Not that I’m complaining, but 184 comments is a lot of comments to sort through. Granted, I wrote probably two or three dozen of them myself in response to those readers who were kind enough to stop by and add their two cents in response to Thursday’s post, but I was brain dead by the time I woke up to get ready for work on Friday morning.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to go to work in my PJs?” I thought. I could sleep for an extra fifteen minutes, not shower and just roll out wearing the same flannels I’d gone to sleep in the night before. Seeing as most of my tank tops serve double duty as pajamas and active wear (with a visit to the washing machine first, of course), this seemed like a rather good idea. Plus, it was Friday. Dress down day, right?
Unfortunately not (or so I thought) so I dragged myself into the shower, pinned my hair into the most professional “teacher look” I could manage (a French twist without my rhinestone encrusted bobby pins) and poured myself a huge cup of coffee before heading over to The School.
Upon arriving, I noticed that one of my students was wearing a pair of fuzzy green dinosaur slippers.
“Poor kid,” I thought to myself. “He must be having a rough morning.”
In the spirit of modeling good behavior (“sharing” in this case) I considered offering him a sip of my coffee. Last month, however, while chaperoning my pre-teen students on a trip to Kimmel Center, I learned what happens when you give your students coffee (and yes, I learned this the hard way): they stand around the condiments counter at Starbucks dumping sugar packets into their drinks, then, once they’ve reached the desired sugar-to-coffee ratio (approximately 5:1) , they actually drink the stuff and proceed to sing “I would catch a GRENADE for YOU!” all the way home.
Being the quick learner that I am, I did not offer my bleary-eyed preschooler a sip of my coffee (besides, who really wants to share their morning coffee? Not me. Plus I’d rather not be fired for offering caffeine to a three year old.)
A little while later, however, I noticed that another of my students was sporting a set of Ironman long johns. “That’s funny,” I mused. I’m used to seeing my students in long johns but usually they’re wearing, you know, pants on top.
It wasn’t until I stumbled upon the former Rat King cradling a stuffed animal that I finally figured out what was going on.
“This is Cowboy,” the Rat King informed me. “He’s a wolf and since today is Pajama Day, I brought him to school.”
“That’s great!” I replied, trying to hide my disappointment. “Does Cowboy know how to dance?”
But I wasn’t just disappointed—I was gutted. How come no one told me it was Pajama Day? I dress up for every holiday. I buy my students presents. I cut out paper snowflakes to decorate the door of the studio, I draped the ballet barre in Christmas lights and on Valentine’s Day, I even spent half an hour cutting little red hearts out of floor tape for our “human sculpture dance.”
After giving the Rat King permission to bring Cowboy to class (as long as Cowboy promised to sit nicely in the “audience” section of the dance studio), I headed straight for my faculty mailbox. Maybe my boss had told me and I’d just missed the memo? But my mailbox was empty aside from my pay stub so I just sequestered myself in the dance studio and tried not to cry.
Admittedly my resolve to act like a “rational adult” goes out the window when I don’t get enough sleep. Had I not been Freshly Pressed on Thursday and up till midnight approving comments (and up to midnight the night before speaking to a man from Match.com as well), I might have realized that showing up to Pajama Day in civilian clothes was not the end of the world.
(The “end of the world” is at “at the edge of outer space” according to one of my more astute four year-olds.)
I managed to pull myself together and wracked my brain for a few dance-related “slumber party” games to teach to my students. I also whipped up a quick “bunk bed” for our resident stuffed animal (a yellow bunny I found in a storage bin) so that he and Cowboy could have a “sleepover.”
As for my slipper-wearing students? Well, on account of having come to school in their pjs, they were absolutely bonkers but how can you yell at a bunch of bubbly preschoolers when they’re galloping across the room to Tchaikovsky?
You can’t, especially when they’re shouting, “Miss Kat! I am wearing my Ironman/Superman/Spiderman pajamas because TODAY is PAJAMA DAY!”
Suffice it to say, my anger over having missed the memo dissipated but just wait until next year… next year I’m going to be absolutely rockin’ my Dr. Seuss jammies.