Last Saturday night I ditched the underwear. I was headed out with some friends to a costume party, and I was going to be wearing a leotard anyway. Underwear seemed superfluous. Layla walked in on me tugging my tights up to my hips.
“Oh Mom! What are you doing?!” she shrieked.
“I’m getting dressed! Please knock next time!” I said.
“Wait a minute, are you wearing underwear? You’re not wearing underwear!” she observed.
“No, I am wearing underwear, but my vagina ate it,” that’s what I tell my kids is happening when I’m wearing a thong.
Layla knew better, “What the heck, Mom?! No, you’re just not wearing underwear. Why would you not wear underwear?”
So I sat down on the bed and we talked.  I gently taught her all about VPL’s (Visible Panty Lines) and Leotards, but she still wasn’t convinced that I was making the right choice.
“Just put on some underwear, Mom,” she groaned.
Then I started feeling cuckoo because either A) I’m bipolar or B) I am cooped up in a house with three kids under the age of ten way too often and it makes me lose my shit.  Whatever the reason, I snapped into my dirty Southern accent and told Layla, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in underwear! Underwear is for sissies! And pedophiles!”
I was cracking myself up, so I kept saying it again and again.  The kids laughed at firstbut eventually were completely annoyed and finally flat-out embarrassed. It was fun.
I love to tease my kids like that, even if it does annoy them. I figure that one day they’ll look back and appreciate my humor. Or not. Either way, I’m enjoying myself. That has to be good for us all.