Dress Up

When I came home from work the other day I was greeted to a sight that put a smile on my face. I walked in the door to find my four year old little boy, exhausted from a long hard day of playing, asleep on the couch. He had settled into a nice warm spot in the sun as it shone through the front window.

Now I had obviously seen the little terror sleeping like an angel before but this time he was picture worthy. Curled up with his knees tucked under his tummy and his little fanny in the air, he was a perfect little ballerina sleeping in a pink leotard and tutu.

This kid is all boy. Tools, trucks, trains and swords are his usual fare. We are talking about a boy who was into guns before he even had one. In some type of unconscious effort to raise a pacifist, we hadn’t bought him any toy guns.

Then we noticed he had a genetic desire to blow things away. He started with sticks he would pick up outside to use as makeshift guns. Simply point and shoot with a little “Pschew, Pschew” action and he was good to go.

That’s the noise ladies. Right men? It’s not “Bang Bang” if you’re a guy. You make a quick P sound and then you loudly whisper the word “chew” but with an ‘s’ mixed in. Little boys are born with this knowledge and I don’t know if it can be taught.

I finally bought my little man a space blaster when he bit his cheese into the shape of a revolver and started firing pretend cheddar bullets at us. A year later he has a small arsenal of neon orange and green firearms in addition to a light saber for space fights and a plastic sword and commando knife for close combat situations.

So it’s a rare occasion when my bruiser son lets the household majority talk him into a dress or a little makeup. But he’s a good sport and hangs up his machismo for a little while to have a good time.

The girls are all set with frilly dance clothes and bright princess attire, fancy high heel shoes and feather boas. They have so much dress-up that my house is like backstage at a musical when their little girlfriends come over.

The problem comes when its time for them to go home and we end up looking for the clothes they were wearing when they got here. We ask brilliant questions like, “Where did you take them off honey?” and stupidly expect rational answers that refer to rooms in the house instead of “On the trampoline.”, “In the front yard.” Or “On the roof.”

The great thing about kids here is that they don’t need a reason to play dress up or have fun with playtime. Us ‘responsible grown-up types’ get all hung up on clothes and are afraid to do things that are silly or things that some might label “insane”.

When was the last time you threw on a pink leotard with a tutu or donned a royal princess dress complete with tiara and wand? No, Halloween doesn’t count. Don’t you want to just spend a Saturday in nothing but a pair of red trimmed Spiderman underwear and a cape made from a blanket? Now I wouldn’t advocate going to town that way. But maybe mowing the lawn dressed up like Cinderella wouldn’t be out of the question.

There’s a guy in my own neighborhood that rides his bike around wearing a baby blue tuxedo. I remember a mother in my girl’s last school that used to walk her son to class every morning with bare feet in her Big Bird pajamas.

Sure, I don’t know these people personally, and I wouldn’t be inclined to spark up a conversation, or even make eye contact, or walk on the same side of the street. But they look like they’re having fun, so good for them.

We had a birthday party for the twins last year with a fairy theme. They were all issued your standard set of fairy wings and we all made wands together. Making fairy wands with ten kids at a party for six year olds was way more fun that a root canal. If you ever decide to do it yourself, let me caution you, do not…seriously…do not use a hot glue gun. Sometimes at night I think I can still smell my own burning flesh.

But when all the little fairies had their wings and wands, look out. Fairy dust everywhere. Smiling pixies and sprites flitting around the house, up the stairs, on the beds, in the closets, oh what joy. And of course, there was my boy, having a blast, flitting right along behind them, wings and all, using his ribbon covered magic wand as a sword.