Questions I can't answer

• Why aren't there arm restraints for children in shopping carts?
• Why are store aisles so narrow?
• Why do I let my children convince me to get the plus sized shopping cart that seats three and is about four miles long, every time?
• If I accidentally injure a store employee while trying to maneuver my gargantuan cart down a miniscule aisle, while attempting to prevent little hands from stripping every item they can reach off the shelf, is it really my fault?
  
• Why is the alarm button on the elevator always right at toddler level?
  
• Why are the hairs that grow out of moles so disturbing and wrong?
• Why do I have one of those moles on my face?
  
• Why can't my children wait for me to finish pulling my pants up before opening the door in a public restroom?
• Why do my child's diapers sometimes smell like cat poop even though, to my knowledge, she has never eaten cat food?
• Why does another child feel it's her personal duty to do her doodie in every public restroom we visit?
  
• How can my children completely thrash a perfectly clean living room in the time it takes me to walk into the kitchen?
• Why, when I am the least physically capable of doing physical labor, do all the things I need to do in a day involve physical labor?
• Where do I find a doll who's hair doesn't immediately turn into cotton candy mess as soon as my children open the package? Was doll hair that much better when I was a child? (When I was nine I had a really cheap set of wigs to put on my Barbies. They were all short and curly, and I used to plop them on top of my Western Barbie's long hair to make her look like Dolly Parton. Barbie wig mullets. True story).
• Should I put my short wig on top of my long hair and rock a killer mullet for Halloween? I could wear a snug tank top over my super squishy, hopefully postpartum body. Has inspiration just struck?
• Will any of my creative energy return once I'm done channeling every ounce of possible inspiration into creating this new little person?
• Will I leave the hospital with a child without a name?
• Did I really hear my child say a word, twice, during a recent temper tantrum, that she shouldn't say, that I know she learned from me?
• What is it about being a vessel for an angelic creature, straight from heaven, that makes me want to curse like a sailor?
• What is stuck to the bottom of my foot? I can't see down there.
  
• I have been very grateful that my children wake up early, and that getting them up for school won't be much much of a struggle, but how on earth can I survive not sleeping in until 8?
• Why are my recent early morning dreams always accompanied by house/techno music? Is my subconscious attempting to prepare me for the day I'm going to have, or is it merely the most appropriate closing credit music for insane dreams I've been having lately?
• Why would a child who has just been injured by another child, keep putting herself within arms reach of the injurer (who is in time out)?
• When can I go to bed?
  

Ketchup and Mustard

School is starting soon at our house. Chloe will be starting first grade and Addie will be starting preschool. There have been preparations made, including buying new socks and underwear. The girls old unders were looking a bit dingy and worn, and some were rather stained, and they all were snug. The practical part of me considered just passing Chloe's underwear on down to Addie. But then I reconsidered. After all, everyone likes to have new skivvies to wear. And since Addie prefers to wear dresses everyday, people tend to see her underwear a lot.

So now I'm left with a bag full of used girls underwear. And I don't know what to do with them. There is still some life left in them, and there may be a family out there who would benefit from them. I grew up in hand-me-downs, and so have my kids, and I would love to be able to share our excess with someone else. But underwear?

All this pondering of old undies brought up a very specific memory from my childhood. Our family had been given a bag of used clothing. The bag was emptied and sorted into the appropriate genders/sizes. I can't remember what all came in the bag, but I do remember one particular item. It was a pair of boys underwear, red with yellow trim. I remember thinking, "Really? McDonald's themed underwear?" And then I didn't think much more about them. I know I folded them when they came out of the laundry, and that they seemed to need to be folded quite often, but that was it.

Years later I found out that this pair of underwear had been dubbed "Ketchup and Mustard," and were quite the hot ticket amongst my whitey-tightey clad brothers. I know at least two of them would race to laundry and fight over who got to wear them next. At least I hope they waited until they'd been washed to re-wear them. I don't want to think too much about it. All I know is by the time those pants were finally retired, they probably deserved a 21 gun salute. They had done their duty.

None of the recently retired underwear at my house is as colorful or as memorable. I tried posting them for free on craigslist, but immediately my ad got flagged as inappropriate. Really? Who has the dirty mind now? So I guess the panties will just go to Underwear Heaven, if there is such a place. Maybe they will run into Ketchup and Mustard there.