10 p.m.: I tell G and her friend that it's time for them to go upstairs. They don't have to go to sleep yet, but they do have to stay in G's room.
11 p.m.: I break up repeated attempts to sneak downstairs and get cookies. These girls are the most inept sneakers in the world. They're like a pair of elephants trying to tiptoe past the zookeeper, snorting and sniggering and tripping over each other all the way.
11:30 p.m.: I hear loud music coming from G's room, followed by stomping and clapping; they're dancing to U2's song "Elevation," which is blasting out of G's Disney Princess CD player. I go in and turn the music down.
Midnight: I shut down the party and make the girls go to the bathroom, brush their teeth and get in bed.
1 a.m.: They finally stop talking and fall asleep.
1:15 a.m.: I gratefully fall asleep as well.
6:45 a.m.: I open my eyes and hear giggling and feet running up and down the stairs. They can't possibly be up already, I think. But they are.
7 a.m.: Both girls are standing beside my bed, asking when we can go get doughnuts. Rather uncharitably, I tell them to go away and come back when the clock says 7:30.
7:21 a.m.: With the covers over my head, I hear them both approach the bed again. "It's not 7:30 yet!" I say from under the quilt. As they scamper away, I hear one of them whisper to the other, "How did she know?"
Heh heh heh.