Let’s be real—I never intended to cause any chaos. It was merely a product of sugar-fueled excitement and a series of events spiraling out of control. If we’re being honest and my mom isn’t around (she’s not, so we can speak freely), who in their right mind invites half a dozen 5-year-olds over for a sleepover?
While other kids were celebrating with pizza parties or magical clown shows, I was hosting a Fudgie the Whale ice cream cake extravaganza, followed by a Nesquik binge. After indulging in that much sugar, the only way to go was crashing down—preferably somewhere chaotic, like the bathroom. Where else would a birthday princess entertain her six guests at the crack of dawn? “You, my loyal subjects, perform for us! Climb the edges of the tub and swing from the curtain rod for our amusement!”
Five-year-old girls may not seem sturdy, but if you hang six of them from a shower curtain rod, the result is akin to scenes from your favorite DIY disaster shows. When the rod crashed to the floor, we scattered like startled mice, with me—your rat princess—leading the charge. I made it to my room a whole 30 seconds before my mom arrived. Cuddled in my sleeping bag and panting like I’d just run a marathon, I feigned sleep and asked, “Wha-what was that?”
Innocent until proven guilty—unless your mom is the judge, in which case you’re doomed. “We’ll discuss this in the morning, and if you think you’ll ever have another sleepover, think again!” she warned. But let’s be honest, none of us were actually sleeping, were we? As my mom soon discovered, sleepovers are rarely about rest.
My mother held firm to her word, allowing only one sleepover guest at a time after the Fudgie incident. My reign as the sleepover queen, ordering my friends around during a midnight game of make-believe, left an impression on her.
As for me, I thought I’d stick to my guns about sleepovers and not allow them until my kids were at least 10. Yet, my oldest turned 10 back in February, and she has already racked up over 25 sleepovers.
When she was on the brink of third grade, my daughter had been pestering me for a sleepover. “Not yet,” I insisted. “When Mommy and Daddy think you’re ready.” We worried about the families we didn’t know well—who knows what they might have lurking in their homes? Loaded guns? Trans fats in their snacks? Oreos eaten without twisting them first?
She craved uninterrupted time with her friends, and I recalled that feeling—wanting to talk until the sun came up, sharing secrets and dreams. That kind of friendship is vibrant and electric in youth, where every moment is filled with laughter and connection.
As luck would have it, the year my daughter entered third grade, we bonded with a neighbor family who also had a soon-to-be third-grader. The girls clicked instantly; their family indulged in Oreos the way they were meant to be enjoyed. When they both eagerly requested a sleepover, I finally relented.
We sent my daughter over one night, and about a week later, we hosted her friend. The evening unfolded as I had imagined: endless giggles, snacks galore, and hand-drawn posters celebrating their newfound best friendship, punctuated by my gentle reminders to “get to bed.”
It was both a significant moment and just another ordinary night in the journey of growing up. The first time my daughter spent the night away from home felt surreal. I was both proud and a bit let down when she didn’t call me in the middle of the night asking to come home. When she was hosting her friend, I was filled with warmth seeing her embrace this new chapter.
However, one thing I had overlooked is that sleepovers involve very little actual sleeping. Arranging blankets and sleeping bags was fruitless, much like my pleas for them to settle down. The girls stayed up late and woke up early, determined to maximize every second of their time together. They were no longer the little ones who would succumb to sleep after a long day; older kids seize the night, contemplating how they will tackle the world.
And while they didn’t destroy a bathroom, my daughter and her friend demonstrated that a sleepover is more accurately a wakeover. A snoozefest? Not at all. More like a stay-up-late party. It’s like Inigo Montoya said in The Princess Bride: “You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means.”
Perhaps we need a new term—maybe a giggletogether or a chattyallnight?