The week before Labor Day, John texted that he and a few friends were thinking about coming to Atlanta for the Auburn game. This is the first year that he and his friends, now upperclassmen, were able to get the full season ticket package that includes away games, and with Auburn playing Baylor at Mercedes Benz Stadium, Atlanta was an obvious weekend destination.
A few friends somehow turned into 15 friends by the time Friday rolled around. And it was our pleasure and our joy to have them all.
I’ve always told my boys that everyone is invited here. I’ve also encouraged them to take care not to exclude people, and over the years that philosophy has resulted in some fabulously large gatherings at our house. When I asked John if he remembered that we live in a four-bedroom house and currently have occupants in two of those bedrooms, he assured me, “It will be fiiiiine. Don’t worry.” Sure, son. My mama instincts immediately kicked in because apparently I believe every 20-something boy needs a nice place to sleep and a hot meal, even if he is one of 15 spending the night in a house that definitely does not have 15 guest beds.
On Friday, Honey hit the grocery store for enough food to feed a small army while I scoured the house for every pillow, blanket, duvet and object that could reasonably resemble a mattress. Between beds, sofas, recliners, air mattresses on loan and plenty of floor space, we made it work.
The boys started arriving around 5 on Friday afternoon and immediately hit the pool. Honey grilled 24 burgers and 16 hot dogs, music was playing and they floated, ate and hung out well after the sun went down. We eventually left them to it and headed to bed while the fun continued into the wee hours. At some point between my going to sleep and waking up Saturday morning, the midnight snackers polished off every single dinner leftover. I considered that a ringing endorsement of Honey’s grilling.
Saturday morning thankfully did not start too early. Our plan was sausage, egg and cheese bagels on the Blackstone, so as everyone slowly came to life, I made copious amounts of coffee and espresso while Honey worked the griddle. Before long, everyone was fed, dressed in orange and blue and ready for game day.
Then came the transportation. We quite literally piled everyone into the two largest cars we could get our hands on, with Honey driving one and me driving the other, and dropped the crew at Marta for the ride into town. From there, they were off for what sounded like a spectacular day and night cheering on Auburn in Atlanta.
Before I went to bed Saturday night, I set out all sorts of snacks for whenever everyone returned. The boys began trickling back in sometime between midnight and 2 a.m., and when I came downstairs around 3 to check on things, it was apparent that the kitchen had been working very hard in my absence. Once I knew everyone was accounted for, safely home and making their way toward one of our assorted sleeping surfaces, I was out.
Sunday morning, the house was quiet as a mouse. Even more shocking, the kitchen was absolutely spick and span. They had cleaned everything up and even washed and dried the water pitcher. Apparently all those years of raising boys and reminding their friends to clean up after themselves eventually pay dividends.
As everyone began waking up, I started another round of coffee while Honey and I made breakfast burritos. They were a hit. A few of the guys needed to get on the road and took theirs to go, while others lingered around the kitchen island eating, talking and easing into the day.
And I just soaked it all in.
As much as I loved the pool full of boys, the enormous grocery haul, the mountain of bedding and even the kitchen that apparently becomes a 24-hour restaurant when college boys come home, those quiet moments around the island on Sunday morning were probably my favorite part of the entire weekend.
I was grateful to have John home and grateful that he wants to bring his friends home with him. I was grateful that he has good friends and that for one weekend we got a little peek into this part of his life that now happens mostly away from us. I was grateful that we had enough floors, sofas, beds and recliners to find a spot for every last one of them, and especially grateful for Honey, who loves opening our home to all of them just as much as I do.
The older the boys get, the more I realize what a privilege it is when they choose to come home. And when they bring 15 friends with them? We’ll find the pillows. We’ll buy the groceries. We’ll fire up the Blackstone. As the sign hanging on my basement door says, “All y’all are welcome but you gotta act right.”
War Eagle!
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