Let's Get This Party Started

My son's sleepover party was last night. The "sleep" in "sleepover" is there to mock me and the English language, I am sure. I don't know why they don't just call it "parental torture session" although I suspect that the reason is that then even morons like me would be reluctant to host it at their house. Unless my son convinced me that "torture is fun, MOM! Everyone's into torture. It's patriotic."


Ok, I know that it's insane to have six boys sleep over. I get it. The others moms asked "need any help?" and when I said "yes, I need a lot of help. Please come over and herd these fucking kids while I catch up on General Hospital," they laughed. I don't think it's nice when people laugh at you when you're asking for help.
But I get it, haha.

What I don't get is when people, people who are supposed to love me, ask me why I've decided to have this sleepover. People like mama. "Why is this fun?" she asked me last night after she dropped my daughter off. "It doesn't look like fun."
"That's because you're in your sixties and they're seven," I explained to her.
She seemed unconvinced.
"You never had sleepovers with six people when you were that age," she said.
"I was in Russia when I was that age," I said. "There are plenty of things that I didn't have."
"I see," mama got quiet. "I didn't think that your chilkdhood was so miserable. I suppose that I should apologize."

And then, when the kids were working my last nerve, Husbandrinka chimes in.
"Why did you want to have this sleepover?" he asks me. I mean, seriously? Why did I WANT to have six 7 year old boys over? Yes, Husbandrinka, I tried to hide it from you, but Michael Jackson and I have a few things in common and I'm not referring to skin tone. I love boys. LOVE THEM. This whole having children and then waiting until they were old enough to have sleepovers with every freaking friend they've ever met was just part of my clever ruse to lure them over to our house. Ah, the aroma of their flatulence, poetically narrated by them at life splitting volume is my Beethoven. I especially love when they start to punch each other, and scream because that is fun for me. And I don't want to get carried away, but watching them eat, with their hands, is pure poetry. Look at that young Adonis, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and then touching the wall is almost too much for me to bear.

Sweet Jesus, why do you think that I agreed to have these heathens over at our house overnight? Because Young Ladrinka said that it's what he wanted for his birthday.
And because I knew that I'd get blog fodder out of it. And a straightjacket.

Watch for these fun future posts featuring the sleepover:

Highlights of the Sleepover: My Daughter Explains The Miracle of Life to the Boys With the Aid of Sims II.

Fun Questions That Boys Asked At Dinner, including "Is Breakfast Included In This Sleepover?"

I Threaten To Kill Everyone.