Pajama Clad Days

My cup has a question mark on it. It’s the whole day written on ceramic, a hieroglyphic metaphor for Monday.

One baby is at school and the other has the flu and yet another is eating crackers with some brand new molars, hard won through sleepless nights and a half eaten crib.

With laundry to wash and with Mr. Rogers watched, sometimes a mother wonders if it’s worth her time to shower. Or get dressed.

I’ve decided it’s probably not, since my husband will face the preschool pick up line at lunch. I can wear pajamas in private until nap time.  I had planned on taking it easy, wiping sweaty brows and pouring juice with the generosity that comes with a germ infestation. Then I read a few online blogs where some ladies have six or seven children and they have taken it upon themselves to detail the art of planter box flower arrangements. They have kids coming out of their ears and their houses look perfect. Some of them are CANNING vegetable relish.

My planter box is an old wine barrel and do you know what’s in it? Leaves and snapdragon carcasses from Springtime.

At first I was annoyed with these women of excellence. How dare they be so excellent when I am so exhausted?

Slowly though, the feeling that pretty planter boxes might be fun and nice crept up into my tired toes. It’s almost to my heart now, I can feel it.

I don’t think it’s rational for me to load up the poor little nauseous children to go to the garden center, but I don’t see a problem with a little indoor sprucing. Perhaps I will make a bed? Or maybe even two beds?

The question my coffee cup is asking me is, “How will you spend your pajama clad day?”

And I think I’ll be telling it, “Making things homey and clean.”

Not because I have to, but because it feels nice. It’s the mother way of loving.

14 thoughts on “Pajama Clad Days

  1. Indoor sprucing – I need that. Instead, I make cookies or brownies or poundcake. I think that is my way of loving (and procrastinating) these days.
    Also – can't believe your little guy is getting moloars. G is finally getting his and what C didn't scrape off the crib in his teethinghood, G has completely gnawed off.


  2. I read this earlier on my phone, but couldn't figure out how to leave a comment. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten out of my pajamas today. I sort of want to wish a pox upon those overachievers who can their own vegetable relish, but then I remember I don't even like vegetable relish so what is that to me?

    My life has gotten so bizarre lately that I don't dare compare myself to anyone else. God's still talking to me and at work in my paltry little efforts, so that's good enough for me. Most days.


  3. I woke up late. Barely got the kids to school on time. Was late to pick them up cause they put a 'boot' on my car. So anyways. If it means anything I would way rather hang out with you in your house than with little miss vegetable relish.


  4. I don't think I'd like vegetable relish. And I'm pretty keen or regular ole marshmallows although there are some out there making them from scratch too….

    I am in pjs right now… reading your blog…


  5. Ah, the planters and those that plant them… I would like to just stay in my pajamas until the nightime nap. The eight hour long one. Could I do that? And yet, I do so love that you are optimistic enough to feel the potential for a planter all the way up in your heart already. Hope springs eternal.


  6. some day I will meet those beautiful little children of yours and i will smooch all over them… germ infested or not. (hope that's not too creepy, its just that i feel like I've known them forever, like an aunt, or something). 😉


  7. Ancient history, but the one day I spent in my pajamas (my goal was- ALL laundry washed and folded while watching a marathon of Andy Griffith ) Mitch brought a coworker home at lunchtime to show the place off. I was dressed (in dirty laundry) and combed in the 300 hundred feet it took him to drive from the road to the house. You got way more in you than you think.


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