I Hate Sleepovers

I was a child of routine. As you may have read, I loved my stuffed animals and my pets. I loved the pictures on my walls, the sound of my Dad playing guitar at night, my blankets, my room, my bed.  

When I was really little I started a tradition we would call Naked Ranger time. It consisted of me throwing off my towel and running around the house buck naked after bath time, and enlisting my sisters to join. This would prompt my parents to exclaim, "here come the Naked Rangers!"

Three serious sisters

In short, I liked being at home, and still do to this day.

In elementary school I would get invited to sleepovers every once in awhile, and a similar pattern would ensue. I would show up and play with the other girls, but I would always get tired and fall asleep first. I hated games like Truth or Dare, and still do.  Didn't like the pressure, or being told to do dumb shit, or being asked things I would rather keep private. In the morning I would wake up first, and eat a granola bar and read a book in my sleeping bag, or better yet, go upstairs and socialize with the parents who were drinking coffee and making pancakes. 

Usually though, I wouldn't make it through the night. Yes, I was that kid. My resolve would cave once 11 pm hit, and my parents would get the phone call asking in a trembling, quiet voice, if they could please come pick me up. They always did, and I remember it was with great relief that I loaded my overnight bag, stuffed animal, and sleeping bag back into the station wagon, ready to be back at home.

There was a famous sleepover, Katie Sharkey's birthday- we watched Groundhogs Day and had such a great time, and I remember that her family was always warm and very kind. I still had to make the call though, and in a tremendous show of parental patience my parents let me sleep in my bed, and then brought me back in the morning so I could eat waffles and bacon with the other girls.

For this reason, sleepover camp was never really an option.  I remember going to a father daughter weekend  with Camp Fire on Vashon Island at Camp Sealth- it was pretty fun, but even with a parent there I was itching to get home.  I remember that my friend Sarah was there too, she ate a Marion-berry pie and threw up, and it's strange that I don't remember more about the trip.

Sarah was one of my closest friends, one of the kindest and loveliest kids you ever laid eyes on. She had long dark hair and a sweet smile, and came from a nice Jewish family. I liked sleeping at Sarah's house. Her family would have Shabbat dinner, and I was allowed to turn lights on and off since my family wasn't very practicing. I remember once we made cookies at my house, and the dog put his paws on the table and ate about a dozen when we weren't looking. Sarah also watched my hamster once when we went to the east coast, and the damn rodent got out of its cage. The Munro's frantically looked for it, and finally lured it back into its cage with a ramp and a peanut butter sandwich.

This trend continued throughout adulthood- I was known as the girl who fell asleep at dorm parties in college, and just from tiredness, not from the use of illicit substances. Just last week I tried spending the night at my boyfriend's, but at 4 in the morning I was wide awake.  We usually sleep at my house, but you would think after a year and half I would be fine to not sleep at my place. But I missed my dog, and my bed was more comfortable, and his house was loud. I said I was fine, I would try to sleep for a few more hours then go home. He looked at me compassionately and said, "We can go back to your house Lindsey, it's okay."

So we did, and when I told my Mom that I didn't make it through a sleepover she laughed so hard she started snorting.

There is a balance between comfort and adventure. I've spent weeks sleeping in the mountains with only the night sky as a roof, and months on my own in other countries, everything changing and unfamiliar. But I have the wisdom to know that I am a creature of habit, and will always find solace in the quiet rhythm of a well kept and familiar home. In the words of Kenneth Grahame, from Wind in the Willows-

"He did not at all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back on sun and air and all they offered him and creep home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong, it called to him still, even down there, and he knew must return to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to come back to, this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same simple welcome."