My Son Is On Underwear Patrol

So, my son’s been on underwear patrol lately. Yes, you heard me.

It began at a school meeting, where a lady sitting two rows in front of us had a good twelve inches of underwear “peeking” out over the top of her jeans. I was trying to concentrate on hearing the speaker, but out of my peripheral vision I could see my son staring at this lady’s underwear with a confused look on his face. Oh, no, I knew where this was going and I couldn’t think of a good way to stop it.

Sure enough, just when I started to think, maybe, please maybe he’s lost interest, he turned to me and said, “Mom, that lady needs to pull up her pants.”

It could have been worse. He didn’t say it in his library voice, but he didn’t shout it either. But what he did do was say it in that voice that also implied, “Mom, you need to do something about this right now.” Those of you who are mothers know the voice.

So, in his kindergarten mind, the right thing to do would have been either A). tap the lady of the hour on the shoulder and kindly inform her of her predicament, or preferably B). pull her pants up for her. I, on the other hand, wanted to do C). quietly slip out the door and move to another state. However, if I moved for things like this, I’d be moving on a weekly basis.

Instead, I D). gave him the look (the one that says don’t speak or else) and continued on as if the outburst had not occurred. In truth, I don’t think the lady could have heard him, especially given that there was a great deal of background noise being provided by all of the younger children in attendance. After the meeting, on the way home, we discussed why informing me of the lady’s fashion faux pas was unnecessary and why Mom does not, in this instance, need to do a darn thing. I’m fully confident that, with time and 300 or so more conversations of a similar nature, I will be able to attend social functions without fear of such proclamations.

What he then started doing, however, was to inform yours truly if her underwear was showing. Lest you think I run around regularly with my underwear showing, I don’t. At least I’m not aware of doing so.

So, now I’m having a moment here.

Great, now I’m really thinking about it. Maybe I’m running around oblivious, not realizing I’ve been secretly dubbed “Underwear Mom.” Okay, this is not going where I thought it would be when I started writing this post. Now I’m filled with self doubt. I mean, beyond the normal amount I carry around.

Anyway, I have this style of underwear that I like because it oh-so-lightly holds in the abs without being underwear designed to do this, so it’s not all military-like and violently unattractive. I also tend to prefer mid-rise pant styles. Thus, there is often a ½ inch or so discrepancy between where my pants end and where my underwear ends. While this sounds problematic, the reality is that it rarely is because I tend to wear long tops that extend several inches below my waistband.

As a side note, if you had told me a year ago I would ever even write the previous paragraph let alone willingly publish it on the internet, I would have assumed you had been smoking something not legal. And yet now here I am, blogging about my undies.

Anyway, the problem arose one day when I bent over to retrieve something out of the bottom of the boys’ closet, no simple task given its state. Suddenly, my son started laughing wildly and said, “Mom, I can see your underwear!” At that moment, his official patrol position and possibly his Greater Purpose in Life was born.

So now, anytime I’m cleaning the base of the toilets, picking something off the floor, or leaning over to pick up a shell on the beach, there he is, staring intently, eager to let me know if he sees even a glimpse of underwear above my waistband. While he does see the humor in this, he also truly believes he’s offering an essential service.

See, I have yet to read a parenting book that warns you specifically about moments like this. Maybe I should write one myself.

I certainly have plenty of material.