We Are Those Kind Of Parents

Our oldest had a post-birthday party last night with his friends. At his request, he invited a few friends over, Dad orchestrated a roaring bonfire, and I provided enough hot dogs, soda, and s'mores to feed a small army. A hundred foot (or something like that) electrical cord was stretched across the backyard to provide power to an amp plugged into an electric guitar and radio. Everything was perfect. Everything... except the parents wouldn't leave.

Out of the nine kids present including our own, two were boyfriend/girlfriend couples, both of which belonged to us. At least the boys belonged to us. No way we were leaving them alone. On one side of the fire was a row of teenagers all lined up; on the other side were the parents. The battle lines had been drawn and Mom and Dad weren't going anywhere. I'm pretty sure they didn't see the humor in it, but we did.

We are those kind of parents! The kind that won't leave you alone to just give you and your friends some space. In all fairness, we didn't interfere with the kids... we just kept to our side of the fire talking about things that would not interest them anyway. We laughed with them when they played the Chubby Bunny game ~ how many jumbo marshmallows can a normal human being put in their mouth (no chewing!) and still say "Chubby Bunny"? Who knew? Thank goodness plastic bags were provided for those that, well, shall we say (gag) couldn't (gag) quite make that happen (puke). Pure teenage fun.

Other than one girl's explanation of sexual harassment, the s-e-x conversations were non-existent. When one particular song on the radio began to use the f-word over and over, we asked them to change the station. The boy that got a little too cozy with his girl? He got the evil stare. Other than that, you would never even know we were there.

Ha! Right. We were there, they knew it, and who cares? When it was all said and done, kids went away laughing about marshmallows and basketball in the dark. I felt good that knowing that when parents dropped them off and picked them up, they saw us. That is exactly what I want when I take our kids to somebody else's house. I always thought I wanted to be the cool parent... then my kids turned twelve. And fourteen. And seventeen. "Cool" flew out the window as "let's just keep them in one piece and without a police record until they graduate." Funny how those priorities change.

Today the birthday boy was walking through the house when he stopped to say, "Thanks for everything last night, Mom. I really had a lot of fun."

No "wish you'd left us alone."
No "why'd you have to stare at me like that...she was only whispering in my ear."
No "can't believe you made me change the song."

Just "I really had a lot of fun."

And that's all a mom really needs to hear. I may have been tired of standing and freezing and so what if I drank one too many rootbeers? I guess I had fun, too... even if I was on the wrong side of the fire.