I walked down the hallway, rounded the corner, and froze in the church foyer. I was in the middle of that dream where you show up at work/school/church with your pajamas on . . . only it was really happening. There I was at church wearing not just any pair of pajamas, but my most obnoxious, pink, fuzzy, footy pajamas in a sea of people wearing jeans.
A few days before I received a little yellow notice in the mail with information for our church’s Wednesday night kid’s club, in which I volunteer. The previous week had been scheduled as “pajama night”, but due to weather, Wednesday night activities were cancelled. I picked up the yellow card and quickly scanned it, reading something like, “bla, bla, bla AWANA was cancelled . . . something about pajama night. . . bla, bla, bla.” Tossing it aside I interpreted this information as “Due to AWANA being cancelled last week, pajama night will be rescheduled for this Wednesday.” I helped my children don their pajamas, then went to find my own. I could have chosen my regular night-time apparel — flannel pants and a t-shirt — but I wanted to wear something that my group of kids would really get a kick out of. So I went to my closet and pulled out this.
Yes, folks, I own a “hoodie-footie”. I can’t wear it to bed; it’s much too hot. I certainly would never wear it in public — I look like a big, fluffy, pink bunny minus the ears and tail. But I wanted to do something special for the kids; something to make them laugh and show them I wasn’t taking this “jammy night” lightly. So, as I came around that corner and saw everyone wearing their regular attire, I froze in horror. “It’s not pajama night,” someone quickly pointed out.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. Ok, my panicked thoughts ran, Where can I go? How can I get a change of clothes? Then I caught a glimpse of a little girl standing miserably in her p.j.s, and remembered my own children behind me in theirs. I’ve just got to go with this, I realized. Taking a deep breathe, I laughed with my boys, high-fived the little girl and cheerfully shepherded her off to our room. I made her night. . . and the few others whose mother’s apparently read like I do. I trooped conspicuously with my group from book time to council time to game time, clad in pink fluff from head to toe. I certainly got those laughs! Even though I never quite got over the feeling of wanting to hide (I’m still cringing inside), the sight of me looking utterly ridiculous put those other jammy-clad kids at ease, and that was worth the humiliation. Maybe next time, I’ll read the whole notice!