Yesterday started like any other day. Lots of hugs, “Good morning sunshines!” (to all three kids), some oatmeal, a cup of tea (coffee IV drip for Greg) and oh right, soccer shin pads and socks.

 
Deep breath.

 
Chloe happily put on her XXXL Tim Bits soccer jersey (big enough for our entire family to wear at the same time along with several neighbours and the UPS guy) and her XS shorts, ironically also big enough for at least seven Chloe’s.

 
Next up–shin pads.

 
She didn’t flinch. She let me slide them on, put the strap around her heel and ankle. I think we even exchanged some light, distracting pleasantries.

 
I really thought the shin pads were going to be the deal breaker and I was ready for battle but it didn’t happen.

 
But there they were, hidden behind door number two. The socks.

 
“Mommy, pull this line over this toe.”

 
No problem, I would be happy to. It seemed like a reasonable request.

 
“No, pull it like this.”

 
I exhaled with a bucket of patience I had been saving up since last week’s shin pad meltdown, perhaps the biggest shin pad meltdown of 2015 and maybe even in the history of shin pad meltdowns.

 
“You have to pull it up and then slide it like this.”

 
I did just that. I pulled it up and slid it exactly as she motioned. Exactly. There was no room for improvising. I pulled and slid. That’s all I did.

 
Off came the socks, the shin pads, the jersey, the shorts and a small snippet of hair and skin.

 
Chloe stormed down the hall and I had minutes to get her into the car and to the field for what would amount to being twelve minutes of hopping like a bunny in yoga pants and waving to two kids from other soccer teams (not our opponents) she recognized from swimming lessons two sessions ago.

 
The worst part was, when we got home, after wiping a lot of tears, wresting the shin pads, the socks, the jersey and the shorts back onto this angry ball of conflicted soccer player, she decided to change out of her uniform.

 
But then she walked down the hall wearing her underwear sideways.

 
If you have ever stepped sideways into a pair of underwear you would agree there is nothing more uncomfortable on the face of the earth than having your circulation cut off on your upper thigh while the other side of the elastic dangles loose somewhere lower down your leg. The waist band was taut around her small frame and Hello Kitty hung sideways laughing at me.

 
“Comfortable Chloe?”

 
Yeah, why?