jammies only, please

David and went out for dinner last night, and as usual, we were trying to get ready to go out without the kids noticing. (Our babysitter had been there in the afternoon, so there was no ding-dong arrival of a substitute caregiver to tip them off.) We weren’t going to go out until the kids were all in bed, so it seemed easiest for all to avoid the topic altogether.

I have always had to be very sly on such missions; my merely walking into a room wearing earrings can cause two out of my three children to burst into tears. But last night, I thought I really had them. I put on the tank t-shirt I was going to wear under my sweater on, but the t-shirt, in and of itself, aroused no suspicion. David got the boys in bed, still in his boxer shorts. I got Maggie in her crib and shut the door, then went into high gear, eyeliner in one hand while I pulled the sweater over my head. 

I then could hear Maggie through her bedroom door:

MAGGIE: Mommy! It’s too dark in here!

So I went in to open her blackout curtains a bit. As soon as she saw me, she leaped to her feet, pointing accusingly at my chest.

MAGGIE: What you wearing?
ME: Uh, it’s a… sweater.
MAGGIE: Why you wearing dat?
ME: I was… just… trying it on.

Maggie narrows her eyes.

MAGGIE: Put your jammies shirt back on.
MOMMY: OK, I will–
MAGGIE: Because dat not a jammies shirt. Dat a MEETING shirt.

SO busted.