Argh. My kid takes after me. Poor dear.
Yesterday was Pajama Day at Boychild's school. It was his first experience with this sort of rollicking, unorthodox event.
Do you think I could convince him to wear pajamas to school? Even those totally cool Lightning McQueen Dinoco ones that he loves so much he saves them for special occasions? Even with longjohns and an undershirt under them to stay toasty warm?
No sir. Uh uh. No way.
Me: But why?
Boychild: Because I don't want to.
Me: But why? (Who sounds like the child now?)
Boychild: Because I don't want to. I just want to be normal.
Me, brain whirling with thoughts of how to explain the sheer irony of this without invoking the dreaded spectre of Peer Pressure: But all your friends will be wearing their pajamas, so that IS what will be normal today. If you wear your regular clothes, you won't be "normal."
Boychild: I don't care. I don't want to.
Sigh. Heaven forbid that we condone sanctioned fun. Of course I know I should probably be thankful he just wants to be normal.
Thing is, I remember things like pajama day from my childhood and I remember stressing over whether my pajamas would be cool enough. Doing something out of the ordinary was difficult - I liked everything to be the same as it always was so I knew what to expect and wouldn't run the risk of standing out. I loathed being the centre of attention because I was always afraid it would be negative attention like teasing.
Ah, happy times, elementary school.
Tomorrow is Backwards Day. He has already proclaimed he will not be participating in this sanctioned fun. My plan when I get up tomorrow morning, assuming my sleepy non-morning-person brain will remember to do this and won't kill myself doing it, is to put on my robe backwards and come down the stairs backwards and walk backwards to get certain people in the spirit of things. If I thought I could talk backwards I would.
Kids are weird. (Yeah, KIDS are weird....)