the underwear drawer

I can be a gunner as much as anyone else, but when it comes to my approach towards getting my kids reliably toilet-trained, my attitude can euphemistically described as...well, lackadaisical.  To be fair, that's their attitude toward the enterprise as well (toilet training is one of the few "big boy" things in which Mack has absolutely no interest--his approach towards pooping in a diaper is the same as Homer Simpsons take on littering: "It's easier.  Duh."), but we figured he's not quite ready and we're kind of lazy, so let's all kill the earth a little more and subscribe and save on Amazon Prime, shall we?  (Diapers.  I'm talking about buying diapers.)

Thankfully (?) the preschool that we're sending Mack to has a more hardline approach towards the matter, and now that he's moving up one level (from the two-and-a-half year-old classroom to the two-and-three-quarters year-old classroom, apparently) they are going full on immersion therapy.  No more diapers at school.  Only underwear.  Sink or swim.  Oh, and also, please send in four or five spare changes of clothes for the first few weeks.

We had a few pairs of underwear lying around (I had originally bought them about six months ago as an enticement towards the idea of toilet training--Mack cheerfully tugged one pair on over his diapers and and pair over his head and has continued to wear them this way ever since, so the bloom is kind of off the rose for that one) but this afternoon, in anticipation of the new, uh, addition to his curriculum, we bought a few more packs of briefs for the rotation.

I'm sure in the next few days we're going to be pretty sick of washing these things, but you have to admit--those teeny tiny underoos are pretty freaking cute.