THIS weekend, I will have six very excited and energetic 10-year-old girls sleeping at my house.
But with all the screaming, running, bouncing and dancing going on, I’m pretty sure there won’t be any sleeping on the agenda.
Ayla turned 10 on January 12 and I promised her she could have a sleepover.
How that meant five girls I’m not sure, but she only has a party every second year so I figured ‘why not? What could go wrong?’
Ayla is a real night owl and would stay up until the sun came out if I didn’t force her to go to sleep.
At other friend’s sleepovers, Ayla’s usually the one who keeps everyone else up with her antics. I am waiting for the day the invites stop coming.
Ayla’s the life of the party — the joker — which seems to entertain her friends no end.
Come to think of it, she may have got that prank side from me.
Year 8 drama camp, where I thought it would be hilarious to glue my friend’s hair to the wall.
Neither my former friend Emma nor the school principal could see the humour in it.
While Emma spent what seemed like hours washing the glue out of her hair, I had to sit on the world’s smallest stool in the middle of the bush at 3 o’clock in the morning.
Then I had dishwashing duty for the rest of the trip.
Do I regret it? Hell no.
Picturing her trying to get that crap out of her hair still makes me smile.
And not just me. We both love to reminisce and laugh over that night when Emma thought she would be sporting a new buzz cut and I was certain I would be eaten by drop bears.
Anyway, back to Ayla and the sleepover (sounds like the title of a good horror story).
Apart from being full of energy, she is always hungry.
I’m going to have to stock up my fridge and pantry because if these kids are anything like my daughter, they will be devouring everything in sight before saying ‘there’s nothing to eat and I’m hungry’.
There will, of course, be cake.
Maybe I could throw a couple of bottles of Phenergan into the mixture?
No, then I wouldn’t be able to eat it.
I’m not sure whether to bake a cake myself or have it made.
Baking (or anything domesticated) is not where my parenting skills lie.
But despite that I have made my share of cakes over the years.
They may not have looked exactly like Minnie Mouse or Scooby Doo (rather a fatter and scarier version of them) but the girls didn’t know (or care) because my cakes are not for looks.
As long as they taste good, they are happy.
I don’t mind baking ... when I have the time that is (which is hardly ever).
I just hate the cleaning up conclusion.
I guess that’s something else Ayla has inherited from me.
It seems she is inheriting my bad traits, while my good traits, such as my excellent spelling and grammar, are lost in the DNA wilderness.
Unfortunately, she has not inherited my love of sleep either.
Something I will be getting none of this weekend.