Two years ago, before Christmas, Jeffrey put a large wrapped box under the tree. Over the next couple of weeks he made a lot of comments about it — things like, “I really splurged on our family this year. . .” and “It’s a pretty major gift . . . I hope everyone likes it.” The box was the source of much curiosity for the girls and me. Was it a game? A new camera? (My secret hope.) Maybe even a TV?! (We don’t have a television.) Finally on Christmas Eve, Jeffrey said it was time to open the box. Inside were six fabric bags, containing matching red footed pajamas for everyone in our family, including the cat and dog. The girls were ecstatic, and I burst out laughing because it was just about the last thing I would have expected my husband to buy.
The girls loved their “feeted” as they called them, and they wore them and wore them until they became “un-feeted.” And even after their toes stuck out, both girls favored those jammies above all others. But our girls have grown over the past two years, and I hadn’t seen those red pajamas for a while, until last night when Ellen must have pulled her pair out of the back of a dresser drawer. “Mama,” she asked me, walking into the hallway, light from the bathroom spilling onto her toes, “How did these get so tight?”