My son, on the other hand....

....has no trouble expressing how he really feels.

I have alluded to the fact that my husband accepts me and how I happen to look unconditionally. Andrew, however, has very specific opinions. Particularly about clothing. He is the pickiest of all four of my children (three of which, as you know, are girls) when it comes to what he is going to wear.

And apparently that carries over to his mother as well.

Andrew does not like it when I wear sweats. Which can be a bit of a problem, since that is what I have on 95% of the time. These feelings were unbeknownst to me, however, until he recently said that I look "different" and "tired" when I have sweats on. (Like I don't look tired in a pair of jeans? Like I appear refreshed in a dress and heels? Not likely.) I tried to convince him that it is a look of relaxation and comfort but he wasn't buying.

Yet the next morning, when Andrew came downstairs, ready for school in a pair of basketball pants, it occurred to me that this is a kid who lives his entire life in elastic-waisted apparel. Who is he, Mr. No-Denim-Can-Ever-Touch-My-Body, to critique my own after-hours preference for stretch and a little wiggle room?

It seems, though, that in the "Andrew's Rules For Fashion" book there are varying degrees of offensiveness in the sweats category. His athletic clothing and even my velvety ensembles (we like to call them J Lo's) are acceptable. The problem is with the hugely oversized, XXL numbers that I don on occasion. You know, the ones you put on when you need all the room you can get. Those are the "puffy" sweats that Andrew just doesn't like.

All right. I'll give him that one.

And so that is why, on an ever-so-slightly warmer evening this week, I ditched the fleece for my silky PJ's. I knew both of the men in my life would appreciate them.

Andrew's response? "Finally! Real pajamas!"

Glenn's response? Never mind.