When my eighth child was born, every one was thirteen and under. The mornings could be chaotic and six-year-old David was the main contributor to the mayhem. He was full of energy and good humour but would express it by running up and down the kitchen in between eating, brushing his teeth, gathering reading books, exercise sheets and his lunch. Somehow with all this activity he never seemed to be able to get dressed.
While holding newborn Anthony over my shoulder and awkwardly putting lunches together with a helper, I’d repeat over and over, as calmly as I could,
“David, please put your clothes on.”
I came to my senses; there had to be an easier way to handle the morning Battle To Get HIM Dressed.
Then inspiration hit. David’s pajamas were not all that different from the sweatsuits he wore to school. Why on earth did I not dress him in one of his school sweatsuits right after his nightly bath?
It was ingenious, I thought.
After the first day though, I realized that I had overlooked one vital article of clothing the night before. As usual, David was running up and down the kitchen but this time I was yelling,
“David, please put your socks on.”