A new word in the boy's vocabulary: Commando

As if all this and this talk wasn't enough, this weekend I introduced Lil E to a very important component of, if not healthy, then happy living.

Yes, it was about the joys of being undie-free. Of course, he is a kid and a boy and he has long known the joys of running through the house nakey, waving some parts and jiggling others and planting others on my parents' leather couch. Of course.

And of course, I've pulled off a sweaty overnight Pull-Up and replaced jammies bottoms or comfy pants without Lightning McQueen or Elmo or blue dinosaurs or red cement trucks plastered across the cotton plastered across his nether-regions.

But this weekend, as I slid the purple fleece pants over his little nakey bum before breakfast and morning shows and making soy butter and jelly sandwiches, I whispered a secret of undie-defiance to him.

"Do you know what it's called when you don't wear underwear?" I asked quietly.

His eyes lit up and he popped his paci out of his mouth
(shht! no judgment about the paci! stay focused on the panty-less
preschooler, people!).



"WHAT?!"



The kid loves it when I give in and talk about underwear or peeing or
anything related to the potty or southern half of the body.  A
guaranteed tantrum distractor is the old "Under there! Under where?
Underwear?!" joke. Guar.an.teed. So clearly, I had his attention with
the bare booty insight.



"It's called," I paused for effect. "going commando."



I'm pretty sure he squealed. Then he lept from the bed, ran into the
kitchen where my mom was probably cooking up Egg Beaters and coffee
with lots of sweetener, yelling with apparent glee.



"Grandma! Grandma! Guess what it's called when you don't wear undies?!"



She smiled down at him. Sure, she knew, but dammit, there's nothing
cuter than a three-year-old saying that term aloud. It's like hearing
"mama" or "magically" or "animals amohmohs" or one of his other favorite words for the first time all over again.



"What honey?" she stirred her fake eggs and smiled some more.



"It's called," and then he too paused for effect, "going commando. And...that's what I'm doing now!"



This was followed by a little free-booty shake and kicky-move dance right there in the middle of the kitchen.



And then he was off to evangelize the goodness and grace and sheer
bliss of the commando lifestyle to any willing listening. In this case,
that meant my dad, but you know, it's all good.



So the kid now knows how lovely it is to swing free but the proper name
for it. If that doesn't make for a productive and entertaining Mother's
Day weekend, I don't know what does.



My work here is done, my friends. My work here is done.