The Day After I Got Freshly Pressed
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.
11 Responses to “The Day After I Got Freshly Pressed”
Awww..I don’t know whether to hug and comfort you or to laugh at how wonderfully you’ve written that!!
Congratulations on being Freshly Pressed..I’m glad you did too, or I would have missed your blog!
I’ve always dreamed of having a job where I could just roll out of bed, have my coffee and “get to work” too… 😉
Thanks! And yes, I think grown up workplaces should have Pajama Day too 🙂
I did notice that sudden jump in posts, which is why I decided not to send you one that day. Congratulations on becoming a full-fledged columnist and kudos for going through all the responses. Pajama day does sound lovely.
Dr. Suess pajamas, you have Kat?
That’s so cool, imagine that!
So sad, however, that you could not wear,
Your pajamas for such a fun affair.
Better luck next year, I say to you,
And in the meantime, try not to feel so blue 😉
Ditto, Zak– LOVE IT! Officially my favorite comment in a very long time 🙂
Ah, you’re making me blush… now find a single girl in my area that can appreciate the fact that it took me all of two seconds to bust that out, and I’m golden.
@Zak, LOVE IT!!!!
I maintain that coffee is the last advantage I have over my children. They are younger, smarter, and faster. I am caffeinated. Also, thank you for providing a handy way to define “ironic”; ever try to explain that concept to a 5th grader? Remember this story and you’ll never have trouble. Go gettem next year.
Haha! I think “They are younger, smarter, and faster. I am caffeinated.” needs to go on T-shirt! And no, I can’t imagine trying to explain the concept of “irony” to a 5th grader. I would probably just tell them to go listen to Alanis Morisette (by the way is J in 5th grade now??? If so, I am officially OLD).
I would have been devastated with you!!!
love reading about The School!