We did it. We stepped
into the realm of true parenting by hosting a birthday sleepover. It had all been practice up til now, but this
was REAL baby.
20 years in the classroom for me, plus 13 years as a parent
for Ken—we got this covered, right? The
thing was scheduled in 21st century kid-sized time increments. Food was free-flowing, games abounded.
But we forgot to tell the 7 kids to bring their own armor
and battle gear.
It started out easily enough—Ken blew through mass amounts
of dough at the local carnival: ride
bracelets, food, games, prizes.
Epiczord, the birthday boy, went on the loop-de-loop. It was the perfect milestone for 10
years. The Princess and her friend could
scam on the high school boys from a distance and Peapod scored mass tickets at
the arcade simply by flashing his adorable smile at some passerbys.
Back home, the kids wanted to film a Harlem Shake video down
at the little park around the corner.
Taking their needed props (hockey stick, stuffed animals, Scream mask, etc),
they headed out. Not five minutes later,
I’m getting a call from the Princess’ friend that there’s trouble in
suburbia—older boys are stealing the kids’ stuff. A skirmish has begun. Ken blasts over there to sort it out.
Now here’s where the dilemma comes in. Our kids sustained minor damage in the
tussle--bruises and scrapes. But
vigilante justice was about to be had in the form of a ballistic Princess.
Ken is grilling one of the middle school boys (the blond one
with glasses) about why he threw our Epiczord to the ground, and our Princess
is listening to his ducking and dodging the questions. She saw him chase down her brother, grab him
around the neck, and toss him onto the grass.
She’s had enough. She
screams, “DON’T YOU EVER TOUCH MY BROTHER AGAIN!” and then hauls off and slaps
him across the face so hard that the sound actually echoes in the air. His glasses fly off. He bursts into tears. She bursts into tears. Ken is stunned. He doesn’t know whether to yell at her or
applaud her.
For Epiczord, it was the best present ever. His sister loves him.
Needless to say, the three AM bedtime and the broken pinky
toe (note to self, remove wrought iron chairs before having kids over) were
minor in comparison to the slap heard round the world.
Over Voodoo donuts the next morning, all the kids had a
meeting. The results were decided. The party was declared: AWESOME.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNXczIFqSBw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNXczIFqSBw
