March 10, 2008
The Girls Who Came To Visit
Boys were draped and dashing all over my house this weekend. Finn’s best friend Jay came in from Nashville, and we invited another friend over to hang out with him as well. Drew had company to spend the night. From Friday night to Sunday morning there were between five and eight boys in or around the house at any one time.
They played basketball, jumped on the trampoline, and played war in the front yard, belly-crawling across the wet grass. Periodically they’d come inside and shed their clothes wherever they stood, while grass clippings, sweat and mud landed in a pile around them. By Saturday afternoon the kitchen floor looked more like a meadow than hardwood.
This is not to say that the influx of testosterone made much of a dent in my activities. Once you’ve got three boys, additional males don’t increase the chaos by much. Bill and I generally ignore them, our only rules being “If you break it, fix it, and if you mess it up, clean it up.”
We let them handle their meals and such, so they’re pretty low maintenance.
I spent most of Saturday unshowered, in my sweats, wiping the boys’ hard drive clean and restoring it to working order. It took hours, but I was successful, even managing to reset the finicky router and establish a working gmail account for each son.
But at 4:57, Finn came downstairs and said, “Hey Mom, a couple of girls are coming over and they’re just going to chill over here for a while.” He was back outside before I even thought to ask for details.
All I really heard was “girls,” as in females. My species! Neither I nor my house were ready for this.
The next six minutes were somewhat blurry. Bill and Drew had gone to the grocery for dinner supplies, and I was the only adult in the house. I had no idea how the girls would be arriving– on foot, via parent, pumpkin perhaps?– but I wasn’t going to face them in my current state. By 5:03 I was showered and dressed and my hair was somewhat dry. Most importantly, my eyes were lined and mascaraed and I had on lipstick.
(I should confess that I spent my time in the shower wondering what I could wear that would convey an aura of responsibility in case the girls’ parents accompanied them and funkiness to protect my general reputation. I settled on jeans tucked into boots a la Gisele minus the boobs and flowing tresses, and a hip sweater.)
I dashed from my bedroom into the garage and slowed to a casual walk when I saw that two females were in our driveway talking with Finn and his friends. I saw Porter out of the corner of my eye hiding in the azaleas with his video camera, filming the scene. It’s times like these that Porter really comes in handy.
I introduced myself to the ladies, who seemed nice enough, although I was so dazed by having young girls on the premises that I could hardly think straight. Bill and Drew drove up from the store, and the boys, eager to demonstrate their manliness, grabbed grocery bags out of the car and we all tromped inside.
Soon the boys and visitors were in the den watching an appropriate movie. I’d refreshed my lipstick and made sure that a parent knew the girls’ whereabouts. Drew and Porter sat in the den also. Drew ogled the visitors while Porter entertained them with parakeet tricks.
The girls were perched on the sofa chatting while the older guys were piled on pillows on the floor in front of the TV, as if the girls were background objects, not guests. The girls were neat and clean. They’d obviously washed their faces and hair and brushed their teeth that day. Their clothes were clean and untorn. Their feet didn’t smell. One of them, God bless her, wore toenail polish. I didn’t know about Finn and his friends, but I was totally in love with the girls.
Bill and I stayed in the kitchen. I noticed that Bill had changed out of his law school sweatshirt and into his dressy brown sweater. He was popping popcorn in the microwave and preparing a cheese plate with two different kinds of crackers, both of which he delivered to the den and placed on the coffee table with a flourish. Food, of course, roused the boys, and they devoured it with their customary speed. They also talked to the girls although I was unable to hear the specifics and have to debrief Porter for this information.
An hour later, a cell phone rang, and one of the girls answered it and had a brief conversation. They left after telling us what a nice time they had.
The sixth graders were completely cool during the whole ordeal, but the experience left Bill and me dazed and confused. How did we morph from being the House That Testosterone Built to being the Site of The Coed Movie in six minutes? (Or, as Bill pointed out later, twelve years, two months, several days and six minutes?)
Apparently we played our parts to perfection, not too hovery, not too absent. Last night Finn came in my room and said, “Hey Mom, thanks for being so nice when the girls came over. I think they really had a good time.”
I suppose that means they’ll be coming back. I better head to Costco and stock up on female-friendly snacks to have on hand.
The teen years have officially started.
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Here’s a funny blast from the past.
Three years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Merry Christmas– Let Me Bum You Out
I didn’t know how to Flickr back then, but here’s a copy of the card so you can see how HAPPY we looked. Tell me, y’all would have gotten the joke in this card, wouldn’t you? (Read the text of it in the Bum You Out post)
(click to enlarge)
