The Morning After

Okay, so technically, it's a couple of mornings after. And technically, I did no drinking. But, I did have all the symptoms of a hangover. What brought this on? The phenomenon known to mothers worldwide as the Birthday Party Sleepover (imagine this said in a bold James Earl Jones voice of God kind of vibe). It all starts with good intentions and a vision for a party your child will fondly look back upon and tell stories to their own children. It all ends with you passed out on the sofa getting embarrasing pictures taken of you while you snore like a chainsaw.

The Plan: 10 girls. Sleepover. New Disney movie and hours of Dance Dance Revolution. Pizza and ice cream cake. Waffle bar in the morning. Send them home by 10:00 a.m.

Bwahahahahahahahahaa! Hardy Har Har! Knee slapping guffaws! (this is what God does when we make plans)

First, it's always a good idea to inform the hubby that after the last sleepover, you didn't get amnesia and decide to do it all over again alone, but that this time you would either be 1)hiring help or 2)turning him into an indentured servant. Well, I tried #2, but after a few minutes, he runs faster than me and kept claiming that his silly thing called a job just had to be done, so while he was good to pay for pizza, he had to lure specialists with donuts or steaks depending upon the time of day he was doing the luring.

Fact is that I did have amnesia after the last sleepover. It was all a blur. Thus, I naively set about to throw my daughter the best party EVER! Hardy har har (there He goes again). A couple of years ago, I did a Candy Bar for a party that was a huge hit. Those girls lined up to get bags full of candy like true sugar addicts. This time, I thought I'd throw in some healthier snacks like fresh fruits, healthier muffins and 100 Calorie packs and recreate it as a Snack Bar instead. Sure, there was candy and salty stuff thrown in too. I wasn't going to go all crunchy granola on them. They loved the Snack Bar and cleared out every last sugary bit. I still have muffins though. And fruit. The sugar addicts won over. Anyone want a peanut butter banana muffin or some grapes?

Also as a little diversion, I set up a mock tattoo parlor dubbed "Walkersville Ink" The back porch got 'transformed' into a rough tumbling dive. I put a red light in a lamp and covered the shade with a scarf. Mary Beth the Mannequin even got into the act by wearing a Jolly Roger bandana. Put on a little tattoo-ing music in the form of ZZ Top's Greatest Hits. Oh, okay, alright. Seeing as how the closest I've ever gotten to a tattoo is admiring someone else's and my big exposure to a tattoo parlor is from Miami Ink and my back porch is all 50's decor, it's the closest this girl was getting to recreating the world of tattoo-ing or inking or whatchahoozie. But you know what, it didn't take much for this crew of girlies to line up and spend a loooong time deciding exactly which temporary tattoo they were going to choose and they also accepted that it was perfectly normal to have to count to 30 as a group for the process to work.

What I hadn't really planned on was this group of girlies invading my private, most sacred, respect the coolness scrap studio. They had seen Ashley's Nintendo DS all blinged out and were dying to get their chance to bedazzle (seriously, that was the word they used) their own miniature electronic digital toy things. There is no shortage of bling in my drawers, cubbies and bowls, so I pulled some down and let them have at it. In the end, I think there were almost as many rhinestones on the floor as there were on their phones & Nintendos, but for a few blessed minutes I was a cool mom in the eyes of these preteen fashionistas! Don't laugh. I was cool!

I also didn't plan on them having the stamina to stay up practically the ENTIRE night giggling and gaggling away. Hubby can sleep through a tornado unless he's waiting for his older daughter to come home for a date. So he's sawing logs while I'm going downstairs to have them bring the volume down lest the neighbors 10 doors down decide to call the cops for a domestic disturbance. At about 4:30 a.m., after being told they were going to be individually tucked into closets alone for the rest of the night, they fell asleep. I, also, drifted into a merciful slumber.

Brrrliiiinggggg! 6:30a.m. my alarm rings. Hubby hits the snooze button, but I've got to get up. Oldest daughter is taking her SAT and I promised her a hot breakfast. I feel like death. I look like death. I must do this. Wearing the exact same clothes I fell into bed with, I trudge downstairs to find her banging pots and pans because I hadn't already prepared her breakfast. She's banging them really loudly. Right next to the room where 10 girls are sleeping. And she's yelling because, hey, that's what 16 year old hormonal teenagers do when they're stressed out. This morning I'm guessing she was really stressed out because she was doing a fantastic job with the yelling. I make her breakfast, roust her father out of bed to drive her and turn around to see a bunch of wide-eyed girls looking to me for food. All that banging and yelling was no match for their sleep deprivation.

I had planned to do a waffle bar, so set about working on that. Fresh fruit, yogurt parfaits (who knew that 8 out of 10 girls thought yogurt was more gross than green boogers?), fresh juices in cute little glasses and all the fixings for a bang up waffle bar. But, and this is a big one, I had neglected to think that you need approximately 1 can of Reddi Whip for every 2 girls. The can has something like 20 servings in it, doesn't it? Fights and ugliness over the abuse of Reddi Whipness ensued. My 12 year old looks at me with disbelief. How could I have been so shortsighted? Didn't I know anything? Aha! Fortunately, my hubby's secret stash of Cool Whip saves the day! (it's his secret stash because I don't want anyone to know I let my husband eat it. Don't be hatin')

Finally, the magic hour comes around and girls start going home. Not all the girls because I guess to some parents the bliss of being childless for a night carries on into the later morning hours or they forgot to move their clocks in the Fall because I still had kids at 11:00a.m. and after. All this time I'm answering the door looking like a refugee from a POW camp.

Once the house was left with only one 12 year old, I sat down. Then I laid down. That sofa never felt so good; all warm and cozy. I vaguely remember getting blankets and pillows draped all over me, but I don't remember this:

Yep, if you ignore the leftover sleepover mess like beanbags, blankies and soda cans, I'm under there somewhere. Dead to the world for a few hours. Girlfriends, it was soooo very lovely while it lasted.

Until the 16 year old who had finished her SAT that morning rousted me to doll her up for a Winter Formal that night. Now what I want to know is who's ready to take a mental health day with me because I surely need one after all this! Forget the Calgon, retail therapy and junk food is the life for me!