The rules when wearing pyjamas to school drop-off

If you’re going to do school drop-off in your PJs, you must remain in your car the whole time, and, short of nuclear warfare breaking out in the car park, must remain rooted to your seat.

Most parents do the pyjama run at least once in their children’s school years. The trick is to wear something on your top half that can pass as daywear. (Pic: iStock)

So, I did the pyjama run to school the other day.

This is when parents are so busy, so stretched for time, and so late for the morning drop-off ritual, they look down at their pyjama pants and fluffy slippers, and think “that’ll do”.

Most parents do this run at least once in their children’s school years, and they do so knowing that to successfully pull it off there is one golden rule that must be adhered to during the operation.

And we all know what that rule is, don’t we?

That’s right, DO NOT EXIT THE VEHICLE.

This is iron-clad — there is no other way to pull this off.

If you are going to go to school in your pyjamas, you must remain in your vehicle the whole time, and, short of some sort of nuclear warfare suddenly breaking out in the car park, you must remain rooted to your seat, with your seatbelt on, gaily waving at other parents passing by.

You must also remain calm.

Should another parent, for example, happen to stroll by your car and engage you in conversation, you must not, at any stage give any indication that beneath the window line you are wearing a pair of “My Little Pony” pyjama pants.

The trick here is to wear something on your top half that can pass as daywear, usually a T-shirt will suffice, or anything that resembles some sort of gym wear. This way, should someone indeed engage you in conversation you can say “Oh hi, how are you? I’m great thanks — just off to soul-cycle actually, I never miss it.”

Working-from-home parents know how to pull off the pyjamas look. (Pic: iStock)

This is not, however, how my morning went down.

No, running horribly late, and having made the decision that I too, would join the ranks of the other secret pyjama wearers in the Stop, Drop and Go line, I set off confidently, having popped on a clean T-shirt at the last minute, so I could, if anyone asked me, say I was going to Yogalates, even though I am not entirely sure what that the hell that is.

Things went very smoothly, we slid casually into the drop-off line, I said “Goodbye darling, I love you very much”, and then my daughter announced her bag was stuck.

“Stuck?’ I said, “what do you mean stuck?”

“I don’t know, I can’t get it out from the under the seat,” she replied, tugging at it.

“Are you sure?’’ I asked.

“I’m sure Mum, I can’t get it.”

“Have another go,” I suggested.

“I can’t Mum, it’s really stuck.”

You must not exit the car. Unless you must, of course. (Pic: iStock)

“Are you sure?” I repeated, a little desperately, “I mean how stuck can a bag get?”

Turns out, quite a bit actually, and with my daughter growing increasingly agitated. “Mummy, just get out and help me.”

I said, “Of course I will, darling.”

Actually what I really said was “Just give it one last, really big tug!”, but it was to no avail, that bag was not budging.

And so it was, I broke the code; I did the one thing every self-respecting pyjama-clad mother knows not to do.

I exited the vehicle.

I exited the vehicle in my pyjama pants with the small, sleeping hedgehogs on them.

I don’t know if anyone saw me, as I ripped that schoolbag from where one of its tags had become caught beneath the seat so fast I think I may have been just one little pink hedgehog blur, and was back in my seat before any Preppie could point at me and say “Mummy, look at the funny lady”.

But if you did see me that day, I apologise for any trauma it may have caused you so early in the morning, and I assure you, it will never happen again.

This is because I will, of course, be checking the vehicle for any strap traps from now on.