Pajama Day

Yesterday was Pajama Day at my son’s school. It was the midpoint of Spirit Week. This comes at the exact time when some families are hoping for a final academic push to solidify some of the basics that might have slipped under the radar in the year. But who can learn in the midst of summer fever? Teachers, staff, students, and even parents are completely awash in the unraveling that happens when the end is near.

Monday was crazy hair day, Tuesday was crazy hat day, then yesterday’s pajama day. Today it’s twin day (dress like another kid – my son and a friend will be wearing the exact same polo shirt, blue jeans, and the other boy will don a pair of fake glasses to match my son’s). And Friday it’s school spirit day AND field day (so the kids will basically be out running around and playing games for the entire afternoon, clad in t-shirts proclaiming their solidarity to the school).

Just days remain until these kids officially move ahead one grade, and all you have to do is put them in their jammies to see their more tender, young selves that are usually hidden behind the clothes they wear every day. Add in some slippers, a couple of sleeping caps, a few fuzzy robes, pillows and even stuffed animals, and it was a brief time travel moment (for the parents, of course, children don’t really focus on how old or young they feel at any given time). I used to have a small little child in my house, I used to have a person in the kind of footed jammies some of the younger ones were wearing. The soft, flannel jammies – flowers and plaid and Dora and Spiderman and Transformers and Disney Princess – brought out the exquisite tipping point – these children, despite homework, despite being ready for summer camps and adventures, stripped of their usual strivings to look ready-for-school, looked like the small young creatures they still are, creatures who not too long ago didn’t stray far from their sleeping nests, didn’t get up every day and prepare to encounter the large world outside their home.

My son’s class watched movies in their jammies, with pillows and stuffed animals. They were their youngest selves, giggling on mats, sharing popcorn, lying down and whispering amongst themselves, sharing the jokes and adding their own to the soundtrack. At the scheduled time, they grew themselves up to run around on the playground and to attend P.E., where they practiced archery with compound bows.

They moved seamlessly through their ages, their young needs and strivings shifting to their current ages. Not all of this was positive – there were a few turf wars that didn’t end up in the usual 4th grade compromise – a couple of kids hogged the mats and wouldn’t give them up. The lack of usual structure to the day - and the week - took its toll by dinnertime, at our house and I imagine around town. Just try getting your kids to do homework, or to sit down and eat a good dinner, after a double feature of Ghost Busters and Ghost Busters II, a belly full of popcorn and popsicles, and the disjointed sense that they just spent an entire day in their outside world clad in their soft, safe, snuggle-inviting, inside-world jammies.

Learning be damned, these kids are being trained for Rush Week.