You know what happens when you have 14 boys and 4 girls over for an overnight birthday party?  Yes, yes you do.  Exactly what you think happens, happens.

The popular boy in school, the one with the right hair and the athletic abilities?  He spends the whole night beating your three year old girl off of him with a stick.  You spend the whole night weeping for your future.  The chubby boy eats himself sick.  Literally.  You spend the entire night in the bathroom with him and his parents on speed-dial.   The shy boy sits on the edge of the corner of the couch silently all night until you go to put I Robot on and he starts crying because, it turns out, he’s pretty sure he’s not allowed to watch it but everyone else wants to and he quite honestly wants to and he just doesn’t know what to do.  You spend the whole night rallying the other boys into a “protect the quiet kid and pick a new movie!” war cry.  (Which succeeds brilliantly, by the way.)  The two class clowns put on the toddler’s size 4 foam jousting outfits, grab her foam jousting swords, and duel to the death.  You spend the whole night screaming, “Above the belt!  Below the nose!”  The rest of the boys spend the entire night practicing up on their Greco-Roman Wrestling and you spend the entire night waiting for the scream.

The scream comes.  And I quote:

“My crystals!  My precious crystals!”

 That’s one less boy you’re going to have to worry about your daughter going out on a date with. 

The four girls, the sisters of the guests, they sit on your couch and play Webkinz.com and then puppy-dog eye you into renting Twilight for them on demand, even though you refuse to go there, and so you order it but it fails in every way to play.  You spend the rest of the night thanking god for small favours.  Your lose your camera but find your video camera, so you record the 20-some tweens singing happy birthday and then hand the camera off to your 11 year old who then video-tapes all of his friends. He interviews them, he tapes you, he giggles and squees and you smile because GOD this is going to be cute on film.  The whole group spontaneously bursts into a hearty rendition of O Canada, which is kind of weird, but whatever, and you thank god you thought to bring that video camera out.

And then you watch your video later.

And realize neither you nor your son had remembered to hit un-pause.

So you’re left with no pictures, a basement that smells like dear lord in heaven, ears that are ringing because it was very in all caps with a period after each letter loud, a Dorito-filled carpet and two boys who have declared the day the Best Birthday Ever.

The End.