N's teacher waylaid me on our way to the car from the school yard today. It's Reading Night at the school, when the kids all come in PJs and various teachers come and read them bedtime stories. (It's also the culminating event of Book Fair week, which means the evening will end up costing me serious buckage. But all for a good cause, right? And what kind of meanie cheapo would I have to be to say no to kids who are begging me for JUST ONE MORE BOOK MOMMY?)
N's teacher is going to be reading tonight, and apparently she mentioned this to the class, and also reminded them to come in PJs. At which point, as she recalled when she pulled me aside this afternoon, N looked up and said, "But I only wear a big T-shirt for my PJs."
"That's OK," Mrs. N said. "Just wear whatever you usually wear."
"But I ONLY wear a big T-shirt for my PJs. No underwear."
It was at this point in the conversation that I buried my face in my hands. Mrs. N leaned in closer to me. "So I told him, 'That's too much information for me, N. I don't want to see you going commando to Reading Night. Make sure you put on some underwear and pants, OK?'"
One more time, so you can get the full effect: N's first grade teacher was forced to utter the words, "I don't want to see you going commando to Reading Night," to a 7-year-old. I'm pretty sure this is not one of the things they cover in those education courses.
I may eventually recover from the embarrassment, but it won't be any time soon.