If you read our Curse of the Cussing Skier post, you know I’m not the potty mouth of the family. But over the summer, Tanner hosted his annual Los Gatos Youth Theatre co-ed slumber party.
Some teenage boys might think doing theatre is uncool, but my guys are no dummies. For every one guy at the soiree, there were five funny, creative, head-on-straight girls. As a mom to dudes, I’m a sucker for having these exotic creatures in our home.
Everyone showed up around 5 p.m. Jimmy & I waited on the kids, offering poolside service on a par with the Four Seasons—young, unlined faces were spritzed with Evian, snacks and soda were delivered to the jacuzzi, and the whole backyard twinkled with colorful lights.
The gang finished swimming well after dark, and crammed into our long, narrow family room (aka “the bowling alley”) where they began perusing movies On Demand. Around 11, Jimmy and I retired to our bedroom. Right before my head hit the pillow, I whispered sweetly, “That wasn’t so bad!”
An hour later I was still wide awake. Our home is small. I could hear everything. All I could think of was “Go the F**k to Sleep.” If you aren’t familiar, the NY Times best selling bedtime story for parents was written by an exhausted and exasperated dad, Adam Mansbach. Narrated by Samuel L. Jackson, the story captures the frustrations of sealing the bedtime deal with procrastinating kids.
As I lay seething in bed that night too pissed off to count sheep, I wrote my own version of Go the F**k to Sleep…
Mom, can I have my theatre friends over, you begged. I’ll clean the house, even sweep.
We’ll swim, hang out and by a decent hour, fall fast asleep!
Okay, I agreed, but after midnight, I don’t want to hear a peep.
Mama’s almost 50, lookin’ a little haggard. Needs her Botox and f**kin’ beauty sleep.
It’s almost 1 a.m. now and through thin walls laughter continues to seep.
Don’t make me come out there in my mouthguard and lecture you. Please go the f**k to sleep.
All right, I’ll slice up more nectarines from Whole Foods, this organic sh*t ain’t cheap.
If you swear you’ll finish watching “Hairspray,”and get the f**k to sleep!
Hungry again? We just served DiGiorgno and popcorn when the microwave went “beep!”
Your bellies are full, now wrap up the massage train, and get to freakin’ SLEEP!
I get it, girls: “Pitch Perfect” best movie ever. Nick Jonas is hot. Harry Styles, a creep.
See? We’re on the same page? Now get the f**k to sleep.
The LEMON sign has dimmed, the jacuzzi jets silenced, so still is the pool sweep.
Hell no, you can’t go night swimming. You know where you can go? The f**k to sleep!
I come out & see Kevin* face planted on the sofa, probably counting sheep.
Can’t the rest of you follow his lead? Now lie the f**k down, and sleep!
It’s late now, well past two, my Hushers are crammed so deep.
Stop twerking in my kitchen, and for the love of Miley f**kin’ Cyrus: sleep!
Seriously? Sourpatch popsicles at 3 a.m.? Your blood sugar’s gonna take a soaring leap
Sure, fine, whatever. How about some Red Bull, too. Who the f**k cares? You’re not gonna sleep.
Bleary eyed and dazed, I awaken at 5, the price of being a cool mom is way steep.
What on earth made me ever think you kids would go the f**k to sleep?
It’s morning now, bodies and sleeping bags tangled in a heap, I’ve tiptoed through the house long enough.
It’s 10 a.m., you little sh*ts! Now you’re gonna sleep?
Yogurt and fresh fruit—who told you breakfast came with the deal? A little birdie—”cheep cheep?”
The second your parents pick you up, I’m going the f**k back to sleep!
Around the piano you harmonize to Coldplay, voices so angelic it almost makes me weep.
Come back soon, my darling thespians. Who cares what time you go the f**k to sleep!
Love,
Mrs. Ratcliff
PS: If Samuel L. Jackson is busy, maybe we can get Zac Efron to narrate “GTFTS: The Teenage Years.”
*name changed to protect the sleep deprived.
AdventuresOfTheRattyPack 