Friday night, my daughter had a friend from school spend the night at our house. It was kind of a big deal because she hasn’t really had many people over to spend the night. A neighbor once and a cousin once. That’s it. (I know, I know. We’re bad parents for not doing more.) So, I was a little nervous because I didn’t know what to expect, wanted the girls to have fun, but still wanted to enforce the “rules of the house” without seeming mean. Anyway, we brought her friend home right after school and they were practically bursting from excitement. We got home, got everything situated in my daughter’s room and went out for supper.
I had forgotten how much girls could talk when they get together. (Which is really stupid considering how much I talk when I get together with friends.) But I don’t think they stopped the whole time we were eating. My husband even had to remind my daughter to eat her food because she had let it sit untouched for so long. While they were eating, they got on the subject of Greek gods and goddesses and wondering what kind of jobs they would have if they lived in modern times. So they started planning a “town” for the Greek figures they knew. I was impressed. I said they would have to write them all down when we got home and then they got the idea to draw a map of the town too. Even better! (Now they really had enough things to keep them busy for the rest of the night.)
We got home and the two girls rushed off to my daughter’s room to start their project. They had movies going and dolls out and their colored pencils, paper, and random toys scattered all over! It was the typical sleepover. About the time I was getting my son ready for bed, the girls came out wanting popcorn. (Impeccable timing!) So, okay. Wanting to be the “cool friends mom,” I headed to the kitchen and found some popcorn. Now, I should tell you that I don’t eat popcorn often and even when we do have it, I eat very little. (My mom used to love having popcorn when I was little and I got really tired of eating it.) When we do happen to pop popcorn, it’s always my husband that does it. There were also lots of other factors that made reading the entire directions difficult, but I don’t want to make it sound like I’m trying to come up with every excuse in the book. (*giggle*) That being said, don’t laugh at me.
I burnt the popcorn.
Not bad, but enough that the insides were a little dark and it definitely smelled, well…burnt. (I’m not actually a terrible cook. Really. I’m not great, but I’m adequate.) Not wanting them to complain about it, I put a happy spin on it by telling them, “It’s a little overcooked, but it’ll still be good.” (Any parent will agree that if you put a happy or positive spin on something it reduces the chances of whining or complaining.) They started eating it and, God love them, I didn’t get one peep from them about not liking it. (My daughter was probably pissing herself that I was being so nice and agreeable about everything, she didn’t want to screw it up!) Then, my husband walks in the room. And what’s the first thing out of his mouth? “Looks like mama burnt the popcorn.” AGH! Now why did he have to say anything? The kids were fine with it. Why bring it up?! My daughter, bless her heart, told him it was just a little overcooked (see, it worked!) and the two girls and my son (who by this time had come out of his bed wanting popcorn too) sat and happily ate their bowls of popcorn.
And I more than made up for it by pounding out a massive amount of chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. (All nice golden brown, yummy, gooey, melt in your mouth chocolate chip pancakes. Delicious!) Between the three kids (ages 11, 10, and 3), they had nine! Nine big ones.
But all of the excitement about sleepovers got me thinking about my own sleepovers and slumber parties when I was growing up. When I turned 13, my parents let me invite 13 friends over to sleep over. Yes, you read correctly. 13! That’s nuts, right? I mean, who does that? No one. That’s who. Not unless they’re certifiably insane. Or, as in my parents case, have a spoiled last child. (Although my siblings would probably disagree, I wasn’t super spoiled. I think my parents were just too tired after the first three kids, that by the time I came along, they didn’t have the energy to fight.) So me and my 13 friends basically took over the house. That’s the only way I can think to describe it because, really, how can you fit 14 girls between the ages of 12 and 14 under one roof for at least 18-20 hours? I was fortunate that my bedroom was the attic so we had the entire third floor to ourselves, but we still spilled out throughout the entire first floor as well.
I remember there were movies going on all night in the living room and a group playing with the Ouija Board in the sewing room. Food was everywhere and by morning there were sleeping girls everywhere too. Upstairs, downstairs, you name it. I don’t really remember seeing my parents much so either I have very selective memory or they were hiding in their room trying to sleep. (My dad I’m quite sure could have slept through a third world war outside his window because of the shifts he used to work. Now, maybe not, but then…he probably didn’t hear a single sound from us girls after his head hit the pillow.) But, geez, what were they thinking? I can pretty confidently say, “Not. This. Mama.” I sometimes don’t have the patience to deal with my own children (okay, most of the time don’t have enough patience), but to add that many more that don’t belong to me? That don’t know the kind of behavior expectations we have in this house? No thanks. No slumber party extravaganzas here. Sorry, kids. I just don’t think I could take it.
But really, both girls were very good and it’ll be fun to have her come back and stay again. I enjoyed reliving my childhood memories just watching them.