Since when did the slumber party even involve the parents? Besides throwing some food on a table, I don’t recall my mom being around. If she came near us, I’d shoo her out of the room. I know I certainly didn’t seek her out for fun, as the entertainment of the evening, yet here I sit with three giggling girls sneaking up on me every 30 seconds. They try so hard not to breathe heavy, breathe at all, lose control of the laughter bubbling up inside, and then I have to go and do something silly like scratch my back and they erupt like a shaken soda. Girls with too much sugar in their systems—who on earth would do such a thing?
I turned on the sprinkler. I fed them dinner. I snapped too many pictures. I set out bowls of metallic beads so they could string bracelets. Then I punched out shapes and let them make flowers with pipe cleaner stems. Finally, I let them loose so they could play and I sighed with relief that my part of the evening was done.
Only evidently it wasn’t. Now I keep turning around to a trio of girls clad in dark sunglasses who think they are stealth enough to sneak up on me, loud whispers echo behind me after thunderous footsteps and a chorus of giggles announce their arrival. “She doesn’t even know we’re here.”
I keep thinking that if I ignore them, they’ll go away. They keep coming back. “Go play,” I sing. “OK,” they promise. Darn it all if they don’t keep coming back. Didn’t they all bring dolls to play with?
Purses slung on shoulders, they sneak into the room behind me and wedge themselves behind furniture. I think they’re taking notes. Detectives. Someone bumps into a bell. The cover’s blown, kids. “Why don’t you play with your dolls?”
If it were my own kids, I would have finally made threats that I’m selling their toys, anything for just five minutes of peace. What is so funny about boring old me sitting in this chair? This game got old twenty minutes ago.
Up and down the stairs they go. My word, here they come again for the hundredth time. Give me patience. I won’t move. I’ll just sit here until they leave. I’ll ignore the snickering and throat clearing.
Oh. They’re ready to watch a movie. Now that sounds like a good idea.
Mom in the Muddle 