My 10-yr-old daughter went to a sleepover on Friday night. There were three girls that went to see the Hannah Montana movie (thank you to Ashleigh’s parents for taking her and sparing me the time and money by having to sit through it myself!). Afterwards, they went to Ashleigh’s house for the sleepover.
Our phone rings at 3:20 am. It’s Karen. “Mom, I don’t want to come home, but Ashleigh and I are really scared. We think we heard stuff outside the house, and we heard the clanging of knives!” At this point, I have one eye open, but that’s about it.
“The clanging of knives?” I ask.
“Where are Ashleigh’s parents?”
“They are upstairs with the door closed.”
“Why doesn’t Ashleigh go tell them that you all heard something?”
“Mom, it’s all the way upstairs!” (the “duh” was implied.) “We are really freaked out. What should we do?”
After telling her to turn on lights (“check!”) and the tv, I calmed her down by saying, “I think the three of you should just bunch together and watch tv for awhile until you all feel better and go to sleep.”
That seemed okay to her. I really don’t know what she wanted me to do, but apparently, the advice I gave her made her happy enough.
After I picked her up from Ashleigh’s house, she filled me in on more details, including the stand out comment: “We almost called 911 about six times!” (Oh, man, oh man, oh man.) So then we had the discussion about when to call 911 and when to be brave and suck it up.
My mind was flying. Can you imagine having two girls over to sleepover, and then at 3:30 there’s a knock at the door, “Ma’am, did you call 911?”
The drama queen has struck again.