The No Slumber Party

It was my daughter’s golden birthday this past weekend. The term was new to me, but apparently a few people were in the know. It’s when your age is the same as the date. It was her 11th birthday on April 11th and she was born at 11 p.m. So, of course, she just had to invite 11 girls to sleep over our house to celebrate.

I could have said no, but I remember how much fun I had going to slumber parties at her age. The girls were sweet and polite and there was no kitty-cat fighting. The clicks and gossip are coming, though. I heard hints of it in conversation.

My son showed off his drumming skills. He glowed in the praise of my daughter’s friends as he played along to their favorite songs. Very slick. I thought for sure they’d kick him out, but I had to lure him upstairs with a game of cards.

Now that she’s a pre-teen, I didn’t have to plan a theme or craft projects. No more fairylands, Winnie the Pooh or tea parties. They didn’t really require me at all.

Until they got hurt. The minute my husband pulled out of the driveway to get the pizza, mayhem broke loose. One fell down the steps with a soda. Then another promptly twisted her knee dancing. While I was tending to those two, my daughter hobbled down the steps leaving a trail of blood. She had dropped a glass and stepped on a shard.

By the time my husband got back, it was all cleaned up and everyone received the appropriate nursing care. He then fell soundly asleep, despite the noise that lasted until 4 a.m. How do men always escape the more harrowing aspects of parenting?

Next time, I’ll skip the balloons and buy bubble wrap.