Five boys? Probably OK. But once you've hit nine, you've achieved a statistical scale which ensures that the following will happen:
- Someone will cry - most likely after being hit in the head with a foam lightsaber
- Someone will wander off - most likely into the baby's room, which they will declare a "secret room!" despite the fact that it's right off the main hallway, fully furnished and inhabited by a small person
- Someone will refuse to play the game you've set up - even though they game you've setup is awesome
- Someone will try to grab every fragile thing in your house with a mechanical grabber claw and not relinquish it until you physically strip it from his hands - after which he will shrug and grab a sword to swing at aforementioned fragile things
And this was just in the first hour. It's enough to make a guy start drinking beer surreptitiously from a coffee mug at noon. In theory.
Mostly what we learned is that with that many kids, someone is bound to be a jerk at all times. Not your kid, of course, person-who-is-reading-this-right-now. Someone else's kid.
From here on out, we're either doing all outside parties - which will be tough in March in Seattle - or we're just dropping the kids off somewhere where professionals can manage them. Like the zoo.
My heart is already racing just thinking about next year. Where's my coffee mug...