Jammies School – Part One

Oh no, I dawdled half-dreaming in bed too long again! The school bus just drove by. But, I know, if I hurry, I can catch it on its way back out of my neighborhood. So, I run to the kitchen table, gobble down my breakfast, pop my vitamin, race to the bathroom, swish a toothbrush ‘round my teeth and grab my knapsack. I’m out the door in minutes flat - just in time to wave down my oh-so-kind bus driver, who willingly makes an extra stop right at the end of our front walkway.

Whew! I made it. With a deep sigh, I settle into one of the few seats left on the bus. Just as I sink into its green vinyl, a giggle punctuates the general din of morning chatter on the bus. A guffaw chimes in. Finally, a wave of full-blown laughter erupts. I don’t get it... “She’s wearing her pajamas!” a boy shouts and points directly at me. I look down. Oh no! It seems, in my rush to get to school, I forgot to change. How humiliating!

This never really happened to me. However, with the number of times I raced to catch the bus on its way back out of my childhood neighborhood, I often feared it would. And, believe it or not, I still have “nightmares” about this very occurrence in its different variations. Indeed, over the years, a horrified dream-me has shown up not only to school, but also to work, the airport, interviews, appointments – you name it – in jammies. The fear of turning up somewhere in my pajamas runs deep...

Such will never be the case for my children, I hope! And not just because with today’s fashion sense, pajamas and street clothes have become somewhat synonymous. No, rather than teach my kids that it is cool to romp around in public in p.j.’s, I hope to simply offer them an opportunity to grow – in mind, body and spirit – unhurried here at home. Indeed, my husband and I aim to take God’s call to be our children’s first teachers quite seriously -- not so seriously, however that we cannot attend to it, comfy and relaxed, in our jammies. Thus, the name of our home-preschool: Jammies School!