Middle Schoolers: Sleepovers

Sleepovers, the tortuous ritual we somehow get coaxed into about every other weekend. Why? I still cannot answer this question. Momentary lapse of reason, temporary insanity maybe.

We, as parents, get totally taken advantage of when it comes to sleepovers. The children, they empty the dishwasher fold the laundry without asking, and when we gloss over with that mushy look that's something between pride and insanity, they know they have taken control of our tiny parental minds.

"Could I have a couple friends sleep over?"

"Sure dear." No questions asked.

First fatal flaw.

A couple friends...
usually means I have six girls total between the ages of 11 and 14. They hole up in their room. It begins with quiet. This is just a ruse to make us think nothing bad is going to happen. Soon enough it sounds as if a herd of elephants is stampeding upstairs and you're pretty sure at least one of the girls will meet an untimely death.

You venture up to check on them. You enter the room and they're all sitting quietly on the floor talking. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"What was all that noise?"

"We were just bouncing the soccer ball around."

You leave them in their said circle, close the door, and wonder if the World Cup finals had just been played in your daughter's bedroom.

So, you go back to your movie, or whatever it is you're doing, crocheting, facebooking, drinking yourself into oblivion, and revel in the momentary quiet.

It starts again...
You fear the ceiling will cave in atop your head. You brave the stairs for a second time. By the time you reach the room, again the girls are sitting in a circle on the floor wearing smiles like something from the Village of the Damned. You're suprised there's not a pentagram surrounding them.

"What have you guys been doing?"

"Just talking."

"What was all that noise?"

"What noise?"

You back out of the room quietly, close the door, and wonder, only for a second, if their will be a human sacrifice made that evening.

But that's just the beginning. Earlier that day your wonderful, dutiful children have asked if you will buy stuff for rootbeer floats. You agree as they've earned it by doing their chores and both scoring goals in their soccer game the week before.

Second fatal flaw.

The sugar high begins...
At least now you know you're not crazy, because the noise races down the upstairs hall like a poltergeist, thunders down the stairs like rhino, and runs in circles through your living room, kitchen, hallway, back to the living room, again, and again, and again, all the while giggling and screeching. You begin to get dizzy, your head starts to pound. You feel like you will faint or vomit or both.

"Hey, why don't you guys watch a movie." Good idea Mom.

So they finally sit, with popcorn, and pop, and doritos, and anything and everything edible in your house that they can get their hands on, while they watch Mean Girls, or Ten Things I Hate About You, Juno, or Whip It, whatever angsty teen movie they're in the mood for.

They sit on the couch and chairs with their iPods and cell phones, texting, facebooking, etc during the beginning of the movie. Peace. This brand of quiet lasts about ten minutes. Then it's group trips to the bathroom, commence with the giggling. Up for water, more popcorn, juice, pop. You put up with it, you have to, you don't have a choice. The only way to stop it is to send them home, yet you don't want to be THAT mom. You go in your bedroom, lock the door, and hide until the movie ends.

Bed time...right.
You send them up to the bedroom, have them lay out their sleeping bags, crawl in them again with their iPods and their cell phones. This quiet lasts a little longer because they want you to think they're going to sleep. It could last thirty minutes, and hour, usually it lasts until you fall asleep.

Then you hear a scream...
Then giggling, then loud talking, then yelling, then stomping, pounding, thundering. You send in the big guns, Dad. He tells the girls to keep quiet. Lather, rinse, repeat. and again. and again. Repeat until you're so deliriously tired that even their voices that carry all the way to China and the stampeding can't keep you awake.

Then what do you do? You clean up after and reward the little dears, you who've found have stayed up until 5:00 am with a breakfast fit for queen, french toast, bacon, sliced strawberries, juice.

The parents can not come soon enough.

You vow never again. Of course, never again becomes, until-I-forget-how-horrible-it-is. And in two weeks you're doing it all over again.

Yeah, we're the ones in charge.

That's all for today.

Kisses

:*

Megan

Valentine's Day

I'm not really a fan of the holiday. Just another reason to spend money you don't have. And I don't need chocolates (definitely don't need), flowers die, I'm perfectly happy with my cheap jewelry I buy from Target (if you want to feel important you pronounce that Tar-jay)And if you love someone, you should show them all year round.

I have certain rules. No gifts. No going out to dinner. It's simple, right?

I'm perfectly content making a nice dinner for my family, and hanging out and buying a new movie to watch, which is what we normally do. Oh, and I usually get Thing One and Thing Two a little candy or something.

A few days before V-day, the husband and I are shopping at Fred Meyer looking to spend our reward bucks on a movie. We grab Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist for the kids, decide to buy them a couple gifts, nothing big, an iPod cover, a flash drive, and a set of headphones for the computer to use with a Spanish and Italian program we have. I'm standing in line and my husband says, "Do you want an iPod?"

Um. Was it a trick question? "No. It's too much." (though I really really wanted one)

"Are you sure? I know you've been jealous of the girl's." We got the girls iPods for Christmas. Yes I was indeed jealous. I wanted one so bad I could taste it.

