Halloween Hangover

var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push([‘_setAccount’, ‘UA-22845532-1’]); _gaq.push([‘_trackPageview’]); (function() { var ga = document.createElement(‘script’); ga.type = ‘text/javascript’; ga.async = true; ga.src = (‘https:’ == document.location.protocol ? ‘https://ssl’ : ‘http://www’) + ‘.google-analytics.com/ga.js’; var s = document.getElementsByTagName(‘script’)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); It’s official… that hazy, fuzzy, can’t really remember, ‘baby brain’ syndrome that happens to mothers after giving birth never really goes away. The proof was in my basement this morning.

It all seemed harmless enough: Findley asked to stay out trick-or-treating with his friends until midnight on Halloween. Rather than deal with the drama of a tantrum when I said no (because really, what parent would let a nine-year-old boy stay out that late anyway??), I suggested he invite a few guys over for a post trick-or-treat party. The idea had “Mom of the Year” written all over it. I was already imagining the themed snacks we could make.

What I forgot to remember was what happened the last time Findley had the guys over.

8 boys + 2 unsupervised hours = total devastation.

On the bright side, the shower curtain stayed up in the spare bathroom and all of the board games were safe in their boxes this time.

On the not-so-bright side, every toy we owned was on the floor, kids had played in the closets and candy wrappers were scattered all over the place.

Luckily, Finn’s friends are good kids – they were very polite as they systematically destroyed my basement. I’d invite them back again anytime. One at a time. And Finn took responsibility for the mess and spent a few hours this morning with a broom and garbage bag tidying up the place.

Hopefully he’ll think twice before inviting the guys over to party next time, because as history proves, I won’t…

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