There are milestones that occur in a child's life that are never covered by the pediatrician, and we experienced one of them tonight: the sleepover. Now, Lil' Puddin' Tater is nowhere NEAR ready to spend the night at a friend's house. But when she and the little girl next door came to me after playing for a couple hours and informed me that "Hey! Guess what! J can sleep over!" my stomach did a little flutter and I realized (perhaps even more than her first day of school) that my wee one, my first born, is growing up.

Of course, she being my first born, my Lil' Puddin' Tater, I should have known that the evening would not go as I planned. Everything began well enough, with the requisite pizza for dinner, then playing, then a movie before going to bed. We made up the couch in gnome sheets, with a girl at each end and lots of fluffy covers. We made popcorn, and I had to tell them a thousand times to be quiet. I went into my bedroom and told D that the midgets in the living room were to be sleeping in 45 minutes. Deviance from this would be acceptable (I'm not some wretched mother) as long as they stayed on the couch. Talking, giggling, etc. were all acceptable behaviors.

Then the shit hit the fan, and I feel like a tool for being blindsided by it. Ok, first a little background: Friday nights are "Girls' Night" in the house with the blue door. Midget 2.0 goes to bed, D is working or out with friends, and LPT and I stay up late and watch cartoons (Ok, we watch Hannah Montana.) and give each other manicures and pedicures and make popcorn and talk. Most importantly, LPT is permitted to sleep in our bed, and D sleeps in hers. It is truly a Girls' Night. In the morning, we all make cinnamon rolls together and bask in the glow of momentarily being a picture-perfect family.

Anyway, when the time came for LPT to actually sleep, she kind of flipped out and wanted to sleep with me. D told her no, that she had a guest and that they could either sleep on the couch or they could go upstairs and sleep in her room. LPT started crying, quietly. I had no clue any of this was going on (maybe I dozed off?) but I heard them go up the stairs. I thought that the girls had gotten up and were going to play. I yelled "Lil' Puddin' Tater?" up the stairs. This was not the correct thing to do. LPT realized that Mom was awake and could save her from mean ol' Dad. So she really loses her shit and cries even harder, and then the inevitable happens. She coughs, then pukes on the floor of her room 4 times. At that point, I hauled her into the bathroom, where she threw up again, in the toilet. D took J home and I got LPT in the tub because she had vomit all up in her hair.

Yes, I hate cleaning up puke. Yes, it still reeks up there. (washing the room down with vinegar is tomorrow) And as soon as I had everything cleaned up and had successfully gotten LPT to sleep (7 minutes! a new record!) and had gotten back into my bed with a book, Midget 2.0 realized that it was his turn. Luckily, that was a brief and not-stinky endeavor. But there's a part of me that is a little bit happy that LPT isn't quite ready for sleepovers yet. I get to hold on to my girl for a while longer.

AND! Reading Rainbow, one of the staples of my childhood and near the top of my list of Favorite Kid Shows, is over. Let's sing the song one last time, and I know that you all know the words: