The House Guests of August

Benjamin Franklin was quoted as saying, "Houseguests, like fish, begin to smell after three days."

I'd never try to prove this theory with fish (eat it or toss it), but last weekend I tested the houseguest part when my sister and her family came to stay for several days. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy having guests. It gives me an excuse to clean my house (and not just shove items into nearby closets or under sofa cushions.) I also like planning activities that will enhance my guests' visit. Just call me Julie McCoy (does that make my husband Gopher?)

The purpose of this visit? My brother-in-law was playing in a disc golf tournament in western Massachusetts. He planned to drive from New Jersey to our house, drop my sister, my five-year-old niece and my three-year-old nephew in Hanover (along with fifty-odd suitcases, tote bags, car seats and umbrella strollers) and then head off to the tournament, camping out for three or four days.

Originally my guests were due to leave the Garden State on Wednesday morning, arriving at my house sometime later in the day. Then the departure time was delayed due to an MRI for my brother-in-law's knee (too much disc golf.) They told me not to wait on them for dinner. Then the MRI was cancelled. (Eek! Were they coming earlier? The house wasn't ready. What would I feed them for dinner?) As I began hyperventilating, my sister called to say they were still leaving late morning. Whew. Then that afternoon, around 4 o'clock, I got a message from my sister: "Hi, we're just leaving now...see you in six hours." Hmmm. Would they arrive before I fell asleep? Would her kids be wide awake at midnight? Would mine? The answers were yes, yes and yes.

Thursday, Day 1: Rain. So much for my idea of the playground and a walk through Scituate. Breakfast was a challenge, trying to calculate how much bacon and pancakes to cook for four extra people. Do we have enough plates? Where's that extra chair? Was that a smirk I caught on my brother-in-law's face as he installed his kids' car seats into my mini-van and escaped to his tournament? Oh my gosh, it's all on me now. Uh, how about the arcade? My kids played shooting games, the little kids played Spider Stomp and Skee-Ball and everyone left with chintzy prizes and Dum Dum lollipops. Success. Dinner was a huge pot of my homemade spaghetti sauce since my sister mentioned her kids loved my spaghetti. Turns out her kids just love the spaghetti. No sauce. Huh.

Friday, Day 2: Bright and sunny, the perfect day to spend inside the Museum of Science. After a quick breakfast, I made what seemed like six dozen sandwiches and we were off. Navigating the museum was fun, but tricky. My niece was content to follow her older cousins from one exhibit to the next, but my three-year-old nephew was the wild card. I forget how sore your neck can get when it whips around constantly, trying to keep track of a little one. Exhausting as it was, the kids enjoyed the museum. My sister, however, asked to stop at the local liquor store to get the ingredients for margaritas.

Saturday, Day 3: Another sunny day, and my husband home to boot. Chaos loves company. After a breakfast of waffles and bacon where I ran out of both flour and baking powder (thank God for my neighbor, Cindy), we loaded up the car and headed for the beach. Packing 12 dozen more sandwiches, boogie boards, skim boards, chairs, buckets, towels, shovels and an umbrella, we headed to Duxbury. Though I was worried about comparisons to the smooth, sandy, warm-water beaches of New Jersey, the beach gods were smiling on us that day. The water was warm, our section of the beach wasn't overcrowded and we arrived at low tide, perfect for the little kids. Any illusions my husband might have had about a relaxing day in the beach chair with his Sports Illustrated were shattered by my niece and nephew's non-stop requests to jump in the waves, hold their boogie boards steady, play catch, build sandcastles and look for crabs. That night, the margarita ingredients dipped dangerously low.

Sunday, Day 4: What's that smell? Oh, it's my nephew. As he backs up towards me with the words, "I made a poopy, will you change it?” I send him in search of his mother (sorry, I did my doody duty, I'm done.) I make 60 dozen sandwiches for today's destination, the YMCA outdoor pool. Once again we pack up towels, swimsuits, Cheez-its, sippy cups and goggles and head to the YMCA. Most days my kids and I park ourselves near the deep pool but today it's nothing but Mushroom Pool. Ah, to relive those days of standing in suspiciously warm, ankle-deep water while the kids frolic under the giant mushroom. I look longingly at my lounge chair and library book as the lifeguard reminds me to stay within arms length of my nephew. I zoom my niece through the water around and around until I feel nauseous, only to have her shriek "Again, auntie, again!" Is there any tequila left in that bottle? Do we need more limes?

That night, my brother-in-law returned from his tournament tired, sweaty and in need of a shower (ironically, Ben Franklin's three day rule applied to the one person who hadn't been our houseguest, but that was mainly due to the lack of showering facilities at the campground). Our guests treated us to dinner at Beijing House (Mai-Tais all around) and I could finally imagine what my house would be like when my guests headed home. Too quiet? Too empty? Too boring?

Oh well, I’ll just have to suck it up and make my own margaritas.