Why I agreed to allow sleepovers is beyond me. I had a moment of weakness and said yes to one without thinking it through completely.
“That’s right dummy, now you have opened the door for multiple sleepovers because you must say yes to all.”
In the past I could have super sleepovers, kill all kids with one pizza, well ten, maybe fifteen. Now that we live within less square feet it’s just not possible unless I want the golf cart fella that drives around at night knocking on my door and asking me to keep it down with a follow-up warning notice from management.
So, this summer has been spent hosting multiple mini-sleepovers. I’m not even sure whether I’m the host or the guest anymore. I’m pretty sure some people have conveniently forgotten their kids have been here for days. They don’t even answer my texts. Hell, they may have gone on vacation.
My popularity around here is as food goddess but once the groceries land I’m all but forgotten about. Once I realize actually cooking the food will land me in a kitchen prison for the next four hours I reach for my phone, the pizza place on speed dial.
I’ve stopped wasting my screaming voice on organizing morning after gatherings, because breakfast and cleanup is a team effort, even for those not from my loins.
Never fails that my attempts are greeted with half responses. This only until I discovered the power held in changing the wi-fi password. It always works to get everyone’s knickers bunched in knots. It’s like an automatic gamer kid drone killer.
Therefore, wi-fi goddess trumps food goddess every time. This has revealed itself as the best tool hands down to force the completion of chores.
When feedings are done, chores complete and kids schlepped back to their homeland, I’ve nowhere to hide so have created a pretty awesome fort in my closet.
When my kids call my name sometimes I turn off the light and refuse to answer. It’s usually about food anyways.
After adulting I’m like a kid all over again. A kid that drinks shots of whiskey.