Under-Britches (A TMI Story)

Home for a 3 day weekend; ahhh, bliss. Lots of hubby-time, and lots of kid-time.

It's funny, when I'm home for a few days the kids stick to me like hot bubblegum to the bottom of a shoe...except, unlike bubblegum on my shoe, I kind of like clingy kids.

They follow me everywhere. I dare not turn around abruptly for fear of clothes-lining one of them or body-checking them into a corner or doorknob!

One place I do miss my alone-ness is in the bathroom. We've never been even remotely modest at our home, which may freak some of you out, but that's just us. Bathroom doors are seldom, if ever, closed. I think nothing of a kid in my face telling me about her school-day while I'm trying to (insert bowel-movement euphemism here), then suddenly grabbing her own nose, screwing up her face, and breathing a nasally "Phew, Mommy, turn on the fan!"

This immodesty doesn't just apply to bathroom duties. We change clothes in front of each other and the kids, too. We don't have shame about our bodies, and we don't want our kids to have it either. My kids have seen just about every part of me, and they're comfortable with that. Consequently they have few qualms about where they put their hands. We respect each others' "privates," (Lulu calls them 'part-ments'), but "privates" is a pretty exclusive term in our house; essentially confined to what's squarely between our legs.

We are a very physically close family, too. Cuddle time is whenever we can. Plato, now seven, unbashedly crawls into my lap and snuggles right in whenever the mood strikes him. I rarely restrict cuddling. I mean, how long are they going to want to do that? I'm taking and giving whatever I can while they're still receptive! As we cuddle, I gently tickle their skin, rub their backs and their feet, stroke their hair, inhale their scent, and kiss their foreheads. They like to reciprocate, offering me kisses and hugs, and tickling and stroking my torso. They especially love my breasts. Sorry if you think that's weird, too. Really, when you think honestly about it, why wouldn't they? A mother's bosom is a soft, comforting place to rest your head; a primitive tie to your first days on this earth and blissful pure love. Heck, there have been times in my adulthood where I think it would be perfectly lovely just to rest my head against my own mother's bosom while she strokes my hair back from my forehead.

But I digress. The point is, my kids like to rest their heads on my chest, and in doing so, occasionally absentmindedly run their hands over my bosom. It reminds me of the gesture of an infant, when breastfeeding. It doesn't bother me, especially if it is truly an absentminded gesture. I do sometimes become uncomfortable with it, mostly if they are fixating on it or trying to push my buttons (no pun intended *snerk*). I'll eventually have to draw the line; "OK, those are Mommy's boobs. Everybody off!! Mommy needs some personal space!"

So this afternoon, Plato and Lulu were following me around. I had gotten undressed from my work clothes and was getting ready to change into something more comfortable. I got down to my bra and underwear, and as I often do, just flopped facedown on the bed for a minute to relax. Of course the monkeys took that as their cue to climb all over me and smother me with kisses and hugs. Sweet, right? Well, Lulu was doing the huggy/kissy thing, but I realized that Plato was rubbing my butt! I was wearing a shiny satin, ...ah, 'control garment,' and he appeared to be enjoying the way it felt, smooth over the vast expanse of my squishy gluteii maximii. I looked back over my shoulder and said, "Hey! Plato! Um, what are you DOING?"

He looked up at me and said, "Mom, are these slaps?"

"What? Slaps?"

He did a thorough mental word-search, absently rubbing his hand in circles on my butt cheek. "I mean Smacks... Are they Smacks?"

Slaps. Smacks... Ahhh, (light bulb!) I get it. "No honey, they're called 'Spanx.' And you can stop rubbing my butt now."

He grinned his little two-front-teeth-missing mischevious smile and told me, "I LIKE Spanx. They feel slippery."

Well, as long as he doesn't want to wear them himself, I guess it's all good for now.
















Why, oh why, do they have skinny bitches model this stuff? You and I both know
they don't wear 'em!!

Hey! The Wal-Mart generic rip-off product could be called:

Skanx