The Onslaught

I have my friend, Suzy, coming in today with her four kids. Oh yes, and Joe, the unofficial fifth child. Suzy and I only see each other once a year, usually at my house in Maine. Always with our kids. We have known each other for almost thirty years. We’ve watched each other’s kids grow, mostly from a distance.

Ian and Joe are… young men now. Way taller than me. Big Teens. I can only imagine how big their feet are. Sara, my namesake, is a teenager, also. I remember her with her fuzzy head as a baby, watching her father’s every move whenever he walked in a room. Sean, the chattiest of the crew, is almost a teen. And little Megan, who is ten, like my oldest Ben, is no longer very little.

Don’t forget the dog. And the cat. And, oh yes, Weezie is coming tomorrow if the hurricane is just another weather channel fabrication. That’s my three, plus a friend of one of mine- I said, oh, who will notice one more? - four, plus her five, and four adults.

13 people. I think I’ll have to throw one out. That’s an unlucky number.

After wheeling through the supermarket yesterday with a cart so full I had the boys on each side making sure nothing fell, I only had one thing left to worry about. The shoes.

My house in Maine is not big enough to house that many shoes. Teenager’s shoes. Smelly shoes.

It should make for an interesting week.