Going Commando

Or: How Boo nearly got kicked out of Catholic School before her first day of Pre-K

Okay, this isn’t the same commando that I was talking about, but the tag line’s the same (“Somewhere, somehow, someone’s going to pay.”)

This is one of those stories that made me want to enter the blogosphere again. It was too good not to share. Here goes.

Wednesday was a crazy morning. Homer usually takes Boo and Doodle to day care and I pick up. Homer had to be to work early, so I had morning duty. I got Boo up, asked her to get herself dressed while I took care of her brother. (She’s 4 and can usually do a decent job when she’s motivated). I did her hair. We loaded up. Off we go.

Fast forward to 2:30 p.m. I had rushed from the office across town (which in Vegas is no easy feat thanks to suburban spraul and crappy transportation planning) to pick the girl from daycare to take her to meet her Pre-K teacher at the Catholic School she’ll be attending next fall. Nothing serious – just a meet and greet to show her where she’ll be going, reduce first-day jitters, have the teacher download the ins and outs of the curriculum so we don’t screw her up over the summer by teaching her a bunch of stuff the wrong way, etc.

Anyway, when I get to daycare, I find that she’s still asleep and has changed from the dress she started the day with into her tinkerbell sweatsuit that we keep as her “backup outfit.” I thought nothing of it. Boo’s a rough and tumble girl. She loves water and has my sense of grace and poise. Besides, I had packed an extra dress and a comb to make sure she was clean and well groomed for her appointment.

I sweep her up and haul her out to the car to get her changed. Off comes the jacket. Hmmm. No t-shirt? Crap. Bad mommy for not packing one in her bag.

Oh well. Unzip. Pull it off. Pull dress over head. Remove shoes. Untie sweatpant bow. Pull down pants. HOLY CANNOLLI! The girl’s got no underwear.

Yes, my daughter is apparently Britney Spears. I sent her to school in A DRESS without underwear. BAD MOMMY!

We rushed home, grabbed undies and got to the school. We were late, but it had to be done.

This one gets filed away with the stories that we’ll tell at her sixteenth birthday party, her graduation, her wedding, you name it.

Lesson learned: Never assume your kid’s got his/her junk in his/her trunks.