When I worked in elementary schools, every year there was a “Pajama Day” where all staff and kids were given the opportunity to wear their pajamas at school. Lately, the tradition is that it's scheduled the last day before winter holiday break.
The kids sing the “winter hits” with their music teacher in the lobby as they trundle off their buses, prance around the school in their jammies and moccasin slippers, sip hot chocolate, watch Tom Hanks’ “Polar Bear Express” movie a la Smart Board in their classroom, and often participate in exchanging small gifts with their classmates.
Teachers were always “on board” with Pajama Day but my favorite teachers never wore anything that was truly “Pajama Day” worthy. They always trotted out a pair of Dr. Denton's on or a baggy bathrobe. I was always looking for those teachers who shopped for nighties at “Frederick’s of Middletown” but sadly, they never revealed themselves either figuratively or literally.
Halloween was a “costume of another cut” but that story will have to wait for another post.
I, the one who always wore a suit to work, showed up on Pajama Day wearing the black three-piece suit de jour. It would be easy for you to classify me right now as a “Mr. Scooge McHolmes” but I am not anything like that. It’s just that I don’t think anyone wants to see me jiggling around in my jammies. The fashion-induced nightmares and court-mandated therapy sessions alone would make it prohibitive.
So Pajama Day was just another dress down day for me: I had my black three-piece on. Less “Ho, ho, ho!” and more resembling “Ho-hum”.
On one such Pajama Day, two pajamad kids addressed me in the hallway early in the day with a question.
“Mr. Holmes, it’s ‘Pajama Day’. Do you sleep in that?”, looking at my black suit.
My dry response was, “Who told you I sleep?”
At which point they winced, looked down at their fuzzy slippers, and shuffled down the kringled-out hallway.
Since adulthood, I haven't required excessive amounts of sleep. A few hours here, a few hours there. Somedays, it just resembles a series of occasional naps. So much to do!
I've said on other occasions that I consider myself a lazy man. In the 16.5 hours that I was not teaching, I was usually pretty busy.
As I’ve noted before, there are two kinds of times in the day: the first one, when you are involved with your job and second, when you are focused on your business. Those first 7.5 hours, you are involved with your job, working for someone else's business. The other 16.5 hours are when you are involved with growing your business.
During the 7.5 hours, your employer (and in your case, that’s your private school or school district) dictates how much money you are going to earn at your “job”. But during your 16.5 hours, the sky - or bankruptcy court – is the limit.
I’m betting that you have to do lesson plans for those 7.5 hours. While you may only do them as religiously as a lapsed Catholic, you still do them. How about for the 16.5 hours?
Have you made any plans?
The informed teacher is
“makin’ a list,
checkin’ it twice,
gonna get some
financial advice”.
Whether you’re in your jammies or not, develop the habit of making the most out of those 16.5 hours. Don’t tempt the Fates.
You don’t want your slumber interrupted one night by the “Ghost of Pajama Days Yet To Come”, the spectre who depicts a grim a tableau of what a lack of financial planning looks like.
The kids sing the “winter hits” with their music teacher in the lobby as they trundle off their buses, prance around the school in their jammies and moccasin slippers, sip hot chocolate, watch Tom Hanks’ “Polar Bear Express” movie a la Smart Board in their classroom, and often participate in exchanging small gifts with their classmates.
Teachers were always “on board” with Pajama Day but my favorite teachers never wore anything that was truly “Pajama Day” worthy. They always trotted out a pair of Dr. Denton's on or a baggy bathrobe. I was always looking for those teachers who shopped for nighties at “Frederick’s of Middletown” but sadly, they never revealed themselves either figuratively or literally.
Halloween was a “costume of another cut” but that story will have to wait for another post.
I, the one who always wore a suit to work, showed up on Pajama Day wearing the black three-piece suit de jour. It would be easy for you to classify me right now as a “Mr. Scooge McHolmes” but I am not anything like that. It’s just that I don’t think anyone wants to see me jiggling around in my jammies. The fashion-induced nightmares and court-mandated therapy sessions alone would make it prohibitive.
So Pajama Day was just another dress down day for me: I had my black three-piece on. Less “Ho, ho, ho!” and more resembling “Ho-hum”.
On one such Pajama Day, two pajamad kids addressed me in the hallway early in the day with a question.
“Mr. Holmes, it’s ‘Pajama Day’. Do you sleep in that?”, looking at my black suit.
My dry response was, “Who told you I sleep?”
At which point they winced, looked down at their fuzzy slippers, and shuffled down the kringled-out hallway.
Since adulthood, I haven't required excessive amounts of sleep. A few hours here, a few hours there. Somedays, it just resembles a series of occasional naps. So much to do!
I've said on other occasions that I consider myself a lazy man. In the 16.5 hours that I was not teaching, I was usually pretty busy.
As I’ve noted before, there are two kinds of times in the day: the first one, when you are involved with your job and second, when you are focused on your business. Those first 7.5 hours, you are involved with your job, working for someone else's business. The other 16.5 hours are when you are involved with growing your business.
During the 7.5 hours, your employer (and in your case, that’s your private school or school district) dictates how much money you are going to earn at your “job”. But during your 16.5 hours, the sky - or bankruptcy court – is the limit.
I’m betting that you have to do lesson plans for those 7.5 hours. While you may only do them as religiously as a lapsed Catholic, you still do them. How about for the 16.5 hours?
Have you made any plans?
The informed teacher is
“makin’ a list,
checkin’ it twice,
gonna get some
financial advice”.
Whether you’re in your jammies or not, develop the habit of making the most out of those 16.5 hours. Don’t tempt the Fates.
You don’t want your slumber interrupted one night by the “Ghost of Pajama Days Yet To Come”, the spectre who depicts a grim a tableau of what a lack of financial planning looks like.
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