Can someone please explain to me why they are called “sleepovers?” The last thing that happens at a sleepover – literally, the last thing – is sleep. The correct name would be “a place to hang out with my friends and become so overwrought with exhaustion, that I become a shell of my former self.” I understand that might be a little wordy, but it’s a much more accurate description.
Maybe when they’re little, they actually sleep for a few hours. They have not yet developed the skill to fight sleep like a sworn enemy. But once they hit the tween years, they become seasoned warriors, able to easily defeat the enemy of all over-sugared, party-goers and forge onward to new levels of mental instability.
When deciding if my youngest child may attend such an event, I have to carefully consider our plans for the next day. Will she be required to actively participate in anything that involves people? Will it be necessary to maintain her manners in a group situation? Will she have to speak and/or be spoken to, at any point, and be expected to answer with actual words?
Because the creature that returns to me after a sleepover only slightly resembles the child I sent out the previous day. Though they share the same basic features, the day-after child is different, there is a darkness that envelops her soul. One look in her eyes and you know. You’ll see a glint of the insanity that lies beneath. Things can go bad at any time. Like an unstable land mine, one wrong move and you’re toast.
To make it more complicated, I’m never sure which crazy child will come back to me. Will it be the weepy, morose tween, who remembers every sadness that has ever occurred in her life and will wail mournfully for the loss of her press-on nail?
“That one was my favorite. I’ll never be able to have another one like that one!”
Unless we go to Target and by another package, but who am I to bring rational, sane statements to the pity party? Of course, it was a beautiful creation and all we can do now is say goodbye, remember the good times, and pray that no one else ever has to suffer in such a way. Or, you could go check the driveway because I’m pretty sure it fell off when you got out of the car.
Then there’s the volatile and angry child, walking in the door with a tremendous chip on her shoulder, sure that we’re all out to make her life miserable with our words and actions.
“Can you feed the cats, please?”
“Ugh! Can’t it wait? I need four more minutes to stare blankly at this screen so I can find out which Disney tween girl is more committed to perpetuating awful stereotypes about passive-agressive female relationships!”
Maybe that’s not what she says, but that’s what I hear.
This angry beast is both better and worse. Worse because my daughter is not naturally inclined to rage. She is my Snow White, kind and gentle, finding the best in everyone and remaining positive in almost all adverse situations. It hurts to see her so off-kilter. But it’s also better because I can yell at this child’s insubordination and send her to her room where, if there really is a God, she will take a nap.
Don’t get me wrong, I fully support sleepovers as a rite of childhood. I have the fondest of memories of the many, many nights I spent on different friends floors, telling scary stories, laughing at everything and praying to not be the first one to fall asleep, lest my bra end up in the freezer. OK, maybe there’s a little truth to the passive-agressive stereotype. But I do not remember my parents allowing me to blame lack of sleep for any next-day transgressions. You choose to stay up all night, you still have to clean the bathroom the next day. A dirty toilet bowl cares not that you’re so tired, you are having a hard time forming complete sentences. Cry about it and there will be no more sleepovers until you move out.
And yet, here I am, walking around on eggshells, terrified to feel the wrath of an 80-pound lunatic in blonde pony tails.
“Don’t ask her that,” I plead with the menfolk, “Please, if you love me, just leave it alone.”
“Why? I just want to know why she’s only got nine painted finger nails.”
Because they neither understand, nor have to deal with, the crazy that will ensue. When the irrational and hysterical tween explodes from the head of my adorable little ballerina, they actually laugh. As you can imagine, that does not help the situation. And when she starts sobbing and accusing them of cruelty beyond measure, it is me who has to bring her down off the ledge, me who must soothe the savage beast, me who must find the freaking press-on nail in the puddle.
And this is why I drink.
To save other parents the same misfortune, I have created the “sleepover tea party.” When we’ve reached the point where the happy squeals have started to take on an edge that makes us all feel a little uncomfortable, I put on the tea water. I let her pick her favorite china tea set and load the pot with herbs. You can purchase many teas that aid with sleep, or, you can keep a few key ingredients on hand and make your own when you’re afraid you’re about to enter sleepover hell.
Sleepy Tea for Kids
1 part dried lemon balm
1 part dried lavender
1 part dried chamomile (omit if you have a ragweed allergy)
1 part dried rose
Adjust amounts depending on how much tea you want to make. A tablespoon of each will make about four cups of tea.
Put the dried herbs in a tea strainer (or any fine strainer) and pour boiling water over them. Let steep about 10 minutes. You can add a little honey if you’d like, but I try to keep additional sugar out of it. Because they’re already crazy. If you decide to add honey, do it when you add the boiling water so it can dissolve properly. I recommend multiple cups. With any luck, it will knock them out in under an hour.
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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