The Wallaces Visit, Part I

    Dad told us the news as we were coming back from Church.

    "Oh, Kids," he said from the driver's seat of the van, steering the blue behemoth around the curving Granby roads, "we're having guests over tonight."

   Bill paused from trying to poke a rolled-up Bulletin into Rob's ear. "Who?" he asked. "The Sagaris'?"

    "No, not the Sagaris'," said Dad, "guess again."

    "Uncle Barney?" Evelyn guessed from front row center, where she had her arms around the twins, Nell on her right, Nina on her left.

    "Nope. You guys are batting bad today. Three strikes you're out."

    "The Wallaces," Mary, third row right, said with utter confidence. She usually knew what was going on. Oldest sisters have to be on the ball.

    "AHB-solutely. Home run for you. So nobody go off this afternoon to the neighbors or friends or wherever you guys run off on Sundays. I want us all to be there. We'll have a nice dinner together with the Wallaces. Got it?"

      "Yeah-yeah-yeah," Rob said, Beatles-style, and grabbed the Bulletin from Bill's hands and jabbed at his brother's ribs with it. Bill wrestled silently for the Bulletin. He knew that too much noise from the back of the van could bring --

      "Boys, don't roughhouse, and be careful for your Church clothes!" Mom's blond head appeared above the passenger's seat. "And change when we get back home. You've got enough grass-stains and ketchup-stains to last you the rest of summer."

      The van rumbled into the gravel driveway. It was an August Sunday, and at that noon-time hour our white colonial house sprawled lazily in the sun like some gigantic cat enjoying his fourteen acres of yard, field, and woods. The barn stood solidly at attention at the end of the driveway. Lilac bushes clung to the low walls of the Red Shed, heavy with purple clumps and green leaves. Bees buzzed over the pool. It was everything a post-Church summer day should be.

    "Don't forget to change!" Mom said to the ten backs of her children who were rushing up the deck to the back door. "Evelyn, could you make the twins some sandwiches, please! I've got to clean the house for tonight!"

    "Can't the girls do that? Aren't they supposed to be training for marriage or something?" Dad banged the van door jovially and went over to the pool. He inspected the water with a critical eye. "Got to add some chlorine to this bad boy. Not blue enough, it's got to be blue, blue. Blue skies, its gonna be Blue skies, mmm mm mmm -- do we have plenty of chicken for tonight,Debbie? I can grill if you can make the potato salad. Make a big one. Those Wallaces can eat."

    "So can we. I better go make sure they're not emptying the fridge."

    The kitchen was full of people between four and sixteen years old. Mike was pouring his third cup of coffee -- sixteen-year-olds need at least that much to remain conscious -- and Joe and Barbara, the ten and nine-year old, respectively, were laughing heartily together as they drowned their bananas in their cereal. The twins waited for their sandwiches in the only way six-year-olds can wait, wrapping the plastic place-mats on their heads and growling, "We're hungry!"

   "Hold on, hold on -- where's the mayonnaise?" Evelyn slapped meat onto bread. She was eleven and fifth-oldest, a staff sergeant in the Powell army, high-ranking enough to make sandwiches for the younger privates and specialists. Mike and Mary, as captain and first lieutenant, kept a firm hand on their subordinate officers. Which usually meant a pinch or a kick, judiciously applied.

     "You want the MAYO?" Rob yelled from across the room.

    "Who wants the MAYO?" Bill answered, becoming the straight-man like clockwork. "Who wants the MAYO, Bert?"

      "Evvie wants the MAYO, Ernie! Should we give her the MAYO?"

      "Gee, Bert --"

      "Shut up and give me the mayonnaise!" Evelyn made a grab for the open jar in Rob's hand. He danced to one side and ducked behind Mike, who was glowering at everything over the rim of his mug.

     "Give her the mayonnaise, you jerk," said Mike, but the captain's stern words were lost on his erring warrant officer. Rob leaped over the tiles, made a feint at Evelyn, scrambled over Sally the Golden Retriever who had just entered the scene, handed the mayonnaise jar over to Bill and strummed air guitar victoriously at his furious sister.

    "Duh! Duh! Duh! WEEEE ARE THE CHAAAMPIONS, MY FRIEEEENDS --"

    Evelyn pushed him onto the floor. Then she whirled and glared ice-picks at Bill. Bill gave her the mayonnaise jar. He liked verbal comedy better than physical.     

    "Why did you give her the MAYO, Ernie?" Rob complained from the floor.

    "Well, Bert," said Bill, stepping over his brother, "I can't eat the stuff myself."

    Mom came in, bearing a load of toys which she had picked up off the deck, and put them into a basket where the dining room merged with the family room. She looked around.

     "Good! Everybody doing what they should be -- thanks, Evelyn, maybe use a little less mayonnaise next time. I've got to get the kitchen ready, so if everyone is finished -- what do you need, Sarah?"

     Sarah, eight, two years older than the twins, making her a corporal, handed Mom a dandelion and said, "A flower for the woman of the house." After this flattering speech she ran over to join Barbara and Joe, who had finished drowning their bananas and were now destroying under-milk submarines with spoon missiles.

     Mom held the dandelion to her nose, laughed, and put it in an empty jelly jar over the sink, along with the lilacs, rocks, and sea-shells.