It's 5:00 am. The Reverend is up taking his shower. He preaches today, so he wakes up early to practice the sermon a few more times.
I wake up while he's getting ready. He returns from the bathroom to our room.
In a loud whisper (so as not to wake a sleeping baby), I ask, "Pants?"
The Reverend can't hear over the fan, so he walks towards the bed and leans in.
I repeat myself. "Pants?"
Chance says, "Excuse me?"
Once more I say, "Pants?"
Then I offer a bit of clarification: "Have you packed enough pants for church camp? It's going to be cool this week. Lows in the fifties."
Chance gives me a bewildered look. He cannot believe that I woke up with pants at the forefront of my mind.
He doesn't argue. He packs more pants.
It's 6:30 am.
Nasko is still sleeping.
Of course he is. It's Sunday. The only day of the week in which he can't sleep late.
As I am unloading the dishwasher, the Reverend wakes up our sleeping monster.
A few minutes later, he emerges chuckling.
"Nasko is absolutely your son," he states. "As soon as I woke him up, he sat up and said, 'Pants? Pants? Wear pants today?'" [Nasko hates shorts.]
The Reverend shakes his head. "I do not know what is wrong with you two."
Pants. Apparently it's on our minds!