I keep a list of things I’ve done and will never do again.
It’s mostly stuff like never bathe a cat (turns out they don’t
like water, and I have the scars to prove it), never wear shoes
with very, very high heels (falling off four-inch heels isn’t as
fun as it sounds), and never skydive (okay, I haven’t tried that,
but I want to make sure I never do).
And I have one new item for my list: never chaperone a boy’s
slumber party.
I keep a list of things I’ve done and will never do again.
It’s mostly stuff like never bathe a cat (turns out they don’t like water, and I have the scars to prove it), never wear shoes with very, very high heels (falling off four-inch heels isn’t as fun as it sounds), and never skydive (okay, I haven’t tried that, but I want to make sure I never do).
And I have one new item for my list: never chaperone a boy’s slumber party.
Now most people are smart enough to know this isn’t a great idea.
Apparently, I’m not one of those people. Because when a friend called and asked me to help out at her son’s birthday party, I said “okey-dokey.” And, when she said it would be a slumber party, I still said “okey-dokey.”
So last weekend, Junior and I trundled off to Marilyn’s house. At first, it was a great party. The boys swam and played in the pool and nobody got into any fights at all. And then it was time for dinner.
Now you would think that dinner would be a quiet time.
After all, the boys had spent a considerable amount of energy jumping and playing in the pool.
But I guess they had some sort of reserve energy source that only eight-year-old boys possess. Because one minute they were sitting at the table, eating hot dogs. And the next minute they were tossing those hot dogs at each other.
It was pure pandemonium. Hot dogs were flung, potato chips were tossed and you don’t want to know about the macaroni salad.
One boy was even on the trampoline, so he could get better height when he lobbed bits of bun at the other boys. Marilyn and I finally got them under control – but not without losing my favorite white t-shirt to a giant blob of ketchup.
After that, we tossed them back in the pool – hey, we’re no dummies. They weren’t throwing food at each other while they were in the pool. And we were even able to come up with a plan for when they finally got out.
We called it “Get In Your Sleeping Bags and Watch a Movie or We’ll Call Your Parents to Come Get You Now.”
And, you know what? It was a great plan. Okay, it did take two movies. And we had to confiscate every single plastic sword and light saber before they finally settled down – only to have a gas-passing contest which, I’m embarrassed to say, Junior won.
But by 2 a.m., the boys were Snoring away. And by 2:15 a.m., I was snoring away, too. And by 2:30 a.m. the next-door neighbor was on the phone.
Turns out we forgot to set the house alarm. So the boys were able to sneak out of the house – carrying a fresh case of toilet paper. And, armed with enough toilet paper to cover the entire neighborhood, they set off next door. It seems that one of the boys had an older brother who had passed on that fine slumber party tradition of toilet-papering a house.
After we took the wannabe criminals back to Marilyn’s, we realized that the worst was yet to come – there were still seven long hours until the parents would pick them up.
So we made another plan. It was called “Make a Big Pot of Coffee and Never Sleep.”
And fortunately, that plan worked, too. Because I don’t know what would’ve happened if the boys had escaped again – especially if they’d taken the remaining toilet paper with them.
