Raise Your Glass, Raise Your Kids, Wear Some Pants

I really like the song “Raise Your Glass” by Pink, and this morning it’s what played through my head as the soundtrack to a busy beginning to this Friday.

Let me start by going ahead with the admission that I did, indeed, take the kids to school in my pajamas. I know, I know. But I really thought I could get them around the building and through the drop-off line without having to get out of the car. It wasn’t just my sparkling personality that made me stand out this morning. It was also the purple flannel polka-dotted pajama bottoms I wore, the long-sleeved t-shirt, the red and black woolen socks and burgundy flats. I topped the whole ensemble off with a super-cute navy sweater-wrap, as though it was the piece de resistance in an effort to salvage my dignity, which I’m pretty sure I left near the railroad tracks on Stewarts Ferry Pike when I realized (with the help of the Music City Star) we would not be on time and I would have to walk the kids in.

I didn’t just want to get the kids in to avoid (another!) letter from the truancy office. Sure, I care about their learning and education; promptness is a part of that. Yeah, I get all that crap. I really just wanted to get them there before I received another shaming look from Front Office Staff And All Around Keeper Of The Keys Mrs. Shamey McTardimuggins.

And today was my lucky day! Because ala Pink, I’m “too school for cool.”

Imagine my delight when I screeched to a halt in front of the school and ushered my kids out of the car, one of whom was still finishing off a French Toast Stick, to find the front door still open. That means no sign in! That means no shaming looks! No tardy today! But they would have to hurry. The door was about to close.

“Ha ha, suckas!” I shouted to the people just pulling into the parking lot. These were the fully-dressed people, with dignity still intact, whom I’d zoomed passed in my fury, humming Pink the whole way:

…So raise your glass if you are wrong, in all the right ways, all my underdogs,
We will never be, never be anything but loud, and nitty­ gritty dirty little freaks…

It was then that I noticed our beloved, highly-professional and erudite principal at the front door, greeting the last of the “on time” children with an equally professional-looking guest. And here I was, secretary of the PTA board, in my flannels. I considered a swan-dive into the landscaping and an Army crawl back to the van, but I think she already spotted me.

So, I mustered what was left of my self-respect and stood up straight, cinching up my sweater-wrap. I waved gracefully and kissed the kids goodbye. (“Have a great day, sweetie! Mommy promises to be dressed when I pick you up after school! Unless I get caught up in a Glee marathon this afternoon.")

Back in the safety of my van, I was thrilled to find that my child left her freshly-poured juice in the car. She loves to drink her juice out of a tiny wine glass she calls the “fancy glass.” I grabbed it and took a long drink of the pineapple-orange ­juice. I was trying to merge in front of a gentleman in a huge, red truck, who had no doubt watched the entire pajama-clad freak show unfold.

Perhaps I’d frightened him. Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he wondered why the hell PTA Mom was dropping kids off in her jammies and swilling what appeared to be mimosas from a wine glass at 8:00 in the morning.

Okay, 8:02.

But he kindly motioned for me to go ahead, and I did the only thing I could think of.

I raised my glass.