINE."
"Please GET dressed."
"I hate symphony clothes."
"Everyone has been asked to 'dress nicely'. You won't be the only one in clean jeans. And SOMEONE will wear a tie. Promise. You want a tie?"
"Fine."
"Please get DRESSED."
"Fine. But I'm not wearing dress socks."
Complicate this already embarrassing morning by having to heft a watermelon into the school for track and field day. I walked paces in front of The Big One and tried not to act like it was a heavy melon.
I offered to let The Big One carry it.
He refused.
And rolled his eyes.
And smirked.
"Fine."
And dandy.