Livin' La Vida Naked

My home is no longer rated "G." It meets the no violence and no bad language clauses, but it's failing miserably at the no nudity requirement.

This problem has nothing to do with the 100 degree temperatures down here. Or the newly-potty-trained toddler's mishaps. Or the twins' tummy troubles.

Wyatt simply wants to be naked.

Today, before I could even get the babies from the van to the kitchen, Wyatt's shorts and shoes were already strewn across the floor, and the shirt was not far behind.

With one arm already free of the confining material, he looked up, saw my disapproving glare, and asked, "Can I take my shirt off?" "No. Put it back on...now."

He and I have replayed this scene each day for the past few weeks. Several times a day, in fact.

Last Friday, I went to pick him up from Oma and Opa's only to find him naked save for his underwear. He was "hot" in a frigid, well-air conditioned house. Right.

I'm sure this is just a toddler phase, but I'm not going down without a fight. I want my G rating back.

So, I've told Wyatt "the rules" say there are only three places children are allowed to be naked: the Garden of Eden, the bathroom, and his room. He knows what the Garden of Eden is because in his Bible, there's a picture of a naked Adam and Eve parading around in the bushes.

His response to these new rules? "I want to go GardenEden."

Mommy expected that one: "Oh, I'm sorry, but the map to the Garden of Eden was lost a long time ago. That means the only naked place left is the bathroom or your room, so you can just be naked in there. Go ahead, but remember you can't take one step outside the door until your clothes are back on."

I'm waiting for this to backfire in my face. I have visions of walking outside one day to find a stream of socks, shoes, underwear, pants, and shirt...and at the end of this rainbow, a naked toddler leaping joyfully around some flower bushes as he says, "Look, Mommy! I found the GardenEden!"