“Do you know there’s a room upstairs, with a
ladder, that goes up to a another level?”
A boy, about age 10, is talking to me earnestly.
His eyes are huge with excitement. His feet are covered in mud.
“Why, yes,” I reply. “That’s our bedroom.
You’re not really supposed to go in there.”
I turn to see a 12-year old girl, leading a
pack of others up one of the sets of stairs to what is supposed to be the off-limit
territory of our house’s private quarters.
“Don’t go up there,” I say.
“Why not?” she replies saucily, cocking one
hip.
“Because it’s my house, and I say so,” I
answer.
The words come out firmly, and automatically.
But it’s no use. I know a lost battle when I see one. She and her gang will
give in for a moment, but sneak off again the minute my back is turned. Which
it is almost immediately, as I see a group of boys trying to slide down the
railing of the curving stairs leading from our house’s vast atrium to its
second level. Not wanting to imagine the scene if one of them slips and wacks
his head against the slate floor below, I’m off again like a flash.
“Off the railing!” I cry, snapping my fingers
and making a swift downward motion with my arm. I’ve used my serious grown-up
voice. I feel like I’m herding dogs. Another adult comes up. She’s a
high-ranking manager, a regional director, and a parent. Just the ally I need.
She takes over watch of the central spiral staircase.
In a few hours, the wreckage of lost battles
will be evident. There will be mud everywhere, and tossed popcorn, and sticky,
abandoned cups and plates. Small, mismatched socks will appear in odd places.
I’m a bit overwhelmed, but not mad.
I totally understand why children find our
house irresistible. We live in the fun house. It’s big and full of wacky
features and surprises. The first time we saw it, I could barely keep from
jumping up and down with excitement, myself.
There’s also a huge yard and plenty of space
to entertain. That’s why we’re happy to host parties, including this one
involving 70+ adults and children representing some of the very multinational
staff and families of Britt’s organization.
The set-up is a pot luck, which I love,
because people bring the most varied and wonderful foods: Indian samosas and
Greek tiropitas, chicken “lollipops” (tiny chicken legs) from Senegal and fried
bananas, smoked fish canapés and giant bags of cashews, just to name a few.
Another great feature is all the games people
contribute. This is an intergenerational crowd, with ages ranging from infants
to grandparents. There’s fun for all ages, and everyone joins in. There’s
croquet and sack races, badminton and a bouncy castle. There’s the frog game we
brought from Peru, and games that involve balloons and bananas. At one point,
there’s a giant tug of war.
The only unwelcome guest is the sudden downpour
– after months of blue skies and dry weather. Hence the mud, and swarms of
children inside the house instead of outside.
But a great time is had by all.
After a few days of scrubbing, and generous
loan of a friend’s housekeeper to help ours, the house is back to normal.
We’re ready to entertain again the next
weekend.
Because, after all, we live in the fun house.
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