Parents will do anything for their kids.

My hubby and I were talking the other night about some of our fondest childhood memories. I guess living 3000 miles away from where we grew up makes one nostolgic at this time of year. Anyway, he mentioned that one of his favorite stories of my childhood is the story about my parents and their jeans. So here goes:
The background: I am the youngest of 10 (yes, I said 10) children. I grew up in a very loud household with 6 brothers, 3 sisters, 1 dog (and miscellaneous gerbils, fish, rabbits, etc. depending upon the year and how long each of these lasted), and 2 extremely loving and patient parents. My father and I are 40 years apart and my mother and I are 39 years apart in age.
My story begins when I went off to elementary school and acquired a new best friend. She and I played together a little bit in first grade but I believe it was really second grade when we officially became inseparable. My friend was the oldest of two kids (just her and a brother 2 years younger.) It was great hanging out with her for a couple of reasons. First, she was close in age to myself (my closest sister is 10 years older so we were friends but in much different phases of life). And second, her mom was very young and hip.
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely loved my mother but I started to realize that there were some basic differences between our parents. For one thing her parents called each other by their first names. My parents had long gotten into the habit of calling each other "mom" and "dad" - some old-world thing?! And for some reason, one day, the most important difference I attributed to the "younger" parent set was the fact that they wore jeans! It sounds so lame but I saw the jeans as some kind of symbol of the fact that hip/cool parents wore jeans - and what kid doesn't desparately want hip and cool parents when they are in second grade?!
After one of my playdates with my friend, I came home and went to my room in tears. When my mom came and asked me what was wrong, all I could get out between my sobs and tears was: "K's parents wear jeans but you and dad never wear them!" My mother, bless her heart, had spent 18 years doing the pregnancy shuffle with clothes and somewhere along the line settled on stretch polyester (hey, this was the early 70s) as her pant of choice (which she had in about every shade imaginable). My father, who I'm sure had a pair of jeans somewhere along the line, seemed to never run out of clean brown slacks (again I believe some kind of polyester).
I could hear my mother trying to hide her chuckles while she worked to soothe my hurt feelings. After all those kids, she knew better than to try to show me how unreasonable I was being over a piece of clothing.
Well you won't believe what happened. When I got home from school the next day, there was mom in the kitchen with a brand new pair of jeans on! As soon as I saw her my heart melted (pretty much like the Grinch's grew bigger) and it hit me that this just wasn't my mom. I ran up, threw my arms around her, and gave her the biggest bear-hug I could muster. I couldn't believe she would do that for me. And when my dad got home from work, she announced that his new pair of jeans was on their bed. He just smiled and I don't think I ever saw my father put them on - but they both had a pair of jeans, and I learned just how much I loved them, no matter what they wore!
Happy New Year & happy memories everyone!












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