I Wanna Be Kozy

Here is a picture of My Boy in his oh-so-cute monkey PJs that I paid full-price for at The Gap because I fell in love with the applique. (Boy's stuff is rarely oh-so-cute. Really, how cute can a silk-screen of a dump truck be?) Later on, on sale (which is the way I should be shopping? or second-hand, even?) I purchased a pair of Doggy PJs. Summer weight, because it is summer. Because it is hot, and even hotter in the Easy-Bake Oven that is our 1947 house, fashionably insulated with sawdust (now long settled to the bottom 2" of the walls).

But, no. My Boy wants to wear his one-piece footed fleece PJs, because, well because they are "cozy". A little too cozy, in my opinion. After a long drawn-out struggle (and let's not get into that here, mixed company and all) I give up and on go the cozys. So, I go to check on Mr. IWannaBeKozy before I turn in myself, and he is lying in a pool of sweat, hair matted, cheeks red. Melted, really.

Life with a 3-year-old is an endless series of negotiations. I mean, I am glad, and I want to foster, independence and decision-making abilities, god knows, but ... just once can we leave the house without a strength-sapping "discussion" over footwear choice? This Thomas shirt or this Thomas shirt? Desert if you eat 3 bites of this. Sometimes (often, even) my style of parenting comes down to bribes, bribes and more bribes. (Those saavy with linguistic framing call this "incenting".)

Hmmm ... maybe this could work with my husband, even ...