I have reached a new low of motherhood, and it’s this: I am now one of those parents who drops off their kids at school in their pajamas.

In my defense: I only drop the kids off in the morning on Mondays, when my son needs to bring his saxophone to school for the week. When he picked the alto sax as his Grade Seven instrument it looked smallish, definitely carryable, but even I find it hard to schlep that thing around for more than a hundred metres or so by the itty bitty handle. So Monday mornings require a car ride.

I work from home and my mornings usually go like this: drag self out of bed, brush teeth, put away clean dishes from last night, make three lunches, make sure everyone has their homework and has, unwillingly, taken gloves with them, then collapse from the morning rush in front of a cup of tea and some toast. Maybe then, maybe, I’ll think about showering and clothes, but often I don’t get around to it until mid afternoon. It’s just as easy to code in my PJs as anything else, and I like to get working as soon as possible in the mornings, while my mind is still fresh and the silence is golden.

In the winter, I had a secret weapon: snowpants. I could slip on my snowpants and long, heavy jacket right over my jammies, pull a toque over my unbrushed hair, boots hiding my slipper-socks, and no one would be wiser. No one had to know what was going on under the outerwear.

It’s a little warmer now, though, but I am still convincing myself that PJs are okay since the dropoff routine goes: exit through garage into van, open garage door, start car while kids buckle themselves in, pull up at little-used back entrance of school, open the van’s sliding door automatically with dashboard button, wave to kids from driver seat, close sliding door and head home. Do not exit van until garage door is closed.

So the uncombed hair and the unwashed face and the jammie pants (funny with black leather shoes) really go unnoticed by everyone. By most, anyway. By the majority, I’m thinking. Right?