Well, I did it. I finally broke down and chose this past month as the moment to initiate my nine-year-old daughter into the world of slumber parties. I feel like most kids get introduced to the concept of sleepovers by spending the night with Grandma and Grandpa, or maybe with cousins. But our family is on the other side of the country, so this wasn't an option for us. Coupled with my borderline helicopter parenting and memories of a certain sibling who was notorious for calling our Mom for middle-of-the-night rescue missions, I elected to delay the inevitable as long as possible. We started small last year by choosing one friend to sleep over at our house first. I pulled out all the stops, going overboard as I am prone to do. Tent in the backyard, pizza, cookies, smores. Nothing but the best for my Princess and her BFF. Strike one- BFF informed me that she does not like Pepperoni Pizza. Oops. I shook it off and went into recovery mode. Bedtime was fast approaching. I know at sleepovers that it is customary for little munchkins to stay up as late as possible, but my munchkin goes to bed at 7:30 most nights, maybe 8:30 if she's really feeling wild. Strike two- BFF is apparently a night owl. So I tossed and turned all night, attempting to fall asleep, listening to BFF talk to my sleeping daughter while watching the tablet and shining her flashlight in our bedroom window every few minutes. I was determined to stay awake as long as she was. I still don't know who fell asleep first, but it was around 2 a.m. the last time I peeked at the clock. (I should note here that I am exceedingly cranky when I don't get enough sleep. Therefore I took a perverse amount of pleasure in waking both girls at 3:30 a.m. so that we could drive up the mountain to behold the beauty that is sunrise on Haleakala. BFF actually laid down on some rocks and fell asleep while we were up there. She was a trooper.) On the way back down the mountain, feeling rather guilty for dragging everyone out of bed and into the cold, I decided we should stop at Krispy Kreme for coffee and donuts.
Strike three- BFF informed me that she doesn't like donuts. She is tired and just wants to go back to our house so that her parents can come get her. I have failed. My daughter's first sleepover is a bust. She will never forgive me. It is nearly a year before I dare try again. This time I allowed my daughter to invite four friends for a birthday sleepover. Did I not learn my lesson?! What the ^*!! was I thinking?! Obviously I am completely delusional. Each time I informed someone new of the birthday plans I could see the look of pity in their eyes. I set up the BIG tent in the yard this time. I decorated with streamers, and balloons and shopkins galore. I made a Shopkins birthday cake from scratch. I prepped a basket with Smores ingredients, popcorn, donuts, juice boxes, and fresh fruit and veggies (just in case.) I, with the help of my sainted husband, gathered the five girls and took them to our roller rink for skating. After about five minutes of skating, they declared they were bored and starving, so I sent Dad off to pick up the pizzas while I oversaw the removal of skates, kissing of boo-boos, disinfecting of hands, and washing of faces. Strike one- After forcefully and repeatedly reminding sainted hubby to make sure he included plain cheese pizzas, BFF devours pepperoni. The cheese pizzas remained untouched. We headed home for cake and presents, after which we herded the little sugar demons into the tent and begged them to keep the noise level below a sonic boom. I bravely volunteered to hang out in the living room so I could escort any wandering kids to the bathroom and back to the tent, break up any fights, put out any fires, deter any police or angry neighbors, or call any parents for an emergency pick up. I avoided, at all cost, actually setting foot inside the tent. Strike two- I fell asleep and was awakened by my own crying and exhausted daughter who wanted to send everyone home so that she can go to sleep in her own bed. I kicked her little fanny back out, threatened to lock the door, and told her to tough it out. (If I have to suffer, so does she.) Morning came at last, and I began the countdown to Parent Arrival. The girls began to pile into the house to play, save for one. I dared to enter the tent to check on her. Strike three- it looked like a frat house the morning after a wild party. Empty solo cups and juice boxes scattered everywhere. Clothes and shoes strewed across the floor of the tent. Decorations shredded and hanging dejectedly. Popcorn and marshmallows and silly string all over everything. And what I could only pray was streaks of melted chocolate smeared on the walls of the tent. Amid this chaos, one late sleeper lay in the corner cuddled up in a towel with freshly applied Shopkins stick-on tattoo on her bicep. But we all survived. Most importantly, my daughter had a great birthday sleepover. (Equally important, all the parents arrived on time for pick up.) I rewarded myself with a huge cup of coffee and some leftover donuts, and took a long nap. And vowed to wait at least another year before doing it again. P.S. All joking aside, my daughter is truly blessed to have some of the kindest, most polite friends ever. (Their parents are pretty awesome, too.) They are welcome at our home anytime, and there will always be two kinds of pizza and a plate of cookies waiting for them. P.P.S. But I wouldn't mind if their parents sent along a bottle or two of booze to the next sleepover.
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