Don't Ask Me to Explain

Saturdays are our day to clean our house. And it always needs it. Three weeks ago, Braeden was camping with the 11 year old scouts on Saturday. Two Saturdays ago he was watching his cousin's football game. Yesterday he was at a scout merit badge clinic. (I don't like the rapidity with which he is growing up and being away from home but that's not what this post is about.)

The past three Saturdays has found me with Emma and Mark as my Saturday Cleaning Task Force. And there was a major rebellion yesterday. The only thing worse than Saturday cleaning is Saturday cleaning with mutinous children. I did what I do when I don't know what else to do.

I bribed them.

First with leftover Halloween candy. And that didn't really work too well.

Then I pulled out my big gun and told them IF they helped and IF we got all the work done, I would take them to Madagascar 2 which is newly in the theaters this weekend. This was enough to put a gleam in their eye and a spring in their step. Emma even offered to help Mark clean his room. I considered taking her temperature to see if she was delirious.

They walked around the house singing "You've got to move it move it..." and swinging their hips but they were cleaning and not complaining or revolting so life was good.

I instructed them to change into clothes that were a little less waif/orphan like and we headed out. While we were walking towards the theater, I glanced down at Mark. He was wearing pajama pants. Blue flannel pajama pants. Don't ask me to explain.

He said he thought they were a more comfortable kind of jeans. He doesn't like jeans. I can't explain it; I live in jeans. Isn't that the uniform for Americans? And he has a box of jeans that Braeden has outgrown, just waiting for him to grow into. But he doesn't like them.

And the final thing I don't want to explain: Braeden got home from his merit badge clinic before we left for the movie.

And we took him with us.