Portrait of the nudist as a young man

My children do not really know about seasons or clothes apparently. 
This is what they were doing during the Superbowl.

Yup, in February, it is warm enough to play in the hose, in your underwear.
Which is fine. I guess.
As long as everyone keeps their underwear on, which is never guaranteed around here.
Here is how the conversation went yesterday:
Me: Dude, what happened? Where is your underwear?
H: Out in the backyard.
Me: Okay, you need to go get it. You can’t just go around naked.
H: I wasn’t going around. I was just sitting on the slide…naked.
Here is how the conversation went today, upon looking out the kitchen window 
and seeing a certain young man buck naked:
Me: Okay, what happened to your underwear?
H (pointing to the other side of the patio): Sorry Mommy, it’s over there.
Me: What happened? 
H: It is too wet from the hose, so I took it off.
And last, but certainly not least:
Baby C (in the house, while H romps in the yard): Grand Master H took his underwear off again.
Me: What? Where is it?
Baby C: In the backyard.
Me (running to the window): Hey, what happened to your underwear?
H: Sorry Mommy, I took it off.
Me: You have to put your underwear back on!
H (spraying the window right in front of me): Sorry Mommy, I CAN’T HEAR YOUUUUUUU!
I blame his father.

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