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RELEASED DECEMBER 2, 2003

Seven Mantras to Survive The Sleepover

On the advent of my daughter's 13^th birthday party which will involve boys for a time, then an all-girl's sleepover consisting of about eight like-aged young people, I'm writing this not only to help any of you who may be facing the same thing, but for myself as well.

This isn't really about step-by-step instructions; it's more of a preparation guide for mental and emotional readiness. As I've been through this type of event on several occasions, I feel qualified to impart what's worked for me. That, and I know if I print this out and read it for hours on end, I'll have brainwashed myself into accepting the inevitable thereby surviving The Sleepover. So, here you go...

(1) Know the house will be trashed. Accept this. Move valuables and anything you cannot replace to another location. This may require professional movers and a truck rental. Twice. Plus temporary storage. Trust me, it's worth it.

(2) Know you will not have one ounce of rest or sleep and to top it off, your nerves will be shot. Accept this. Refill any nerve medication and/or the wet bar. Place said sedatives within a cabinet with triple locks and hide the keys.

(3) Know the birthday child will throw not one, not two, but at a minimum of three oppositional curve balls your way when you suggest it's time for a planned activity. Accept this. You are guaranteed to witness said display of emotions and whining as they know there is strength and safety in numbers. We taught them this. It's our fault.

(4) Know you will learn the lyrics to songs performed by artists who call themselves things like 50 Cent, Eminem, and Saliva and when you make a joke about how back in your day you used to pay 50 cents to buy mouth-watering candy that won't melt in your hands, you will be ousted from the room. Accept this.

(5) Know the minute you begin to doze off while keeping guard on the sofa, you will be, (a) deafened by piercing banshee shrieks, (b) covered in Silly String, (c) knocked in the floor when they decide to go couch tipping, or (d) all of the above.

(6) Know over the next few weeks, maybe even months, you will hear tall tales at the most inopportune times (like at the grocery store check-out or worse, in church) from one of the parents about something that transpired (at your home) during the party (you were supervising) that would make a seasoned inmate blush. Accept this.

(7) Know at some point over the following year, you will discover a transgression committed by one of the attendees, probably while you were on the phone ordering pizzas, and it won't be pretty. In fact, it will be on par with finding the hand-crocheted doily your great- great-grandmother made, stuffed behind your old yearbooks on the bookshelf, soiled with pizza sauce and red Kool-Aid. It will be too late to salvage the relic or to point fingers. Accept this.

There you have it--The Seven Mantras. I'm sure there could be more added to this list, however, I've blocked the nightmares, uh, I mean memories. If I do survive this one, I'll jot them down for next year's 14^th.

Wait a minute. What am I thinking? I have the solution. Instead of another sleepover, I'm going to take the money I would normally use for decorations, food, gifts, drinks, and favors and place the wad of cash in my daughter's hands, in small, unmarked bills of course, and then tell her I have two words for her...

"Accept this."