Advice to newlyweds: before you agree to bring four 10 year olds into your home for a sleepover make sure your husband is already 100% on board with having children in the near future.
I'm pretty sure Corey and I have now put ourselves on the five year plan.
Saturday afternoon I packed up a trunk load of pillows, sleeping bags, more pillows, make up, clothes, dress up clothes, and more pillows. Then four giggly girls piled into my car and we were off. To my house. To spend the day, night, and morning together.
Before we were even five minutes into the 25 minute trip to my house we were on the subject of public assistance. I had to think back to my days as a pre-teen....I'm pretty sure I was more concerned with what outfit Ken was going to wear on his date with working girl Barbie than the state our welfare system. Luckily the conversation quickly shifted to their mutual dislike of Justin Bieber.
Here is a brief synopsis of the day/night/morning:
We pet horses, had a picnic in the park, and loaded up on ice cream on more than one occasion. I learned my stomach is actually not in the shape it was when I was 10.
At one point in the day we aggravated the workers at a Lily Pulitzer store. Apparently it is not acceptable to shove sweaty girls into $200 dresses. Then we aggravated an entire toy store and soon after we aggravated a family of four while arguing which Red Box movie we all wanted to see.
We all did not want to see any of them. So two of us sucked it up and we ended up watching Soul Surfer.
Which, by the way, the two of us who didn't want to watch it were the only ones actually watching to the end. But that's beside the point in this totally pointless post.
Before we finally settled down for dinner and dessert there was this small matter of a fashion show to attend to. The girls put on all their outfits, did each other's hair and make up (read: lip gloss) and paraded through my apartment. I was put on music duty. Karaoke, to be more specific; Amy Winehouse, Taylor Swift and Jackson Five in a sparkly blue hat.
Eventually Corey came home. It was later that night after I had given them the rules: no running, no jumping, no stinky feet on the couch, and absolutely no waking of Stacie unless something was broken (skin, Kate Spade vase, bones) and I had gone to bed.
"Um, I think you should go check on the girls."
"Why? I don't hear any screaming."
"They are hanging off the stairs..."
"But I don't hear anything."
"No, really. You should go check on them."
At least those girls were quiet about being defiant. And lucky for me (thanks to my forcing them to walk all over Saratoga) they were asleep pretty quick. Like 1am.
I tried to get up early enough on Sunday to be completely ready when they woke up to be a buffer between Corey and the girls. But they stirred. And then the dang dog just had to snuggle every single one of them. Before we knew it, they were up. Twirling these little twirly-gigs that landed in our plants, bounced off the walls, and sent each one of them into a fit of laughter. At 8am.
I caught a glimpse of "ain't gonna happen" from Corey, which I concurred in that moment.
But then we ushered them out the door for pastries, a little horse warm up watching at the track and then to church. Afterward, each one of them was dropped off and I'm pretty sure there are five more girls' nights in the works. I cried a little inside.
I came home, laid on the bed and swore I would not get up for anything. But then Monday came.
Now a note to the parents: I tried my best to be diplomatic about the whole welfare thing because, you know, they're 10, so I basically shoved the whole "love everybody!" down their throats in a totally sappy way. I also told them how important Sunday afternoon naps are so hopefully they'll give you a break once a week. And I really did have a good time; they are great girls with great personalities, but I am seriously considering being the fun aunt that has lots of dogs.