Gaming the system

Of all the stages, the “I do it!”dress-myself phase might be making me the craziest.

I don’t know what it is about watching a toddler struggle to put on socks, but I get absolutely itchy with frustration. I recognize I don’t want a college-age kid asking for help putting on pants, so I need to let my children work on these basic things. But the volcanic rage when their heads go in the arm holes, or their arms in the head holes? It’s mutual.

Do other folks freak out about these tasks? I can remember my own superhuman anger when, still damp from a bath, my shirt would snag and bunch up uncomfortably as I tried to get dressed. I mean, let’s be honest: that still happens.

Becoming a parent shines a light on your own quirks. As Oliver, in particular, gets older, I’m noticing more and more of his funny little tendencies (getting irritated about the patterns raindrops are making on the windshield, for example). They’re obvious to me . . . because they’re just like mine. But am I just projecting my own habits onto my son?

I don’t know. What I do know is that trying to get two little kids dressed and out the door by 7:15 a.m. on weekdays is one of my greater challenges. While Oliver is more independent than his little sister, both need help. I am that help. The bleary-eyed, coffee-chugging mom with eight arms trying to do all the things before we’re late to breakfast at the kids’ daycare center. Ollie hates that.

Hadley has entered the age of “I do it, I do it!” repeated like a catchy pop song. Spence and I both try hard to let her attempt the tasks she has her eye on. Some of them — like, say, stirring dinner in a hot skillet — are not possible, so we try not to limit the safe things she wants to do.

That brings us back to socks. Snag that pinkie toe on a piece of pink fabric and you’re about to launch one ugly battle. As a parent, you will not want the battle . . . but you’re going to get it. Don’t you worry.

I remember going through this big time with Oliver, and it isn’t any easier the second go ’round with our girl. I have to physically sit on my hands to resist the urge to just tuck a foot into a shoe or straighten a pant leg. But the second — the second! — my hands touch their clothing, both kids will rip the item back off and start all over. All over. “Errgh. I do it, I do it!” Hadley will scold, fixing me with a glare I know I’ve earned from my own childhood attitude.

My annoyance is a mix of selfish frustration and concern for time. My obsessive-compulsive tendencies make me want to fix anything amiss immediately and perfectly. Seeing Hadley walking around with a backwards sock just . . . irritates me. Like grit in my eyeball.

That’s a personal problem, I know. She doesn’t seem to care! And I really do try to let things go. But the other issue is the universal struggle of a parent: We don’t want to see our kids having a hard time, even with something simple. I want to swoop in and make it better.

Also? Look: we need to get out the door.

Ollie is old enough to pick out his outfits and get dressed on his own. Just a few months back, he first came downstairs proudly wearing a clean T-shirt and shorts he’d chosen himself — and that was a revelation. I didn’t have to watch the physical struggle. We didn’t argue about shirts or socks or long pants versus shorts. Oliver just showed up ready to go, and I thought: yes. It’s happening.

Pairing navy blue shorts with a black T-shirt is a separate issue, but I’m not in the habit of policing their fashion choices. Not yet, anyway. As long as it’s seasonally appropriate (no fleece pants in June, kid), we’re going with it. He’s four. Ollie has worn Halloween shirts in springtime because we have to pick our battles . . . and I’m not about to make a pumpkin shirt the final straw.

I will say I’ve learned to game the system. On Monday night, finishing up a load of laundry, I tiptoed into Ollie’s room and set a new tee and shorts on the top of his drawer. Casually, though! Like they’d just . . . wound up there. Definitely not like Mom had picked them. Obviously.

Tuesday morning, bam: Ollie arrives downstairs in his cute, summery green T-shirt, proud as punch. I am a genius.

Well, “genius” is too strong. Mastermind, perhaps. A kids’ clothing mastermind. Whatever it takes.