Sam wears socks to bed. All the time. Winter (what's so strange about that?), spring, summer, fall. In fact, he sleeps with a fleece blanket and used to sleep with a fleece pillow (from Great Grandma Verna) until we discovered he was getting heat rash around his neck and upper body and told him the pillow was his winter pillow. After we did that, he started sleeping with a fleece taggie blanket which he draped over his normal pillow. Ugh. One night I tried telling him to turn on his fan or take off his socks, explaining that he'd get sweaty and he said that he liked to get sweaty when he sleeps. I guess there's no winning there.
Some days Matthew changes his shirt and underwear once or twice a day. Not because they're dirty or anything like that, but just because Matthew sees different a shirt or pair of underwear (or thinks of another one) and decides what he's currently wearing is dirty and wants to change. I usually acquiesce as really, I don't care if it's another shirt to wash. There are other more important battles to wage and this isn't one of them. Besides, it gives him a chance to practice changing his clothes which means in the future I won't have to help him!
Abby dislikes loud and/or unexpected noises. I can't say that she dislikes loud noises all the time, as she has two older brothers who just happen to make loud noises frequently, but she dislikes them sometimes and especially when they're not expected. For example, the other day she was playing with this little guitar toy when it suddenly started playing music. Abby got terrified and started screaming and crying. I suppose she just thought it was a cool, colorful toy with buttons, but then it started making noises. That happened another day with a little microphone. Abby was happily playing with it when it too started talking and singing. Wow. What a change of heart toward that little microphone. Screams. Crying. Terrified. She also dislikes the vacuum although that doesn't have the unexpectedness to it that the other toys do. Last week I was vacuuming the stairs to the basement when the kids were in the basement. Abby was crying some while I was doing it, but I just had to get it done, so she cried and I finished. Then I picked her up and she settled down. Later that evening we were playing downstairs, all happily enjoying ourselves when Abby wandered over by where the vacuum was (I had left it out intending to vacuum the rest of the basement...it's still there). She looked at it and started crying. Then she looked at me, still crying. Looked at the vacuum again. Still there, still crying. Then looked back at me as if to say, "Aren't you going to do something about this atrocity in the corner? I guess I will just scream louder. Can't she see I'm serious?" It wasn't moving or making any noise, it was just there, but Abby was still terrified of it. Poor Abby.
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