Don’t look like she wants it.”
Mrs. Perkins held the little horse in her hands. She looked sad as she gave the flowing mane one long, thoughtful stroke. Then she turned on her heel.
“We’ll see Amber gets this,” she said, and put the pony in her desk drawer. “And you,” she said to Orin, “had best keep your hands off of other people’s things.”
Orin slid back into his desk, surprised that Mrs. Perkins seemed so upset about the toy horse.
Well, it upset me too, somehow. I kept thinking about that purple bridle, about those rhinestones …
14
Please Pass the Kazoos
“Great news!” Mom said when she burst in after work Friday night. She picked me up and swung me around. She hugged the babies. Then she threw herself at Dad.
“Galaxy Greetings accepted the card ideas I sent them!”
“They did? Beth, that’s terrific! That’s the big company in Ohio, right?”
“Uh huh, and listen to this.” She tossed her jacket on the sofa. “They want me to develop an entire line for them!”
“Well, hey!” Dad said. “This calls for a celebration.”
“You better believe it. We might be talking about a lot of money.”
“Sorry I don’t have any champagne on hand.Will this do?” He started pouring apple juice into wineglasses for everybody. We clinked them, even the babies, and Dad said, “To Mommy!”
“To Mommy!” I said.
“To Mommy, to Mommy,” Freddie and Lucy echoed.
Then Dad served up the pot roast.
“Do you all realize what this means?” Mom said. “I can stay home more, work in my studio. I’ve talked it over with Lynn. It’s okay with her if I only come into the shop two or three days a week.”
“I thought you wanted to work full time,” Dad said.
“So did I, but it’s been driving me crazy. I’m tired and I’m cranky and besides, I miss you guys.” She looked at Dad. “I didn’t go to all that trouble to have these kids just to miss out on all the fun stuff.”
Now everybody was in a good mood.
When Mom was all talked out about the greeting card business, Dad started telling about the stuff he’d bought for his gourmet dinner next week. His plan was to get everything ahead except for the things he had to buy fresh.
“I’m not worried about the food,” Mom said. “But what about the house? I think we need a week just to clean it up.”
I glanced around. Disaster City. Even by our standards, this was a real low. Toys, food crumbs,you name it—it was all over the floor. A lot of the stuff looked like it’d been in the garbage at least once already before somebody—two little somebodies, I should say—flung it out. One of my socks trailed down in front of the TV screen.
“It’s on my list.” Dad headed for the sink with his plate. “Tomorrow morning, major shovel-out.”
“Whatever you say,” Mom said, like she’d believe it when she saw it and not before. Then she went over and started cleaning up the kitchen.
Dad blew the animal crackers off the record player and put on Raffi. Then he kicked back the braided rug and some of the toys, passed out the kazoos and we started dancing around. Freddie blew shrieks from an old bicycle horn that had lost its rubber squeezer. When we got to our favorite number, “Let’s Make Some Noise,” we ripped into the pots and pans cupboard and started banging away, letting that calypso beat blast the whole house.
Dad led a screaming conga line past the kitchen sink, picked up a dish towel, and snapped Mom’s rear.
Now this is the sort of thing your mom might actually kind of like if your dad does it, but don’t try it yourself. I did once and got a that’ll-be-the-last-time-for-that look.
What my dad gets from her is pretend mad with a twinkle in her eye.
“Forget the dishes!” he said now. “We’re celebrating!”He stuck the kazoo back in his mouth and grabbed her.
Then he broke away and put on the “William Tell Overture.” In his stocking feet, he started running across the room and
Mrs. Perkins held the little horse in her hands. She looked sad as she gave the flowing mane one long, thoughtful stroke. Then she turned on her heel.
“We’ll see Amber gets this,” she said, and put the pony in her desk drawer. “And you,” she said to Orin, “had best keep your hands off of other people’s things.”
Orin slid back into his desk, surprised that Mrs. Perkins seemed so upset about the toy horse.
Well, it upset me too, somehow. I kept thinking about that purple bridle, about those rhinestones …
14
Please Pass the Kazoos
“Great news!” Mom said when she burst in after work Friday night. She picked me up and swung me around. She hugged the babies. Then she threw herself at Dad.
“Galaxy Greetings accepted the card ideas I sent them!”
“They did? Beth, that’s terrific! That’s the big company in Ohio, right?”
“Uh huh, and listen to this.” She tossed her jacket on the sofa. “They want me to develop an entire line for them!”
“Well, hey!” Dad said. “This calls for a celebration.”
“You better believe it. We might be talking about a lot of money.”
“Sorry I don’t have any champagne on hand.Will this do?” He started pouring apple juice into wineglasses for everybody. We clinked them, even the babies, and Dad said, “To Mommy!”
“To Mommy!” I said.
“To Mommy, to Mommy,” Freddie and Lucy echoed.
Then Dad served up the pot roast.
“Do you all realize what this means?” Mom said. “I can stay home more, work in my studio. I’ve talked it over with Lynn. It’s okay with her if I only come into the shop two or three days a week.”
“I thought you wanted to work full time,” Dad said.
“So did I, but it’s been driving me crazy. I’m tired and I’m cranky and besides, I miss you guys.” She looked at Dad. “I didn’t go to all that trouble to have these kids just to miss out on all the fun stuff.”
Now everybody was in a good mood.
When Mom was all talked out about the greeting card business, Dad started telling about the stuff he’d bought for his gourmet dinner next week. His plan was to get everything ahead except for the things he had to buy fresh.
“I’m not worried about the food,” Mom said. “But what about the house? I think we need a week just to clean it up.”
I glanced around. Disaster City. Even by our standards, this was a real low. Toys, food crumbs,you name it—it was all over the floor. A lot of the stuff looked like it’d been in the garbage at least once already before somebody—two little somebodies, I should say—flung it out. One of my socks trailed down in front of the TV screen.
“It’s on my list.” Dad headed for the sink with his plate. “Tomorrow morning, major shovel-out.”
“Whatever you say,” Mom said, like she’d believe it when she saw it and not before. Then she went over and started cleaning up the kitchen.
Dad blew the animal crackers off the record player and put on Raffi. Then he kicked back the braided rug and some of the toys, passed out the kazoos and we started dancing around. Freddie blew shrieks from an old bicycle horn that had lost its rubber squeezer. When we got to our favorite number, “Let’s Make Some Noise,” we ripped into the pots and pans cupboard and started banging away, letting that calypso beat blast the whole house.
Dad led a screaming conga line past the kitchen sink, picked up a dish towel, and snapped Mom’s rear.
Now this is the sort of thing your mom might actually kind of like if your dad does it, but don’t try it yourself. I did once and got a that’ll-be-the-last-time-for-that look.
What my dad gets from her is pretend mad with a twinkle in her eye.
“Forget the dishes!” he said now. “We’re celebrating!”He stuck the kazoo back in his mouth and grabbed her.
Then he broke away and put on the “William Tell Overture.” In his stocking feet, he started running across the room and
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