When I get upset about something or stressed out or I want to deny that reality exists, I focus on some minute detail of nothingness and drill it into the ground as if it is a major life event.

Enter Jake's pajama party at school next week.

Now, we aren't so much a pajama family.  Too often, bedtime routines fall by the wayside and we sleep where we fall.
Most times we fall in our clothes.

We have sweatpants.
And t-shirts.
But we aren't so much a pajama family as a family who enjoys a good set of eating clothes.

Someone was nice and gave Jake a pair of jams for Christmas, but they are too big and I don't know if they are all that class(room worth)y.

So what do I do?  Do I go buy him a pair?  No.  I just can't.
I can't spend dollars on something that is just for show.  Something that will just sit in a drawer/laundry pile.
Do I let him wear his sweats?  No.
No one should ever leave the house without beltloops.
Plus, lots of kids wear sweatpants to school every day and someone will think I'm a negligent mother who failed to look at the school calendar.

BTW, when is the official cutoff line for sweatpants in school?
Because as far back as I can remember, sweatpants kids are, well, they are the kids that wear sweatpants to school.

I shudder.

One time in second grade, a girl accidentally wore her pajamas to school.  Rather, her brother's pajamas.  She cried and cried and was red as a beet all day, and no one teased her because we all felt really bad for her.
She is the same girl that on Guidance Counselor in the Classroom Day, when the GC brought a pencil box and told us that inside we'd find an image of the most important person in the world, and after we guessed our little guesses (President Reagan! The teacher! Mork!) we lined up and looked in that box.  One by one.  And when it was her turn, she looked inside- the box held a mirror- and ran out of the room gasping for breath.
She always smelled like animals.
No one ever teased her about that, either.
No one ever teased her about much, but no one ever was real friendly to her either.
I think of her all the time.

So what am I to do?  Pajamas pajamas pajamas.  I guess maybe I'll throw a hem in the ones that are too big and call it a day.

Also?
The kids are supposed to wear slippers.
Jake's slippers?
Dirty McQueens that should be relegated to the scrap yard.
Dirty McQueens that make taking your shoes off in the house moot because these things are so gross that you may as well just track in whatever it is you stepped in outside because it can't be worse than what is stuck to the bottom of the Dirty McQueens.

My kid is about to become the pigpen of the class.  I just know it.
And I'm about to become the pigpen mom.

These are the types of things I never thought about when I thought about what to think about Jake going to school.