Yesterday, Violet and I fell asleep in the afternoon, before Olivia came home from the bus. I awoke to her in my face, anxious to introduce me to her new friends, who moved in a couple of houses down.
Excited to play with her new friends, she was on their way to their house, her first real girlfriends on a street populated with boys her age.
They played until we had to go out for dinner, and Jamie and I stopped for a chat and to introduce him, later that night.
After school today, Olivia was again, gone to play. I heard the screams with the door closed, and the excitement and SLEEPOVER being screamed down the block.
Well, this is going to suck.
She was indeed invited for a sleepover. I passed the mean-no-saying-duty on to Jamie, telling her she would have to talk to him when he gets home from work. Obviously, it was going to be a no – I mean, we just met each other twenty-four hours ago.
The ‘no’ came with the expected meltdown. The puddle of six-year-old-angst on the floor. The slamming the bathroom door and screaming. The face. The anguish. The hardest life in the world. I was the meanest mom in the entire world.
“BUT BUT THEY HAVE BETTER SNACKS THAN US! THEY HAVE CHEESE SLICES AND CINNAMON BUNS!” – angst ridden six year old
What is it with kids and cheese slices? These are the first thing they go for at Grandmas house too. Dude, eat some real cheese. It’s good for you, I promise.
It’s come down to snacks, where pitas and dips, four kinds of berries in the refrigerator and a million Clif Kids Z bars, pistachios, almonds, pecans, cookies made from scratch and an entire pantry shelf filled with ‘healthy-ish’ snacks, aren’t going to cut it.
In addition to being the worst mom in the world for saying no to the sleepover. I also serve really crappy snacks.
An hour later, she’s fine – but if you need me, I’ll be over here making cinnamon buns out of mom guilt and processed cheese.