I've been accused of many things by my children. When they remind me of how mean I am I reply with a simple sigh of relief knowing that my disciplinary skills have had some effect. When they accuse me of being unfair I know I've prepared them for life . But this accusation is rediculous, or so I thought at first. How dare they accuse me of being nicer when I am in my pajamas. What do I say to this?
As I sat there, trying to justify this accusation, flashbacks of our happy times fail to defend me. Christmas morning, wrapped in my robe. Sunday morning flipping pancakes in my flannels. Sipping coffee on my porch in my cami short-set. Sharing the snuggie on Friday night. I told myself to quickly think of other times. Surely, there are other times. What about birthday parties? Not helping as I recall one of Eden's favorite parties was a pretend sleepover. We all wore pajamas. What about that great party Kean had? Oh, no, that was wear your clothes backwards. OK, maybe not pajamas, but still something were I've drastically altered my style of dress.
So, maybe I am nicer in my pajamas. Why wouldn't I be? There are a chain of events that prelude putting pajamas on. All of which, contribute to a seemingly softer side of me. My state of pajama usually represents one of two possibilites. 1. My day of retail (sometimes hell) has ended. or 2. The day has asked nothing of me. In other words, there is no pressing scheduled "clothes only" commitment.
Let's start with the first possibility where my day has ended. The first thing I do is go upstairs to run a bath and take out my contacts. Despite that fact that I can no longer see, when I look into the mirror the wrinkles that have crept around my eyes have vanished. My hair looks seemingly in place. And for Gods sake, is my skin actually glowing? In my blind state, I look gorgeous. The happy meter just went up.
Feeling good about myself I shed the contraptions that keep everything up, tight and relatively in place and challenge the mirror again. By this point, the mirror has begun to fog up as my bath nears a boil. It appears that I have this very soft, almost flawless siloutte. I don't know, but the combination of steam and my loss of vision appear to give me that soft soap opera glow-very Susan Lucci (I'm too young for her, so how about Kelly Ripa). Things just keep getting better, and I am not even in my pajamas yet.
As I emerse myself in the warmth of the water, carefully placing my merlot beside the tub I let my feet flirt beneath the running water. I do this for about 10 minutes. 10 minutes is what the kids allow me. I can plead for 15, but by that point the blissful effects of the bath will cease to work and I'll just end up cranky. I relish in the 10 minutes that I am granted and let my favorite Sweet Soy Oil soak in. A candle would be awesome, but if I forget to bring the matches up stairs I let this part go.
After the bath, and I love this part, I get to pick which body butter I am in the mood for. Right now I am using my favorite Pure Fiji Body Butter in Mango. The scent alone makes my stomach tickle just a little.
Finally, it's time to put on my pajamas. Now the great thing about pajamas is that all you have to do is put them on. You don't have to match anything. You don't have to look in the bathroom mirror only to realize you need a full front and back view and therefore have to go into the bedroom. You also don't have to model different slippers for youself to see which make your legs look longer or if you should tuck the bottoms in or leave them out. Most importantly, it doesn't matter how your butt looks.
All you have to do is decide how comfortable you want to be and walk downstairs. I have never sat on the sofa in my pajamas wondering if the blue flannel were better than the pink stripe. I am always happy in my pajamas. Oh my gosh, did I just say that?
Well, I guess the kids are right. Aren't they always?
