You read it right. I'm preparing for a home invasion.
In a few hours, my house will be overrun by four extra teen boys. My son turns 14 on Monday, so it's time for his third annual birthday sleepover.
When my husband and I started this now-ingrained tradition, it sounded like a welcome relief after all the years of Chuck E. Cheese parties. (May I add that it was HIS idea?) But every year, the boys get a little bigger, and we become more aware of what to expect.
A living room laden with sleeping bags, soda and popcorn. Sounds of explosions from Naruto Ultimate Ninja, Transformers and James Bond. While my husband and I hide in the bedroom, and my nine-year-old daughter huddles with us, looking at me piteously for her share of the attention. The grinding of our teeth when the video game marathon stretches past midnight. The agonizing over where to draw the line on this semi-supervised anarchy.
Could be worse, you parents of older teens are probably saying. At least we know where they are.
Oh, YEAH, we know where they are.
And right now they're still polite to us. I should be counting my blessings. But I've figured it out. They know that putting up with dorky adults is a necessity. At least until they're 16, and big enough to get their hands on the car keys.
Will there be a 15-year-old sleepover? I'm not sure yet. But when I think of what happens when he hits sixteen....