Slumber Party Hell

To say that my Abigail's slumber party bombed last night is something of an understatement. This came as a complete and utter shock, considering that when I wrote about Emily's slumber party for her 7th birthday a year and a half ago I had expected the worst and was pleasantly surprised that the house didn't crash down around my ears. I followed the basic premise of the previous party: stand back and let the kids take the lead.

That was the mistake that ended in the Worst Slumber Party Experience On Record. Apparently, Spooky Stories don't always sit well with a group of 7 year old girls--not even the one who told the story.

Abigal, sufficiently creeped out by this Scary Story, ended up in my lap crying. She told me then that she wished she never had a slumber party. I spent time calming her down and Abby finally fell asleep, spending the next hour completely oblivious of the drama unfolding around her. Tucked in their sleeping bags the other girls worked themselves into a hysterical frenzy over this Scary Story and came downstairs and announced that they wanted to go home.

ALL OF THEM.

This is how, at ten thirty at night, I came to be dialing all of these girls' parents, telling them that a crisis had arisen and that their child wanted to come home. In between phone calls one of the girls repeated over and over, "I want my mommy!" ("She's on her way honey") "This house it haunted!" ("The house is not haunted") "I want to go home NOW!" (I can arrange that) and "I never want to come back here EVER AGAIN!" (I can arrange that, too. Trust me.)

My daughter, shafted by time and circumstance in having a proper party on her actual birthday, had no idea that her long awaited slumber party was dissolving around her. She would wake up wondering why only one girl remained out of the original five--incidentally the same girl who told the Scary Story in the first place (I couldn't reach her granddad).

Abby took the news this morning in stride but I can't help feeling that I've somehow let her down because her party wasn't a success. How do I make this experience up to her?

@#$%!

Massaging monologue

Yesterday I had a day spa experience. I walked out of that building with my brows waxed, hair cut and styled (if you consider a two inch tall bump at the back of my head a style then I was all over it), face suitably scrubbed and "aroma-therapied", fingers and toes properly painted, and my body massaged for one full hour.
I had a hard time relaxing for my massage though. There I was, laying on what I can safely describe as something akin to a hydraulic lift with a sheet covering me and my head lifted on a stack of folded towels. The lights were dimmed. Soft music was playing behind me, trying to lull me into a state of relaxation. Colleen started at my feet and worked her way up, massaging me with warm oil in a very rhythmic, precise fashion. And instead of allowing myself to drift off into a state of perpetual bliss my mind decided to go on full alert and take notes.
I should have had my toes done first.
It's a good thing I shaved this morning.
Make a note to apologize for my bony tibias.
Make a note to apologize for there being more of me to massage lately.
Jim should really have this done.
Ow! Ah!
Wow, that hurts.
Wha?! Thank GOD I shaved this morning!
Hey! They really do that karate chop thing!
I didn't expect to get my ass massaged today.
Karate ass chopping, the next Extreme Sport.
Ooooh, work that knot out.
There's another one.
I wonder if she's going to tell me where I carry all of my tension.
"I hope you enjoyed your massage today, Elizabeth", Colleen said to me in her smooth, relaxed voice. It had been an hour already?
My mind was on overdrive but at least my body felt pretty damned good.