Max declared Saturday pajama day, which was fine with me because some weekends I don't even get around to getting dressed before noon. "All day!" he told me. I said "Sure!"
Around 3:00, Dave decided to head to Costco. Max loves going because: food samples! Same with Dave.
"Max, we need to change you out of your pajamas," Dave said.
"No!" Max said, shaking his head.
I was with him.
"Honey, he can stay in his pajamas," I said. It was chilly, so Max would be wearing a hoodie over his pj top, only the bottoms would be showing. They are unmistakably pajama bottoms. But he was content in them.
"Come on, it's embarrassing," Dave said.
"Only if you think it is," I said. "I've seen teens wearing pajama bottoms out!"
Dave grudgingly agreed.
I used to worry about Max fitting in. When he was 8 and into the color purple, I found a pair of gloriously purple Crocs at Target but decided to not buy them because I worried they would make him stand out.
|At one point, Max walked around wearing the "I am spagetthi" sign from the Headbandz game during his spaghetti obsession phase.|
Over the years, though, I've relaxed about Max blending in. Especially when he started wearing the Fireman Max plastic helmet everywhere. That's how he ID'd—who was I to stop him?
To be sure, I take issue when people gape or gawk at Max, but that's when he's not dressed in anything out of the ordinary. The Fireman Max hat tends to make people smile, or strike up a conversation. Little kids have been known to ask if Max is an actual fireman. Sometimes he responds "Yes!"
Sometimes, I wish that I'd been more like Max at his age, not caring what people thought about me.
Dave and I talked about the pj thing that night.
"Max has no self-consciousness," I noted, "and we should just let him do his thing...within reason."
"I know, but he's a teen," Dave said.
"Since when have we ever expected him to act his age?" I said.
"You have a point," Dave said, four of my favorite words ever.
The next day, Max was headed to a party to hang with kids he'll be at camp with this summer. He came downstairs in the same pajama top as the day before, and a pair of shorts.
"He wanted to wear it," poor Dave explained, clearly beaten down by both of us.
"Hey, Max, that's not clean," I said. "You can't wear that."
"Awwww," he said, but he was smiling and he knew he had to change.
And he did.