It was my niece Anna’s birthday on Saturday. She turned nine years old. To celebrate, she wanted nothing more in this world than to spend the night with all her friends at Great Wolf Lodge, an indoor water park in Williamsburg, Virginia. So my sister rented a van, invited 6 other 9 year olds along and asked if I wanted to come to keep her company.
Now usually when someone says “indoor water park” and “car full of third graders,” I immediately think “seventh circle of hell.” But I have gone six months now without being away from Husband or The Babe for more than a few hours. And Husband hasn’t spent more than a few hours alone with the babe. Which means Husband was due for some serious babysitting and I was ready for a little me time. A getaway where I could sleep in, read crap magazines without someone drooling on them, and spend an extended period of time without having to wipe another human’s butt.
So I actually jumped at the chance to go along on the water park slumber party adventure. Can you smell the desperation in that sentence there?
And now that I’m back, I can say that I am really glad that I went. Not because I got to spend quality time with my sister or be a part of my niece’s birthday memories. Nope. I’m glad I went because I’m pretty sure that without my added adult presence, those girls would have run my poor sister into the ground. Or tied her up and left her in the back of the van while they shouted like banshees in the hallways and rode the Howling Tornado Tube Slide as much as they wanted.
Because you know what? 9-year old girls at a slumber party are insane. They have the attention span of gnats. Gnats with ADD. And they like to talk fast. And loud. The majority of communication seems to be achieved through high-pitched squeals, unless there is “drama,” and then everyone takes on a very grave and serious tone to work out their issues about seating arrangements and sleeping arrangements and sharing ipods and what to do after dinner.
Perhaps the most disappointing discovery of the weekend was that 9 year old girls at a slumber party hate sleeping more than infants. Especially when said girls are hopped up on ice cream, cake, and arcade games. They simply couldn’t be soothed into the slumber portion of the party, not with cozy sleeping bags, not with firm threats, not even with Selena Gomez movies.
So approximately 2.5 hours of sleep, 24 donuts, 6 pink gift bags, $80 worth of game tokens, 6 robot ice-creams and one inexplicably clogged toilet later, we packed up and headed home. I think the party was a success, judging by all the snoring going on in the back seats as we headed up 95. It certainly succeeded in making me determined to find a way to keep The Babe a babe for as long as possible.
Unlikely Diplomat 