I've Got The World On A String

I thought we were supposed to have had enough of silly love songs. Not me. No, the love songs can stay, but if Silly String were to disappear from the planet, that would be fine with me. I’ve been trying to pick dried up/stuck on pieces of it off my patio since Little Daughter’s 13th birthday party on Saturday night.
Which, by the way, I survived.

They should give out medals or something for that.

Each time the doorbell rang, my normally not-all-that-quiet house turned into a screeching sorority, finally gathering together 18 thirteen year old girls, all of whom my daughter claims is her BFF. One of these BFF brought a BF (boyfriend), too.

Poor guy. He appeared to me making some sort of mandatory accompaniment appearance that I thought only married people were obligated to do.

I tried to tell Little Daughter that it’s quality, not quantity and that was too many kids (no offense, but especially girls) to have over at one time, to which, I got an eyeroll and a promise that all of her BFFs were “low key”. Maybe individually, certainly not in a gaggle.

Within two minutes, the slapping and screaming began. This escalated to pushing, shoving and the girls smacking each other in the boobs. I don’t understand this at all. I know I can give those with the “Penis Gene” a hard time sometimes (haha!), but in its defense, I’ve seen my son and his friends kicking balls around, but never kicking each other in the balls.

Each whack, wallop and wham produced a higher pitched squeal than the one before. I was hoping eventually the sound would reach a level not audible by humans, but that wasn’t happening quickly enough so the hubby and I shooed them outside.

Little Daughter wanted to have a s’mores, campfire kind of party which was fine, but with my emergency inside-out-eye lid surgery the day before, my eye was still throbbing a bit and the light and heat of the fire forced me to do my best Corey Hart impersonation and wear my sunglasses at night. I’m a Rock Chick. I can pull that off.

After four hours and several phone calls to parents who I can only assume forgot to pick their up their thirteen year old children at 11:20 PM (sigh), it was over. Thank goodness.

It was exhausting, but Little Daughter had the time of her life. It was worth it.

I’m a good ranter because I can also clearly see the good in things. I not only have a patio of silly string, I have a great family and the world by a string. Life is not only “rantastic”, it’s a beautiful thing, too. Sometimes the view is pretty good from the rainbow.