I don't know if it's like this because it's hot (it's not), because they get so unspeakably dirty outside by 9am, or because we really don't have neighbors, but I'm finding myself unable to really care all that much.
Mother of the year, right here.
Henry, who is seven, does okay. He tends to be the most dressed of the crew, and then they get more and more naked as you move on the down the line. By 5pm, I'm amazed if little Ezra even has underwear on (he usually doesn't).
I do ask them to wear clothes, so at least I feel like I did my job. The conversation goes like this:
Me: Oliver, you need a shirt. Go get a shirt, please.
Oliver: No thanks. I don't want to.
Yup. Then, he runs away as fast as he can to ride the stroller down the hill (bike helmets not optional).
In my defense, if we go anywhere, I bathe them and dress them and make sure they are wearing matching shoes (most of the time), but at home? I suppose you can call my boys partial nudists.
I'm thinking of going to swim trunks full-time.
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