So here I sit, with my glass of truly mediocre wine, trying to figure out why I yet again relented and allowed my beloved daughter to invite her closest BFF's to my home for a...gulp... birthday sleepover. I really need to lay off the crack, as it is apparently affecting my decision-making capabilities.
I should preface this whole scenario with the fact that, as a mother, I have known from the beginning that I will never be awarded Mother of the Year...ever. I fully disclose to you that I am impatient, demanding, controlling, and often speak in a tone similar to that of Gunnery Sargeant Hartmann in Full Metal Jacket. Upon delivery, my daughter was presented with discount coupons for therapy. If I didn't know better, I would swear I saw the labor nurses murmuring "poor dear" under their breath as they handed me my sweet bundle of baby wrapped up in pink. That being said, she is an amazingly grounded and wonderful kid - a bit too dramatic sometimes for my taste, but my mother tells me the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Don't get me wrong, I love Tricia more than anyone in the world, and indeed, I would lay down my life for her. But if that child doesn't learn to stop leaving her room looking as if an F4 tornado just blew through, she won't have to ever worry about learning to drive. She'll never live that long.
Back to the sleepover...here is what I think. I think that instead of sending a child to a sleepover with birthday present in hand, the child should donate a bottle of wine (of at least decent quality) to the hosting mother. If it is a "little girl" sleepover, each child should bring two bottles. How could I forget such giggling, screaming, running through the house, and high-pitched squealing? I think my ears are going to start bleeding any second. And I'm lucky because I love my daughter's friends...truly they are the sweetest little girls ever. But Oh My God, where is the OFF switch???
I know they are having the time of their life. I want her birthday to fun and memorable, and magical. Eleven only happens once in a lifetime, and I know someday I will long for the days when she was eleven and thought I was the best mom ever for letting her have a sleepover. Maybe Mother of the Year isn't such a distant dream after all? Ok, who am I kidding? THAT is never going to happen.