Dear Diary, my child had to wear PJs to school, and I'm shook

One of the more awkward aspects of writing books in American English when you were brought up in the U.K¹. is that you totally forget how to spell words like ‘pyjamas’, which my brain (and the Substack spellcheck) tries to persuade me to write as ‘pajamas’, but which my Britishness just won’t allow other than in a novel, so I’ve gone with the cop-out ‘PJs’ instead.

(Honestly, it’s totally messed me up. Should I use British English and risk my American readers thinking I can’t spell, or American English, which will make my UK readers think I’m just straight-up weird and pretentious? File under: Things I Have Been Over-Thinking Lately…)

But this newsletter is about PJs, not spelling. And because I never know how to illustrate these posts, I typed the word ‘PJs’ into my Google Photos app, and it gave me this photo, in which I’m not wearing PJs, but my hair looks good, so Ima use it anyway…

Anyway. Where was I?

Oh yeah: PJs.

So, one day last week I was walking Max to school as usual, and I noticed that a number of the older kids in the playground were wearing dressing gowns and PJs; a sight that triggered an instant anxiety response in me, because, for as long as I can remember, I’ve had a recurring stress dream in which I’m — for reasons unknown — out in public wearing my ratty old dressing gown, and PJs.

(I also sometimes dream that I’m just straight-up naked, but I think everyone has that, don’t they? Dreams about themselves being out in public naked, I mean, not dreams about me being out in public naked. That would just be weird, and a bit creepy, tbh.)

(Other times I dream I’m wearing roller skates. That has literally nothing to do with this story, though, so…)

Now, it obviously doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out that I have this reaction due to the fact that nightclothes make me feel vulnerable: not when I’m wearing them to bed, obviously, which is what they’re designed for, or even to watch TV, say, in the privacy of my own home. But the thought of wearing them in public (particularly outdoors) is the stuff of my literal nightmares — to the extent that, when we made the decision to start trying for a baby, I immediately went out and bought myself a set of ‘nice’ PJs and a dressing gown, so that if I did get pregnant, but it turned out to be ectopic, say², and I had to be rushed to hospital, I would at least be able to face this challenge in something other than the skintight boy-shorts and low-cut vest tops that made up my nightwear collection at the time.

(In my defense here, I DID end up having an ectopic pregnancy, and although I wasn’t rushed to hospital, they did try to admit me, so at least my PJ situation was one less thing to worry about during that dark time, no? Sometimes over-thinking pays off, guys. Not often, granted. But sometimes.)

Anyway.

After that, I never went back to the cute little matching short sets. In fact, when Max was a newborn, and day blended into night for a while, I took to wearing joggers and a sweatshirt to bed³, knowing I’d be up frequently during the night anyway, and that it might be midday before I found time to get dressed. I figured that this way I might not look good, exactly, but if someone knocked on the door, or — God forbid — ‘popped in’ unexpectedly, I would at least look dressed. And even though no one would be fooled by this into thinking I had my shit together, I would still be able to tell myself that maybe they were fooled by it, and I’d feel a bit less overwhelmed and like my entire life was spiraling hopelessly out of control. Because, how could it be, when I was up and dressed — in REAL clothes, not PJs?

But back to Max’s school.

It turned out that the children in the playground were being rewarded for good behavior, only, in this case, the ‘reward’ in question seemed more like a punishment to me, because it involved them all watching a movie together in their PJs, and, honestly, in their shoes — or slippers, as the case may be — I’d have misbehaved on purpose just to not have to do that.

(The PJs bit, obviously, not the movie. Although I suppose it would depend what it was…)

But this, it seems, is seen as a treat at Max’s school, and this week it was his class’s turn to be rewarded with a movie afternoon, for which they were instructed to bring PJs to change into.

“Oh my God,” I said to my husband when the text message arrived informing me of this, less than 24 hours before the event itself. “We have to go out and buy Max new PJs, and we have to do it NOW.”

“Max already has tons of PJs,” pointed out Terry, not unreasonably. “Can’t he just wear those?”

