Story of my life.

Tomorrow is Pajama Day at The Girls’ school. It happens year after year, and inevitably, I experience the same freaking anxiety each and every time. Seriously. I need a mainline of Valium straight to my jugular in order to calm my neurotic ass down tonight.

While I should be excited that I don’t have to get them properly dressed in the morning, I am actually thinking…

“Fuck, fuck, double fuck! Who’s brilliant idea was THIS? He/she needs to be kicked out of the PTA.”

Why, you ask? Because my children wear the rattiest, most mismatched shit to sleep in you have ever laid eyes on. Comfy? Absolutely. Presentable to wear in public? Hell to the no! I have 3 girls, so pajamas are handed down and worn completely thread bare. Even MY pajamas are pathetic looking. Because nobody is actually supposed to see them. And I am horrified by the thought of my sweet angels being judged by their attire, and talked about in hushed tones by all the kiddos who probably have brand spanking new pj’s on tomorrow. Call me vain. Whatever. Kids are cruel. I know it, and so do you.

Nonetheless, I resisted the urge to run out today and purchase cool new pajamas for The Girls. That’s progress, right? Well don’t reward me yet, because I am seriously entertaining the possibility of letting them play hooky in favor of a Mommy/Daughters day complete with mani/pedis, or perhaps an educational outing to a museum or even a trip to the zoo.

Anything to avoid Pajama Day, for Pete’s sake. 

Ugh.