Pearson used to joke when we both worked that he thought it strange that I, and sometimes him, would come home and slip into "comfy" clothes. I remember him saying, "Look at you, it is 5:30 and you are already for bed." What can I say? There is something pretty great about pants that are elastic in the middle, soft to the touch, let you move with ease, and don't cause one moment of fret about them being or getting wrinkled/stained/dirty. Over the years, Pearson has slowly developed the habit of slipping into his comfy clothes when he gets home from work. In fact, he calls them his fat man pants.
Fast forward to today.
Me: Mae, do you want to put back on your pants for nap or sleep with no pants.
Mae: I would like my comfy pants. [Please note, she has stop referring to herself in the third person].
Me: (Convincingly hold up jeans she was wearing): These are comfy.
Mae: No they are not comfy.
Me: (Hold up a pink pair of pants) How about these they are comfortable.
Mae: I want the other comfy pants [a pair of blue fleece pants].
Me: Here they are. I guess they are clean.
Yep, she is our daughter.
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