Lots of people have asked how The Pajama Debacle was resolved. Well, I'll tell ya.
First of all, you can all be very glad that I have Shawn in my life. This has kept me from calling each. and. every. one. of you and asking your opinion on The Pajama Crisis. He refuses to let me believe The Plight of the Pajamas is a big deal. He keeps saying things like,
"This just isn't a big deal,"
and
"They would never let me be a counselor to a bunch of seven-year-old boys and even I could handle this problem if one of my campers didn't have pajamas!"
He's just doing his part to keep me sane for the rest of you. You should thank him.
"This just isn't a big deal,"
and
"They would never let me be a counselor to a bunch of seven-year-old boys and even I could handle this problem if one of my campers didn't have pajamas!"
He's just doing his part to keep me sane for the rest of you. You should thank him.
Anyhoo. Back to the story.
I came rolling up on the parking lot just outside of the Registration Office ready to save the day with Spence's pajamas in tow. Before I could set Elizabeth on the ground outside of the car, there was a counselor at my shoulder.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"I forgot to pack pajamas for my son."
"Oh, that's no big deal!" (Seriously. Did my husband pay you to say that?)
"Sure!"
"His name's Spencer Johnson. It's written on the bag. His cabin's on there, too."
"Okay... Do you need anything else?"
"Um. No. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
People? I got the bum's rush.
I got in my car and started texting another mom to tell her I found out nothing about the status of our boys.
The counselor watched. me. til. I. left.
Dude. I get it. You don't want me here.
I guess there might be a mass outbreak of homesick hysteria if a parent is spotted on the property.
I also figure I can be quite confident that our children are well protected from strangers. Unapproved vistors are not welcome.
Duly noted.
