At the time, I thought it was a good idea. At the time, I thought it would be fun. At the time, I thought it would make me look like Mother of the Year.
Yes, at the time.
My brain must’ve been frozen when I had the bright idea to allow our teenage daughters, Anna and Lilly, to invite friends to a “snow day slumber party,” because it didn’t exactly turn out as I had envisioned.
My husband picked up our excited daughters and their friends from school after early dismissal, while I was at home frantically vacuuming our base house in hopes that no one would notice that I haven’t dusted since Truman signed the Marshall Plan.
Upstairs, while sucking a dust bunny and a paper clip from a corner, I heard them.
The back door burst open with an uproar of giggles. Backpacks thunked on our government-issue-linoleum floor, and I heard the suction-breaking sound of our refrigerator door opening. Our daughters and their friends swarmed the house like marauding bees, buzzing with excitement from room to room, until finally settling in Lilly’s bedroom to post the first of many slumber party selfies and Snap Chats.
Instinct told me to hide in my room for the next two days, communicating with my husband via cell phone to bring me wine, Pringles and People magazines. But if I wanted these teenagers to think I was a cool mom, I knew I couldn’t cower in fear. I checked myself in the mirror (Okay, trendy sweater and some decent boots, at least I’m looking the part…), took deep breath (They’re teenagers, not blood-sucking zombies, right?), and entered the fray (Here goes nothing.)
Leaning nonchalantly on the door jam, I interrupted the group draped over Lilly’s bed. “Hey girls, how’s it going?” Sensing my pathetic need for recognition, Anna shot me an “Oh Brother”look, but her friends flashed genuine smiles. So far so good.
Later in the kitchen, I knew that a cool mom would create a Pinterest-worthy slumber party dinner like Euro-Asian fusion organic kebabs or something. However, the best I could muster was turkey noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Mercifully, the girls hailed the low-brow buffet as the “perfect blizzard meal” and my reputation was spared.
Despite the fact that my mental stability depends heavily on my nightly couch time, my husband and I relinquished the entire first floor of the house to the giggling gaggle, so they could splatter brownie mix all over the kitchen, light popcorn bags on fire in the microwave, charge expensive movies on our Netflix account, and make more noise than a herd of stampeding Wildebeests.
The next morning, while silently suffering anxiety over making the perfect chocolate chip pancakes — Oh Lord, please don’t let me burn them this time — I noticed that our house had turned into a combat zone, strewn with dishes, socks, bendy straws, blankets, popcorn, sweatshirts, soda cans, cell phones, and lip gloss.
Thankfully, the group went sledding after breakfast, giving me time to wash the dishes, tidy the house, and take a shower. Towel drying my hair in my bedroom, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I think I’m a cool mom after all, I thought. Sipping my coffee, I reached out to separate the blinds, hoping to catch a heartwarming glimpse of the girls sledding in our snowy Currier and Ives base neighborhood.
“Oh, good God,” I sputtered, coffee shooting from my nose. Apparently, sledding is not thrilling enough. Apparently, it is more fun to jump off our garage into a snow bank. Apparently, this experience is even better if you film the stunts and upload clips to social media for all your friends — and, unfortunately, their parents — to see.
Driving the girls home in our salt-splattered minivan that afternoon, I chuckled at myself for trying so hard to be a cool mom, and realized that I should just be thankful I was returning the girls home with no apparent injuries other than a few minor hot chocolate burns and a bit of sleep deprivation.
Despite it all, motherhood is truly rewarding, I thought while looking out at the winter wonderland … and then, I made a mental note to update our liability insurance.
Truman and the Marshall Plan….you crack me up every single time!
I look forward to each and every edition of Meat and Potatoes and read them all. Thank you so much for writing such entertaining and humorous little stories for old codgers like me to enjoy.