Silent Night

It's really no wonder why I have an obsession with kids' pajamas. I almost never skimp on pajamas. I never buy them used. Using a gift card before my first son was born, I purchased a delicious pair of Petit Bateau mille raies navy blue striped jammies that went through both of my sons and are still delectable.

"Jammy up, it's almost time for bed!" is one of my favorite phrases of the day. Not just because it means it's nearly time for some quiet time of my own -- though let's face it, that's a beautiful thing. But because more often than not, they're clean, they are winding down from their day, and most of all they look and feel simply scrumptious.

Not just my littlest, who of course has the cutest pj's because, well, she's a she. Put on the most recent ones and she's quick to point out the "tookie" (gingerbread girl) on the torso.

My six year old, who gets a lot of hand me down pj's, shares my love of loungewear but for the past few months has nixed any tops. So he has lots of great pants that he wears, apparently oblivious to the chill I feel just looking at him. (The fact that he's 45 lbs with snow gear on just adds to my feeling that he just *should* be cold!)

Then there's the oldest, for whom, I'm sad to say, the tight-fitting jammies of old just seem, well, nearly pornographic at this point. Or is it that he has so little sense of fashion and comfort that he has been known to try to stuff his junk in boxers underneath long-underwear styled bottoms? So we've switched most pair to the looser "lounge pants" with long sleeved t-shirts, or more classic styled flannels. Trouble is that most of the time they don't match. So we wind up with some bizarre combination of colors, patterns and fabrics. He could care less.

Even so, I can't resist a request when one of those delicious dishes sidles up to me with their jammies on (or, half on as the case may be).