Falling Off the Smug Mom Pedestal

My younger son smiles at fellow teammate Ricky.

I’ll admit it. I was smug. Oh, so very smug.

Two days ago I posted on Facebook that after my younger son tried on a pair of pants I found in his older brother’s closet and discovering that—glory be!—they actually fit, I didn’t have to put buying slacks on my to-do list. I knew there were a couple dress shirts in that same closet (what a great place to shop, I naively believed) that also would fit my #2 son.

Yes, he was all set for that night’s high school fall sports banquet, which is a casually dressy affair. So I thought.

Some of the junior varsity boys’ cross-country team listen to their coach.

But as those of us who are aficionados of “Survivor” know, the minute you become smug, that’s when your torch is about to be snuffed out. Somewhere Jeff Probst was laughing Monday night.

At 6 p.m., my #2 son was dressed and ready to go . . . except that he only had socks on his feet.

“Go find your brother’s good shoes in his closet,” I told him. Which he did.

“They’re a size eight,” he reminded me. Oops.

Do my younger son’s shoes stand out as he poses with Ricky, Marcus, and Nick?

The bigger younger brother’s feet? Size 10.

That sound you just heard? That was me falling off my smug-mom-thinks-she’s-got-her-act-together pedestal.

I guess the Nikes don’t really blend in at all.



2 responses to “Falling Off the Smug Mom Pedestal

  1. See, now that’s an outfit my son would put together on purpose.
    You know what they say: “The smugger they are, the harder they fall.”

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