The football pants.
It's been more than a week of practices, and regardless of whether or not I wash the pants the minute they walk in the door, they look no different when I take them out of the washing machine.
The ladies sat at the sidelines of practice today, and instead of talking about crockpot meals and potty training, the conversation turned to the dreaded white pants. One boy hides them from his mother and doesn't allow her to wash them - the smell and filth apparently are a source of pride. And the fact that one boy's pants were pristine. His mother admitted to spending hours on them yesterday, to get them clean.
Guess what? Ten minutes into practice? Covered in mud.
So I started not feeling so badly - I mean, who cares, right? But I had an idea. What if I washed them once, then took a scrub brush and some Spray 'n Wash and scrubbed, threw them back in the wash. So when we got home, I tried it. It didn't take too much time - less time than it will take him at practice to get them muddy again, provided that he doesn't trip on the way from the car to the practice field.
White. The pants are white. Mostly white. I was so proud. SO PROUD. I'd redeemed myself! I am a Proper Football Mother now! And a Woman.
I was so proud that I told my sweet nine year old boy that I'd managed to succeed at making his pants white again, regardless of the copious amounts of rain that is making the field a giant puddle of mud for him to roll around in.
And he says, "OH, NO! The coaches were making fun of the kids who's pants were too white!"
Um. Oh. Now I know.