They’re Just Kids

3 Aug

My son spontaneously asked if he could have a sleepover tonight with a couple buddies.  They’re thirteen.  

Those were the days my sleepovers were rampid.  My best friends and I would drink Koolaid and play Truth or Dare where we spilled our guts on which boy we’d consider kissing or with a dare run upstairs and steal a pea from the hot dish that was served for dinner.  (The part that made that dare-worthy is the dad slept in his underwear and you might have see that.)  

The fact is, those sleepovers are some of my best memories from growing up.  Thanks to social media I can stay connected with those friends and we share memories of the time we summoned ghosts with the Ouija board (not really as one of us may have been gently guiding that plastic piece.  Truthfully, what ghost would want to answer who would be going with us to the dance) or ice skating late in the evening.  Or doing The Macarena in our pajamas.  They were great times. 

So when my kid asked me I said yes.  Even though tacking on two 13 year old boys in my three bedroom ranch didn’t sound like fun to me, it did to him.

Throughout the night there were a few wardrobe changes as someone hosed another one in the front of their shorts.  They got their exercise cruising down the hill on their bicycles and playing Pokemon Go.

When I finally managed to get the girls to sleep (as what sleepover wouldn’t be complete without a pesky little sister trying to follow you around), I tried to ignore the banter and giggles coming from my living room.  And did manage to fall asleep.

Until I hear a loud pop, then the sound of three boys dashing inside my house shutting off the lights.  And then a man outside swearing about threatening to call the cops if you kids were up to no good.

Sigh.  First I had to find out what they were actually doing (shaking a full Pepsi can and then throwing it on the ground so it exploded).  Again.  They’re still kids.

Then I had to go chat with mr threatening with his cell phone ready to dial and his viscous dog that came to me tail wagging and kisses on my cheek.  

I murmured my “I understands” to him, listened politely as he complained about Pokemon Go and all the people driving slowly in the neighborhood.  And how the city is going to Hell quickly as I scratched his dog.

He walked off and so far I haven’t seen the police, but my message that they’re just kids seemed to have pacified the swearer.  

Now these boys can share the “remember the time the cops almost came and my mom had to go outside in her pajamas?” story.


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