"Clayton," I said "the violin concert is in a few hours. Does your uniform need ironing?" Eighth grade Clayton stood from his computer and pulled his embroidered shirt from the closet.
"It's fine," he shrugged. "No wrinkles."
"What about your black pants?"
"I don't have any."
"You don't have any?" I shrieked! "You wore them two weeks ago. What do you mean you don't have any?!"
"They're way too small. The waist is too tight, and when I sit, they come all the way up to my knees."
"Son, there's no time to buy new ones before the concert. You should have told me. You've had two weeks! You'll just have to wear the small ones."
Okay, calling all moms: You get it, right? I was stressed out and confused. To me, this would constitute a fashion emergency of the worst kind, right?! But, to Clayton? Nope.
"I'll just wear Dad's pants," was his response.