We’ve started experiencing some fall weather around here, which has had our boys digging in boxes and drawers for long-sleeved PJs to sleep in. Malachi appeared one evening in my very favorite pair of all of his jammies, and shucks if I didn’t immediately have to drop everything I was doing and squeeze the life out of him for several minutes.

What’s so special about this pair of pajamas? Well first of all, I think we can agree that kids in pajamas are about the snuggliest and cutest around. So any pair of PJs on my kids makes my heart flop. But it just so happens that this particular pair of jammies was worn by all four of our boys. All of them.  Asa got them as a gift when he was about five years old. He wore them for a couple of years, then when he outgrew them, they became Justus’. Then Elias inherited them. Now Malachi is wearing them.

Let’s all pause a moment and recognize with amazement that such a well made article of clothing exists, and that it has survived in our house through eleven years and four boys without being torn, stained, lost, hung on a flag pole, used as a sling shot, or stretched across the hallway to create a catapult. Indeed, for an entire decade, we have somehow kept track of both the top and the bottom of this matching set of sleepwear, and the elastic is not stretched to the size of Santa. If only we could pass down tennis shoes in this way. Shoot, I’d even settle for a pair of shoes that last through one season and one boy without the sole flopping off or the toe poking through or the foot growing by three sizes in one afternoon. But anyway…

Malachi was thrilled to hear that what he was wearing had been worn by all of his brothers, even the one who is now well over six feet tall. All of the boys chimed in with “oh yeah, I remember those pajamas.” We all inhaled deeply, joined hands, and enjoyed a moment together as we gazed at each other with tears in our eyes. By that I mean that the pajama conversation lasted about four seconds because the boys quickly moved on with life by sticking their heads in the fridge to find something else to eat before bed.

But I wasn’t quite ready to let it rest. “Asa,” I asked, “Do you remember who gave you those?”

He hesitated, because as I said, he had already moved on to thinking about his cheese stick and the pajama conversation was so thirty seconds ago. But then he remembered. “Oh yeah. It was Grammy wasn’t it?”

Indeed. My mom had picked those out for her firstborn grandson. She had no idea at the time that the pajamas would make their way through four growing and busy boys. And we had no idea how special they would become someday – worn so many years later by the grandson who never had the privilege of meeting her.

Who knew a simple pair of pajamas would be such a treasure?

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