So, difficult child has a 5:30 game, and I pick him up at his friend's house at 4:45, rushing (I had been out running errands) and as he's hurriedly ripping through the dirty laundry pile for his baseball uniform (blech) he pulls on his dirty shirt and clean pants and announces, "Oh, I forgot to tell you, my zipper broke." :crazy1: It is now 4:55 and we're supposed to be on the field 1/2 hr early and he's standing in the middle of the kitchen, sucking in his gut, and I'm trying to get the zipper to lock in past the first inch, where the teeth are completely missing. Then he points out that the top teeth are also missing. So I trash the kitchen drawer looking for safety pins as he's shouting, "Hurry! We'll be late!" and there is not a single safety pin in the drawer. I dash upstairs to get pins, as he's shouting after me, louder and louder, "HURRY!" which is really aggravating me, and I zoom back down, put on my reading glasses, and start pinning from the inside out--while he's in baseball pants he clearly outgrew 2 wks ago when I wasn't looking. They're so tight he looks like a plastic Ken doll. (Aka Barbie and Ken.) "I don't want the pins to show!" (No kidding.) So here I am, up close and personal with-my pubescent 11-yr-old difficult child, ruminating on how totally dependent he is at this very moment in time. He can break dishes, punch holes in walls, give me bruises, call me names, refuse to do chores, and every other manner of chaotic, supposed independent behavior, but he is totally dependent upon Mom and Her Safety Pins Right Now, as though the world will stop turning on its axis if these pins are not inserted swiftly and efficiently and we are 1/2 sec. late for the game. The last pin is inserted. He exhales. The crotch stays closed. And then he says, "I left my hat in easy child's car and she's at the beach." Oh, gawd. You're not allowed on the field with-o a hat. I just told him to get in the car because if he didn't show up at all, he most defintely couldn't play, but if he showed up with-a pinned crotch and no cap, he at least had a 50/50 chance. He played. Every time he reached for a ball in the outfield, I prayed that the pins wouldn't pop open into his privates and make his scream in anguish and miss the ball. (Am I a team mom or what?) He caught every single ball perfectly. The pins held their place. He wore someone else's cap. They lost 16-1. It's never easy, ya know? Oh, that reminds me, I have to call another mom and get a size Large pants for him to wear to closing ceremonies Sat.