I’m not sure why I don’t just buy my kids brown, yellow and red clothing. Then dress them in the colors we are eating that day.
Monday: sloppy Joe red, Tuesday: hot dog mustard yellow and chocolate milk brown on cartoon filled Saturday mornings…and so on.
My sons have finally (nearly) left the stages of stain-hood but my wee one has held onto her reign as Queen of the Ruined Shirts since the day she was born. I can’t even count high enough on two hands and both feet how many Hanes kids T’s I have had to invest in these past few years as replacements.
And I keep reaching for the stars in colors of turquoise, purple, lavender, lime greens and pretty pinks, because I love those colors.
But, I will never learn.
None of those colors resemble any foods we eat; so their surfaces are all tattooed in yesterday’s meals and fruit smoothies. Even though I sport a Tide pen and use old toothbrushes as scrubbees to remove accidental dribbles and loads of my free time is spent researching stain removal hints from Heloise.
I wear an apron.
Anyone that knows me, knows this is my official “uniform”. I’ve worn one for years in some fashion or another. Many people may think that I wear it because it’s got two big pockets and that would be a great assumption because it helps having a few extra hands to hold things, but more often than not, it serves as my Adult Bib.
It’s true. I am a dribbler, a dropper, a hand wiper of clothes. I start cooking and before I know it, my apron is covered in flour, wiping up spilled water at the corners and drying any tears that appear from slicing onions on the cutting board.
I use the heck out of aprons. I have 4 on hooks and usually at least 1 in the wash. I have some that are antiques, one that is actually a printers apron from ABDick, and one that was intended as a novelty from a dear friend that includes attached pearls and I have nearly worn it out. But I am keeping my clothes free of red, brown and yellow.
So it’s obvious now that my children’s dribbles and spills are hereditary.
And not from their dear old Dad.
He can eat spaghetti, sauce and meatballs through a straw and never have a splatter, spill or drip. He can wear white and keep it that way, whereas I buy white specifically for its bleaching capabilities.
I am sure one day I will miss the hours of “shouting out” and scrubbing stains on Tween-Size Medium sky blue t-shirts but not sure if I will ever outgrow my own need for a Mommy Bib.
But hopefully, my need for adult bibbage is not a precursor that heralds my re-entry into diapers.
The View From Here 