I already know that as soon as I hit publish, I’ll face two inevitable reactions: 1) Some folks will brand me as a dreadful parent and share their nostalgic tales of blissful sleepovers they organized, and 2) The parents of my kids’ friends will probably panic and vow to never let their kids crash at my place again. (Mission accomplished. Cue my mischievous grin.)
The sleepover requests usually flood in on Saturdays, right after a chaotic day filled with a whirlwind of kids devouring all my snacks, turning my house into a playground, and ignoring my pleas to close the screen door. But honestly, I love the noise, the laughter, and the mess…until the sun sets, and then I’m done.
My transformation happens around 10 p.m. as I ditch my bra, wipe off my makeup, and slip into those ancient sweatpants that have seen better days. At this point, I morph from the “wonderful, always-in-control supermom” into “leave me alone, I’m done with this” villain of the night. If your kid is staying over, know that they’re in for a wild ride—trust me, it won’t be pretty.
If my kids catch me off guard and ask for a sleepover before I’m fully settled, just know that once I’m on the couch, I’ll stop monitoring your kids. “Can you make sure Joey only watches G-rated movies?” (Nope.) “Haley can’t have sugar after 8.” (Not my problem.) “Jackson has an early soccer game; can you ensure he’s asleep on time?” (Not happening.)
Rest assured, if your child spends the night at my house, they’ll experience the same sleepover I had as a kid: locked in the basement with a stash of junk food, watching questionable movies, and playing Truth or Dare until dawn. Come morning, expect a cranky kid back at your doorstep, whining about their sugar hangover.
And then there’s the 2 a.m. crisis—the child who suddenly misses their mom. I can feel them standing there, silently judging me in the dark like some creepy character from a horror flick. “What’s wrong?” I grunt. “I want to go home.” (Sniffle.) “Sure thing, buddy. The car keys are on the kitchen counter. Just remember to adjust the seat and duck if you see flashing lights. I’ll take care of the car in the morning.”
But what really grinds my gears about sleepovers is the expectation of breakfast the next day. Seriously? I’m not your breakfast fairy. Don’t expect me to whip up a gourmet spread. All I can offer is coffee, glorious coffee. So, if your kid wants a caffeine fix, I’m happy to hand them a mug and point them toward the Keurig.
So, your kid wants to sleepover at my house? That’s fine, but just know that my kids are all about the big breakfast when they crash at yours instead.
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In summary, sleepovers may be a rite of passage, but they’re not for everyone, especially not for me. I’d much rather stick to my coffee and cozy couch than navigate the chaos of a sleepover. After all, I’m a mom, not a breakfast chef!