At The Little Made Man’s preschool, parents line up in their cars for Drop-off and Pick-up. When you get to the front of the line, the teachers open the door, unbuckle the kids and take them inside. It’s great. In the mornings, you get until 9:15. After that, you have to park your car and walk them in. I’m not usually late, but when I am it’s one of those “Everything-That-Could-Possibly-Go-Wrong-And-Make-You-Late” kinda mornings. The kind of morning when you contemplate the justification of just jumping in the car in your pajamas because you’re running SO late. But you don’t. You throw on some sweats and a headband and go. (You tell yourself- “You’re going to make it! Don’t worry, no one will see you!”) And then you hit Every. Red. Light. But somehow, miraculously, you get in the line at 9:13 and you think, “I MADE IT!” You do a little victory dance in your seat. And then your car is next, AND YOU WATCH THE TEACHERS WALK INSIDE AND YOU LOOK AT THE CLOCK. And it’s 9:15! Deflated.
Luckily, I put on jeans as I left the house this morning. I looked half decent as far as late mornings go-
BUT the poor Mommy behind me in line, she gets out of her car, and we lock eyes-
“Missed it by ‘that’ much!” I say.
“I’m wearing my pajamas!!” She says.
(And they’re not just pajamas, they’re flannel/ last christmas/ plaid pajama pants. Not even cutesy-Victoria Secret Loung-y kinda things. They are undeniably pajama pants. As she struggles to put his backpack on, she looks at me with this “I’m-so-embarrassed-I-want-to-die-right-now” kinda look.