We all know how boys are in regards to the weather.
If we didn't hide their shorts, they'd be wearing them with snow boots. Unfortunately, we can't hide all the shorts because they still need some for their athletics. Technicality.
Sadly, while sipping my morning tea, I revisit this thought as a boy stumbles into my kitchen wearing nothing but shorts and a T-shirt with temps nearing the freezing point. I ask if he would like to reconsider while pulling up a picture of the weather report for reference. I'm met with an adamant, "No." I double check and am told he would not be outside all day and didn't want to change for basketball after school.
I suggest warm-up pants over shorts and am met with an irritated, "No." I had no idea that was a terrible idea.
He gets a plastic Walmart bag out and starts packing up his lunch. I pull out some lunch bags and ask if he'd rather have something nicer. No, he would not. Is he sure? Yes, he is sure he'd rather appear like a hobo.
Okay, cool. I put my hands in the air in surrender pose.
He starts making a sandwich and asks for a zip-close bag. I grab one but offer up a sandwich-sized container so the sandwich will not get squished in the backpack. No, a bag is fine.
I don't really care. I'm just trying to help a kid out, but I guess helpful is going to be annoying today.
We get in the car and head to school. We hit a part of the highway where I know the speed limit is 55. We are going 55. He is not concerned. In fact, I'm sure he would prefer if I was going faster. He asks what the speed limit is, and I say, "55." He says, "No, I'm pretty sure it's 50."
The conversation goes on:
"Well, it's 55 so ..."
"No, it's 50."
"Okay, whatever. You can think that, but it won't change the fact that it's 55."
"No, I don't think so."
We pass the speed limit sign, and guess what? It's 55!
I scream, "55! In your face!"
Okay, so now I'm a child, and I'm going into gloat mode. I yell, "In your face," a few more times and then wrap it up.
These kids today think they know best, but you know what? I've been outside enough times in 38-degree weather to know I need pants, I've packed 50,00 lunches, and I've been driving longer than you've been outside the womb, so maybe I know what I'm talking about.
From now on, instead of pointing that out, though, I will just yell, "55!" and walk away.
You will, of course, know this means I'm right and you're wrong, but I'm choosing not to fight anymore.
I know that sometimes you need to learn lessons on your own and that you are so desperate to make your own choices that you'd prefer to do the opposite of whatever I'm saying just to assert your independence.
You just need to realize that I'm on your team and "55!"