Hands out of your pants, PLEASE!

What is it about boys?  As I sit writing, I peak over at my 4 year old son who happens to be standing in the next room, apparently contemplating which toy to destroy next. And, yep, he’s got his hands stuffed down his pajama pants — again!  Ugh.  I can’t tell you how many times a day I say “hands out of your pants please!”.  It’s getting to the point that I hear that mantra in my head as I go about my daily business.   That and Darth Vader’s theme song seem to be the musical score for my life right now.

I mean, I kind of get it.  I guess if I had something hanging off my body I’d feel compelled to give it a tug now and again too.  But then again, I don’t go around massaging my boobs.. and those are pretty sticky-outy too (maybe less so after two kids, but still…).  But the novelty eventually wears off, right? Or no??!! I have this horrible fear that despite my best efforts, he’s going to start kindergarden and still be doing it.  Or worse, college.

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