My kids are getting to that dreaded age where every flippin’ weekend they beg for a sleepover. As soon as school gets out on Friday, they start hittin’ me up for a party in their pj’s. And I don’t know about you, but I am not a big fan of the sleepover, mainly because it ends up biting ME in the ass the next day.
Now my son is not really the issue, since he seems to be from a planet that doesn’t require any sleep. He returns from a sleepover all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to tackle the world. My daughter, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. She’s the one who comes back looking like Nick Nolte after a reeeeeeeally long bender.
Just this past weekend, the girl apparently only got a total of maybe five and a half measly hours of sleep after giggling half the night away at a friend’s house. And the next day when I went to retrieve her, she was in full-on Cranky Miss Crank mode. The tiniest thing set her off into a fit of shrieks and tears, yet if you asked her if she was tired, she would adamantly declare that she was not. By the end of the day, she had transformed into a complete and total asshole.
This is exactly why I try my darnedest to limit the number of sleepovers my kids attend. Like it or not, they are just too young and naive to know how much shut-eye their growing little bodies need. Plus, I can only take so much of the day-after drama that follows. My feet don’t really dig walking on egg shells.