"No, it's fine. I was going to ask for one for my birthday." (Which is in two months)

"Do you want it now, or do you want to wait? We have the money now."

I'm weak. I caved. Of course I wanted it. And what was the point of waiting two months? I broke rule number one. We bought the iPod.

Then we went to a hardware store and bought the husband $20 worth of tools. Not really a fair exchange, but one he was perfectly content with.

The night before V-day, the kids want a sleepover. Six girls total including mine. We went to our indoor soccer game, fed them spaghetti, they overdosed on rootbeer floats, and we didn't really see them all night (though they could be heard. LOUDLY.) At 1:00 am, husband told them to go to sleep.

Woke up V-day morning and made them bacon and french toast. This is when we found out that most stayed up until about 4:00 am, a couple others until 6:00. (Again I ask why I do this?) Normally we find this out later when we read their Facebook pages and they've posted at 1:30, then 3:00, then 5:00. This time, they just offered the information. Parents all over town would hate us that day.

The husband and I once again went to Fred Meyer, we bought Zombieland and Boondock Saints.

Started cooking pork chops. Rusty's favorite, and which we don't eat ever. Have to cook them slow, at least three hours if not nore. I had bought rib eye for the occasion, but didn't check the date, so we had to eat that on Friday or else it would have been green and tasted and smelled funky.

Last sleepover guest left at 3:30 pm.

Cooked twice baked mashed potatoes, peas, and homemade bread. Made garlic butter.

Thing Two gets invited to another sleep over.

I'm supposed to (so I think) drop her off in 30 minutes. so, I get dinner on the table and we sit down to eat. Doorbell rings and it's Thing Two's friend there to pick her up. She grabs her bread and leaves the rest, which is fine as her dad had no problem polishing off his plate, then her plate, then going in for more (should that be than? I get confused). I was surprised he could even move after all that.

We sit down to watch Zombieland with some wine. Very funny. Thing One fell asleep though, as she had been one of those to stay up until 6:00 am.

Rusty and I both fall asleep during Boondock Saints. Me and Thing One end up in my bed, Rusty in the basement.

And that's how it went. Romantic, huh? How was yours?

F³A: Mini Rants

For those of you who just started following, F³A is the Friday Free for All. Though this week has pretty much been a total free for all.

Now on with the ranting. Irritations, annoyances, and things people do to drive me insane.

I have come to the realization that my children are allergic to the dishwasher. I'm not sure what would happen if they were to actually touch it, maybe a breakout of hives the size of golf balls, or perhaps spontaneous combustion, but I'm sure it's bad, why else would they get as close as to put their dishes on the counter directly above it, but not open then door and place them inside. Perhaps there is a pill or ointment for that.

I'm a good mom. I let my kids have sleepovers. How do I get repayed? With attitude, back talk, and general grouchiness. Um, exactly why do I do this?

If I were to leave all the socks lying around the house that everyone takes off but does not put in the laundry room, I would have wall to wall socks. It would be much cheaper than buying carpeting.

Why is there always the one friend in the group that no one likes? Why are they there? Does anyone actually know where they come from?

I don't own pets. I'm allergic to pretty much every animal under the sun. So why do you think I want your dog in my house, running around, getting its hair all over my floor and furniture?

No I will not drive you to school because your hair is perfect. We live three blocks from school and I'm not even dressed. >:(

Um, just because I don't work outside the home does not mean I have all the time in the world to do things for you. I have a house to clean. I'm writing one book, querying another, and revising yet another. I'm blogging, I'm reading and doing book reviews. I'm grocery shopping. I'm exercising, and tending to my hygiene. And when I'm done with all my stuff for the day, I have approximately -5 hours to do your stuff. Get it?

Do not ask if your friend can come over in front of her. That is an automatic no. I've told you this a million times yet you keep doing it and then I'm the bad mom that never lets your friends come over.

I'm tired of taking out the garbage. I thought that's the ONE job that husbands are supposed to do.

Stop posting crap to my Facebook profile. I don't want to be hit with a pillow, I don't want your blingee postcard, I don't care if you said I'm hot or not. You muck up my page which mostly I use for my blogs and my writing.

Stop asking me to remember things for you. I barely remember my name most days.

No I didn't hear the car making that ticking noise. How can I tell you how long it's been going on if I didn't hear it? I do not pay attention to tiny noises, I'm not a mechanic, they all just sound like car noises to me. Plus, they are hard to hear when I'm blasting Nirvana or Green Day or Fall Out Boy anyway.

I think that's enough ranting for the day.

Movie of the Week: Couples Retreat (laughed my ass off)

Song of the Week: Mountain Man by the Crash Kings

Book of the Week: Dare to Be a Great Writer by Leonard Bishop

Quote of the Week: "Sometimes, I get so consumed by depression that it is hard to believe that the whole world doesn't stop and suffer with me." ~ Elizabeth Wurtzel