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I have a confession to make: Neither of my sons plays an
instrument. They don't get enough Spanish or sports. And yet, on
many weekends, even as their friends go to violin or soccer or
language lessons (or, in some unnerving cases, all three), even
as I sometimes wonder whether we are ruining their chances of
ever getting into college, my husband and I not only allow but
encourage them to stay home and do nothing, not even put on
their clothes.  Pajama Day, as it has reverently come to be
known in our home—a day in which we play games, hang on the
sofa, listen to our 8-year-old read sick jokes from his joke
books or our 10-year-old describe his favorite rocks—is one of
the ways we're trying to teach our kids that time is not just a
commodity to be spent but also a blessing to be enjoyed. Other
things we try to do (and try is the operative word: As working
New York parents, it can take all we've got just to stay awake)
are give the boys massages,