Sleeping Beauties

Last night at bedtime, our girls pitched a wild idea: they wanted to have a sleepover in our older llama’s room. My gut reaction – which I should have gone with, looking back – was that this would not end well, but my fun-loving side won out. My husband and I went over a few ground rules and then helped the girls prepare their sleeping bags and pillows.

For the first few minutes, we heard giggling and soft talking. Then our youngest llama came out about 14 times for various reasons, although she was still happy. Then she came out with her pillow and sleeping bag and said she wanted to go back to her own bedroom.

This is where parents have to be freakin’ mindreaders because the sleepover was HER idea in the first place and nothing had seemed to happen. We hadn’t heard yelling or screaming or crying. When pressed for a possible explanation for this sudden change of heart, our little llama would only tearfully say, “She keeps saying hot sauce!”

For future reference, these are the kinds of conflicts that drive me absolutely up the wall.

“Hot sauce?” we asked to clarify the absurdity.

“Yes! She just keeps saying it and I don’t like it.”

So the three of us – my husband, me and our condiment-fearing offspring – headed back to the crime scene. The older llama claimed she had never used the word hot sauce in vain. The little one, still carrying her stuff, said in an ultra-serious tone, “I just have to move on” as if she and her sister were entering divorce proceedings. Then it really got ugly.

The younger one threw a huge tantrum when we took her to her room – even though that’s what she had requested – and our older daughter, for some inexplicable reason, was heartbroken and sobbing over the fact that her little sister didn’t want to sleep in her room that night.

But then in a few minutes, my husband (also known as the Miracle Worker) came back with the little one and said everything was worked out and she DID want to sleep in her sister’s room after all. Having been duped before, however, I was hesitant to sign on. So I agreed to lay down with the girls until they went to sleep. Then I awoke this morning, having fully participated in the sleepover I had never planned on attending.

On the upside, I was not forced to call random people and ask if their refrigerators were running (because if they are, “you’d better go catch them!”), nor did I wake up this morning to find my bra in the freezer. So all in all, I’m going to call this a successful slumber party.

(Sleep)over and out.