Last night, my husband decided to have boy night. Most of his friends have gone on business trips so he decided to invite some new co-workers over. There was a visiting scientist from Thailand, another from Kenya, and another from some other place that had well-behaved children. Anyways, I guess you could say he wanted to make a good impression, new co-workers and all, because he was fussing about in the kitchen with the food for about an hour.
I decided to take the girls upstairs around 6:30 for their bath. Plus, I felt a responsibility to keep them from descending like locusts on my husband's painstakingly prepared food.
The girls were headed down the punchy-path already because they were tired and it was the end of the day. However, thankfully enough, bath time went without incident. I wrapped my children up in their fluffy towels, gave them a kiss on their damp, little heads, and told them to get into their PJ's.
As I drained the tub and rescued the toys, I could hear that my husband’s friends had arrived and I patted myself on the back for being so organized.
And, I patted myself again for having such well-behaved children.
As I was in my bedroom putting on my PJ's and robe, I heard yelling down the hall and opened my door to hear my 6-year-old screaming at the top of her lungs.
"No! Princesses do not carry swords!"
And my 4-year-old, equally as loud, "They do so carry swords! I say yes!"
I sighed, knowing this bliss was too good to be true, and started down the hall to break up the fight. Half-way down the hall, I was side-swiped by my 6-year-old, high-tailing it downstairs in her PJ's, still screaming at the top of her lungs.
"Princesses do not carry swords! Daddy!!"
And off she disappeared.
At the same time I ran downstairs to stop my lovely daughter from crashing my husband's boy party, my 4-year-old pushed past me, fuzzy "Wiggles" sword in hand, completely naked and screaming at the top of her lungs.
"Princesses do too carry swords! Waaaa! She said princesses don't carry swords, Daddy!!"
And skitching past my outstretched fingers, my darling 4-year-old ran screaming into the living room, waving her fuzzy, giggling sword over her head like some crazed, naked warrior.
At this point, I wondered if once I caught them, if anyone would notice if I used her fuzzy sword to smack them on both of their heads.
I continued into the living room, the faces of my husband’s co-workers a blur and acutely aware that I had stumbled into man-territory.
In my bathrobe.
With one child in her PJ's...and another in her birthday suit.
I grabbed each child, made my apologies, and dragged our screaming, tired banshees upstairs.
Being the wonderful man he is, my well-meaning husband started after me to help, but I waved him away.
"Got it under control, honey!" Yeah...right.
As I walked our girls back to their rooms, smile plastered on my face, I concentrated on the fact that this would all seem funny tomorrow morning. Yep.
Doggedly, my 6-year-old was still arguing her point. "No prince is going to marry you! Because princesses do not carry swords!"
"Well, I find a prince to marry me! I carry a sword!"
"Honey," I said to my eldest, "Princesses can carry swords."
"No, they can't."
"So if a dragon was swooping down to breathe fire on you, you're going to wait for a prince to save you? You're not going to pull out your sword and slay the dragon?"
"Umm, I'd wait for a prince to save me. Where's the prince? What's he doing?"
I started to reply with something clever like, getting his hair done or making cookies, but my 4-year-old beat me to it.
"He's marrying me! Because I carry a sword!"
That’s my girl.