Boy does that word bring up a mixed bag of memories and emotions.
Sleepovers were the staple event for birthdays in my day. I’m pretty sure that hasn’t changed, and I’m also sure they still serve as equally fun and tortuous events in most child’s lives.
I was never one to be upset at the prospect of spending a night away from home. In the right atmosphere, it was a divine experience.
It could also be hell.
Before the sleepover even started, when it was just an idea in a child’s mind that spread quickly to the other children in the class, there was always the fear that you weren’t going to be invited. There was nothing worst than being the one girl not invited. Trust me, I was that girl on several occasions.
On the occasions that I did receive the golden invite, I thrived like a queen at a ball. I really knew how to sleepover.
Meaning: I was the one who could stay up all night long.
I also often took the helm at truth or dare, twister, wrapping houses and “I’ve never.”
In addition, I like to think that I mastered the prank call at a very early age. They never saw that they “should go catch it” was coming when I asked them about the workings of their refrigerator.
My favorite memories though, were the sleepovers that we had at my own house. These usually consisted of 2 or 3 kids at the most. My parents didn’t go crazy with house parties, even then.
They did allow us to get creative.
Sleepovers at my house were rarely just of the “sleep in a sleeping bag variety.”
Sleepovers meant “build a giant fort out of as many blankets as you can gather.”
When the weather permitted, we slept in an actual tent in the back yard, my treehouse, or my grandparent’s camper.
They also meant a very long game of pretend. It was basically like a kid’s version of a murder mystery dinner that lasted all night. (I should totally get on inventing that)
I was forceful when it came to staying in character. Whether we were explorers, Natives, or runaways, I approached it with a very Stanislavskian method, even then. It should probably come to no surprise to you that I have spent the last 12 years studying improv.
When morning came, my father would wake us up with the scent of cinnamon toast crunch and bacon.
Sigh. Now that I’m thinking about it, I think it’s time for an adult sleepover. It’s been way too long since I’ve built a sheet fort.
What are your favorite sleepover memories?