On the comical side of a recent torrential downpour, the boys and I braved the elements to get some last-minute, hunker-down supplies from the store. While pulling the full cart behind me through the parking lot, I held two little twin hands with one of my own, while Sam flanked the little ones, the wind whipping, and rain pouring on us sideways, while Zach repeatedly screamed: “My BUM, my BUM!”
Ignoring his Bum exclamations, I got us all safely to the car and hoisted each boy into the SUV. When I got to Zach, I realized he had tragically done the Harris Teeter walk of shame, as his underpants were around his ankles, weighed down from his rain-sodden pants. (In his defense, only moments before, we had used the Harris Teeter bathroom – our mandatory visit- and I was too busy deflecting Sam’s interrogation about the tampon machine to tie Zach’s pant drawstrings back up).