The other day someone asked what I would do if Shana had a knock down, broken beer bottled, boy-girl, high decibel, probably fifty people blow out at our house without permission. I thought to myself (or maybe out loud) - Shana wouldn't do that. The dozens of times we had been over that issue came flashing back. All the times she asked and I said no. But, MMmoooommmm, she would whine after each attempt. It was probably at her fourth grade birthday slumber party when I had to separate two characters in a raging girl fight in the middle of the night when I realized, these little people can't be trusted. There were many parties after that at our Kool Aid house, every year getting louder and later. The next mornings we would review. Remember the neighbors? The kids you babysit next door? The older couple across the street? What about the mess in the grass? Go clean it up. A couple of times in high school Shana even realized she needed me home, after it took a mom to clear the big boy trucks with the blaring stereos off the street. Not that the kid gave up. I had to keep the Nos coming even as recently as this Christmas. Exhausting, I know. After years of the "no alcohol in my house unless you're twenty-one" rule (something about worrying about the law, drunk kids' probably drunk parents suing me or, God forbid, losing one of Shana's friends because I was a doormat) she proposed a holiday beer pong party. You and Dad can go to a hotel, she said. Take a break. A little staycation. Isn't she sweet? I said no. But, MMmmmooooom. Everybody's old enough! You're not. Well, I won't drink. Right. So, yes?
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