The Last One

We inadvertently started a tradition in 2009. Or more accurately we unknowingly set a precedent. That precedent was a birthday party sleep over for all your rowdy friends when you are in 4th grade.

If you are going to set precedents with your daughters, this isn’t necessarily a bad one to set. You get to spend time with their friends and determine which of them are the greatest threat to your sanity. Sure they are only 4th grade but sometimes you can pick out the delinquents early. You can kinda set your expectations as to which of them is most likely to pursue a path of unhelpful, at least in your eyes, or even felonious behavior in high school. But let’s be honest, when it comes to precedents, there are probably a few more constructive or useful precedents that could have been set. Like any clothes that remain on the floor for longer than 1 hour end up in Clothes Jail. The warden of Clothes Jail is Dad. The only way to get clothes out of Clothes Jail is to master the art of folding clothes and putting them away. This is a lost art.

That would have been a good precedent to set. Or that talking to Mom and I during Person of Interest is a prerequisite to being fed. That would have been good too. We had that with LOST but have been unable thus far to transfer that precedent to our current favorite show.

Anyway, good news is we’re now done with 4th grade birthday party sleep overs. Unless we somehow end up with another kid that grows into a 4th grader. Which would be…well, it would be awful. Like a friend of mine said after she had her first baby a few months ago. The thought of being pregnant now is more terrifying than it was in college.

But these parties are a really big deal to the girls and they’ve grown in importance over the years. Bailey had been looking forward to her’s for months. She wasn’t really doing any planning other that deciding that they were going to eat ice cream and drink lots and lots of pop. That seemed reasonable to us but what do you with the rest of the 16 hours all the girls were supposed to be in our house?

Thought about giving them the Holland’s Personality Test and directing them on their way for the rest of their lives.

But we went with this instead:


Pumpkins and moustaches.

Turns out we only had to intervene a few times. At these kind of parties you’re really in a UN Peacekeepers role. Nobody is really listening to you because even if you some type of actual or metaphorical hammer to swing, nobody believes you’ll actually swing it. But after a 12-pack of pop, two pizzas, 3 bags of potato chips and 1 bag of Cheetos, they conked out. The last couple fell asleep around 2 a.m. Unfortunately for three of the girls, they had soccer games the next morning and had to leave a little early. See soccer is bad. It ruins birthday parties.

Here’s the thing though, Bails had all these girls over on Friday night. Then on Saturday night one of the girls at the party had her birthday party at a hotel a couple miles away. Where the nearly same group of girls stayed up late again, ate pizza, potato chips, and Cheetos. Except on Saturday night they went swimming instead of carving pumpkins.

By late Sunday afternoon Bails was moving at zombie speed. Walking Dead zombie speed not World War Z zombie speed. Had pretty much the same temperament too. But like I wrote earlier, we’re done. Boom.


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