There are variations, of course. Try adding pizza instead of chips. Let the kids run loose in the backyard before sending them to the basement. Random appearances by younger siblings add the unexpected, and a flashlight in every hand adds sparkle.
No matter the variation, the childhood sleepover is either the greatest childhood event since Christmas morning or the bane of parental existence. It just depends on your perspective. My perspective is the mid-thirties, eight-hours-of-required-sleep, low-tolerance-for-sugar-high-sleep-deprived-tweens variety.
In other words I don’t much like sleepovers.
How do you keep everyone occupied? A movie? If attendees can agree to one, there’s ninety minutes covered, and finding consensus may take an additional forty-five, but is the debate worth it?
“That’s a baby movie. My first grade brother watches that.”
“I’ve seen it already.”
“Is that PG-13? ‘Cause if it’s PG-13, I’m not allowed to watch.”
Maybe thirty minutes of entertainment can be found on one of 500 available TV channels. There has to be an episode of iCarly everyone hasn’t seen yet. Then again, allowing the television as an unsupervised activity, especially late-night, creates the possibility of uncomfortable breakfast conversations.
“What’s a bidet?”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s a bidet?”
“Um, we’re eating breakfast here. Maybe we could … wait. Why are you asking?”
“We were watching, like, Extreme Bathroom Makeover or something last night and they installed one and, well, what is it?”
Thankfully we didn’t spring for the extra movie channels, and we enabled password protection on shows TV-PG and higher.
And for the record, I’d argue that bidets should not slip through the gaps in TV-PG.
Recently the sleepover debate once again graced the dinner conversation. I let my wife take the point, and I thought she handled it well. Her arguments held water, her reasons were logically presented, and none of that mattered.
“When I’m grown up, I’m going to allow my daughter to have a sleepover, and I’m going to invite all the moms over. That’s the only way I’ll ever get to have MY friends overnight.”
“What a great idea. We’ll invite the girls’ parents. It’ll be a family sleepover.”
“Mom! You wouldn’t!”
“But you just suggested it.”
“No, I didn’t! What I was saying was … ugghhh! You just don’t understand!”
Add that to the list of things Mom and Dad simply can’t comprehend.
Furthermore, sleepovers aren’t free, and I don’t mean financially. Over the next forty-eight hours parents must pay the consequences. Lack of sleep enhances the pre-teen personality. Fuses are shorter, mood swings more severe, and the truth more blunt. “Sleepovers are way cooler at so-and-so’s house. Her mom …”
Look, my kids have great friends. They’re wonderful kids, and I love them all. I really do. But when they wake me up at 3:00 am …
Oh, all right, I still love them. But really, three o’clock in the morning?














So I like music. That's been true forever, and it's no secret to those who know me. Recently some friends and I made an agreement. Now that we are grownups (technically) and full-fledged members of the parenting fraternity (actually), the time has come to share the great music of our youth with our children.
When you’re the new kid in fifth grade, the last thing you want is to draw any negative sort of attention on the first day of school. So when new kid Michael K. is befriended by Spaceheadz from another planet masquerading as fifth graders on day one, his prospects ain’t good. Now consider that Bob and Jennifer, two of the disguised Spaceheadz, have learned everything they know about Earth from monitoring our TV and radio waves – and behave accordingly – and you start to recognize the direness of Michael K.’s situation.
Calvin Coconut used to have a dog, a beagle named Chewy. That was before his dad, Little Johnny Coconut, left Hawaii and moved to Las Vegas to become the famous Little Johnny Coconut and took Chewy with him. Now Calvin is stuck with Manly Stanley, a giant centipede who actually lives at school, and Stella, who does live at Calvin’s house, but she’s a sixteen-year-old Texan allergic to cats and possibly anything else with fur.
I’ll be right up front: I thoroughly enjoyed
Another seemingly perfect day for Benny and Penny is underway. They have a treasure map that leads to loot, spoons and pails for digging, and a spyglass. The day quickly takes a turn for the worse, however, with an announcement:
I've become a big fan of
My latest column for the local newspaper tests the theory that all parents share certain, specific experiences, regardless of when or where they were parents. Today's topic?
No matter what day it is, waking up late because you don’t hear your alarm clock is a lousy way for a day to begin. When that day is April Fools’ Day, however, as happens to Wagner in 
Mom said a new kid moved in next door, so Benny does what any normal boy would do. Spy through a knothole in the backyard fence. And since Penny is a normal little sister, she wants to look too. Penny hopes the new kid is a girl because girls are nicer. Benny disagrees. “Girls are cry-babies. I hope it’s a boy!” he says.
Here’s the deal: When a book gives valuable clues and important details immediately in the first few chapters and layers numerous subplots upon one another and then in the end, the plot and all the subplots get tied tightly together and all those clues and details in the opening chapters appear significantly more important than originally believed… Well, like I said, here’s the deal: That drives me nuts. Really. Completely and utterly crazy. Because after finishing the book, and after, like, every other chapter in the closing pages, I think, “Why didn’t I see that coming?!?”
An artist must have a distinctive, memorable style for my seven-year-old to recognize the similarities between illustrations in different books.