slumber parties

We reached another milestone. An 8th birthday. You become eligible for slumber parties in our house once you have achieved 8. I have no solid developmental reason for this, aside from the fact that at that point they usually understand basic hygene and are less likely to wake me up at 3 am sobbing to go home. So, my youngest had a sleepover for her 8th. I clearly have become absent minded since I had completely forgotten how exhausting it can be for the PARENTS. My son’s last batch of sleepovers was known as Camp and it was handled by young, fit men who are not old and senile like me. I will need a weekend in a spa with 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep to recover from the next one….. First of all, there is no sleeping at a slumber party. It’s too darn exciting to do something boring and mundane like sleeping. I made my best effort to get them all to sleep at a decent hour, but being in a room with all these girls wiggling and squealing assures that most of the kids do not settle down. Ever. I literally read bedtime stories in a soothing voice for over an hour. My own child passed out after 10 minutes, but the others held on until nearly midnight, which is decidedly past MY bedtime. I could barely keep my eyes open, the words blurred before me, but all those kids will get A’s on their reading logs this week because I plowed through two entire chapter books. With expression.

Then morning comes, and despite the blankets I had placed over the windows to black out the lights, the first one woke up at 6 am—and promptly tickled her compatriots into joining her in the new day. I lay in my bed listening to the shrieks of joy (I hope) unable to rise thinking dark murderous thoughts. But the risk of awakening a foul mooded teen also in the house was too great so I went on duty. Two cups of espresso banked the lack of sleep hangover. Waffles were had, games were played, suitcases packed then our young partiers were returned to parental units. Except I still had my overly tired birthday girl who promptly fell into post party blues. It was a very very very long Sunday. I had spent the entire previous day as the emotional punching bag for before mentioned moody teen at the opening of the high school fencing season so emotional reserves were gone, as was my sense of fun about this parenting gig. I faced the errands, laundry and week prep that is part of our Sunday routine with the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner.

Not enjoying the mom thing…need a break…. I can’t wait to get to work on Monday so I can get away from everyone needing me, and needing more of me than I have.