(Parental) Love Is A Battlefield
2005-06-25, 2:57 p.m.

Our children are addicts of other children, in severe social neediness from not having seen their friends for several weeks (while everyone was on extended vacations) and needing some serious playdates this week to resume normal life. In battle-mode mom fashion, I promised they could have them over in one fell swoop, a mega-sleepover. If I�m going to haul out the duct tape and artillery for one, I might as well do it for all. So that, dear friends, is how we ended up with seven children last night.

With the exception of ours, the kids are always reasonably well-behaved and pleasant, so Hubby and I were up to the challenge, Hubby more forcibly so since I did not warn him about the sleepover until all the involved children were present. That eliminated all chances of him beating a hasty retreat. It�s best to launch him into the thick of things before his imaginary work friend can assign him a huge project. He�s also good at tuning them out and going to bed whenever he darn well pleases, knowing that I will pull patrol duty for as long as necessary.

12:30am, the male half of the sleepover was in full swing, with zip bonk CRASH yiyiyi FWEE bam bam bam bam emanating from Son�s room. It sounded like a Three Stooges convention. Daughter�s room, fully flammable from nail polish fumes, launched the occasional �SHUT UP� missile that failed to explode over the intended targets, every time. Then, suddenly, the girl camp fell silent. And conscious silent females at a sleepover is a very, very bad sign.

Daughter�s bed was stiffly lined with three exhausted, purse-lipped, silently fuming preteen girls, ready for sleep, and ready to exterminate the Stoogefest denizens across the hall. I informed them I was taking action, and prayed their pink glittery nuclear missiles would not reach critical mass before I could address the situation. Donning the Mean Mom Anti-Fun Battle Gear, I stepped into the midst of Larry, Moe, Shemp, and Curly, and laid the smack on them.

�CLEAN UP. IT IS TIME FOR BED.�

followed by precise individual directives, engineered to suck the obnoxious preteen male brainless entertainment factor right out of the situation. Several minutes and one projectile-free room later, the objective was met. Happy females filed out of the other bedroom, into and out of the bathrooms, and settled on the living room floor for the night. My attention returned to the amateur Stooges, still ignorant of the peril they barely escaped. They have not yet learned that a silently raging female, when unleashed, is the single deadliest weapon in existence. Balance was restored in the tides of war, and the boys could now get a break.

�If you are quiet and do NOT bother the girls, you may stay up and play video games.�

You would have thought they just escaped the Bataan Death March.

They did, but I didn�t. I had to stay up for awhile to be sure they didn�t crank up the Stooginess and reset the Girl Reactors to overload. So, I settled in at the computer to waste huge amounts of time while continuing to monitor boys with absolutely no need of sleep.

After staying up for awhile, I was feeling pretty good, so I decided that once, just once, I would wait them out. I would see just how long they could go.

I got to bed at 5:22 am.

After 5 hours of sleep, it is my reactor that is unstable, and I DARE my family to mess with me today.

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