“Max has PJs for sleeping in,” I replied. “Which means they’re all a bit old and shabby. He can’t wear the clothes he sleeps in to school. Also, they’re much too thin for him to wear them in the playground in March.” (Context: 8 degrees and pouring with rain as I write this…)

And, I mean, all of this was true. Max is a child who is fairly hard on his clothes, shall we say. He rarely wears anything more than once without it having to be washed. So while his PJs are — or I think they are — perfectly fine for sleeping in, most of them have been worn and washed so many times that they’re not the kind of ‘fine’ I would send him to school in. Mine are the same, actually. (Not that anyone’s expecting me to turn up to school in my PJs, obviously, but still…) Because, the truth is, we don’t have a lot of money for clothes right now, and so the money we DO have tends to go on the clothes people will see us in, rather than the ones we’ll wear to bed.

But now the school were effectively asking to see Max in the clothes he normally wears to bed; which made me feel a bit like I’d been caught on the hop, and should really have been better prepared for this kind of thing.

Are other parents prepared for this kind of thing? Seriously, do your kids all have drawers full of pristine nightwear, which you’d happily just pull out and send them to school in? Because, honestly, this episode has got me thinking I need to get us both a few pairs of ‘emergency’ PJs just in case one of us finds ourselves faced with another unexpected ‘PJs in public’ situation: hospital, school movie afternoon, house goes on fire and we all have to rush out into the street... You get the picture.

Because these things do happen, people. This week proves it. And I feel like I’ve let my standards slip by being so unprepared for them. In fact, as soon as I finish writing this, I think I’m going to go and throw out all my nightwear and start again from scratch, with a capsule ‘nightwear’ wardrobe, consisting only of the very finest, public-facing PJs and luxe loungewear. I will also have to somehow become rich enough to afford all of this, obviously, but I guess we’ll worry about that later; I can only over-think one thing at a time.⁴

As for Max, there was no time to get him new PJs for his movie afternoon, so, in the end I sent him off to school with his best existing pair carefully washed and ironed in his schoolbag, along with strict instructions to PLEASE remember to bring his school uniform home with him.

“Do I HAVE to get changed into my PJs?” said Max doubtfully, thus proving that he might look like Terry, but he’s definitely my child. “Like, in the school?”

“No,” I said confidently, hoping this was true. “No one can force you to change into nightclothes in the middle of the school day. You could just wear the top with your school trousers if you want.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Max, relieved. “Or I could just keep my school uniform on and not get changed at all?”

“You could,” I agreed, slightly surprised. I should add here that I’ve never mentioned my weird aversion to PJs-in-public in front of Max, because I’m trying to raise him without my many hangups and myriad insecurities. I figure it’s the very least I can do. And it seems that it’s working, too, because he came out of school that afternoon in his PJs (with his school polo shirt underneath), loudly complaining that he wanted to watch Christmas Chronicles, but everyone else voted for Toy Story, and he was outvoted.

(Honestly, this was the most troubling thing about all of this. I’ve somehow managed to raise a child who doesn’t like Toy Story, which is wild to me, because Toy Story 3 is a cinematic masterpiece, and I will die on this hill…)

So the day was saved. But I’m still left feeling like I am woefully unprepared for parenthood — and, well, life, really — and the many challenges it has to throw at me. I would really like to be one of those people who is ready for anything, but instead I’m one of those people who sleeps in the joggers and sweatshirts (Look, it’s cold here, okay?) she’s deemed no longer good enough to wear in public, and heaven help her if she’s ever rushed to hospital.

So I guess this week’s mission is to:

a) Become rich.

and

b) Buy Max and I all-new nightwear.

Or, failing that, to at least buy Max a new set of PJs that are only to be used on school ‘reward days’. Which will be an excellent way to guarantee that this never happens again.

I’ve typed the word ‘PJs’ so often now that I’m annoying even myself, but hey: at least this one wasn’t about Kate Middleton, hey?⁵

Until next week,

1. Because British readers are generally quite used to seeing American spellings, but American readers will one-star you and leave negative reviews talking about how you can’t even spell basic words like ‘color’ and ‘apologize’, and there’s literally nothing you can do about that other than sit there silently screaming, “BUT I’M BRITISH!’ to no avail.

2. Context: my crippling health anxiety and absolute conviction that I would end up having an ectopic pregnancy, just like my mother before me. And I DID!

3. I still do this.

4. Not actually true.

5. Am I the only one who thinks it WAS her in that video? Because, according to X, I am the only one gullible enough to think that…