Ann Martin - Mary Anne And Too Many Babies

I was desperate.

I phoned my sister.

"Dawn, can you come over to the Salems' right away?" I asked shakily.

"Sure. What's wrong?"

I explained as quickly as I could. "So the thing is," I finished up, "I can't be in two

places at the same time. Someone has to take Ricky outside. I've never heard such screaming. Or seen such drooling."

"I bet he's teething/' said Dawn. "Give him one of those hard crackers. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"Thank you. You saved my life," I said seriously.

Fifteen minutes later, Dawn arrived at the Salems', sweaty from having ridden her bicycle in such a hurry. I was still walking Ricky in circles around the first floor. He was gumming madly on a teething biscuit I'd found in the kitchen cupboard. The biscuit had quieted him slightly — as long as we kept moving.

"Do you mind taking Ricky?" I asked Dawn. I circled from the dining room into the living room, Dawn at my heels. "I'd take him, but I think I better stay here in case Mrs. Salem comes home. It would probably be better if she found the same baby-sitter who was here when she left the house."

"I don't mind taking him," Dawn replied. "It's so nice out. Where's the stroller? We'll leave right away."

"It's in the garage. Can you wheel it to the front door? I don't want to stop moving until I can put Ricky right in the stroller."

Dawn retrieved the stroller while I circled with Ricky. As soon as she was waiting out-

side, I made one last circle, but when I reached the hallway, I turned right instead of left, walked through the front door, which Dawn was holding open, and plopped Ricky in the stroller. Dawn was pushing him down the walk before he knew what was happening. Right away, his cries began to fade.

I went back inside and checked on Rose, who was (miraculously) still sleeping. Then I collapsed in an armchair in the living room.

I was just reclining there, enjoying the peace when . . .

"WAHH!"

Oh, no. Not again.

I ran upstairs.

Now Rose was awake, sitting in her crib, screaming and drooling.

"I guess you're teething, too," I said wearily, understanding why Mrs. Salem looked so haggard. "At least I know what to do now. You need a biscuit and a walk."

I found a teething biscuit for Rose — and then realized that in order to take her for a walk, I needed the stroller, of course. I ran to the front stoop and looked up and down the street. Dawn and Ricky had already disappeared. Double darn. So I picked up Crying Baby Number Two and began making the circle. Kitchen to dining room to living room to hall and back to kitchen.

I was still walking Rose when Dawn returned, and Dawn and I were still walking both babies when Mrs. Salem returned.

"Do I have to write about that job in the notebook?" I asked Dawn that evening. "I would really rather forget the entire incident."

Chapter 14.

Ordinarily, when the phone rings at our house, everyone runs for it as if we were going to win a prize for being the one to answer. On the evening after my latest disaster with Ricky and Rose, the phone rang, and no one dove for it.

We were all tired.

I was tired from my taxing afternoon. Dawn was tired for the same reason. And Dad and Sharon were tired because they each had had a difficult day at work. Every member of my family was sacked out in a different room.

Ring . . . ring . . . ring.

The phone rang three times before I realized what was happening.

"Dawn, can you get that?" I called from my bedroom.

"Why?" she called from her bedroom.

"Because it's ringing."

"Mom'11 get it."

"No she won't!" Sharon yelled from downstairs. "She's too tired."

Ring . . . ring.

"Will someone please answer the phone?" said Dad.

"Mary Anne will!" shouted Dawn.

"I will not! I can't move!"

The phone stopped ringing.

"Did someone answer that?" called Sharon.

"No!" replied Dad and Dawn and I.

"You know, that could have been an important call," said Dawn. "Maybe someone died and left us an island or something."

"A tropical island?" I asked.

"Yes, with palm trees and beautiful sea-shells."

The phone rang again.

I sprinted into Dad and Sharon's room. So did Dawn. We grabbed the receiver at the same time. "Hello?" we said.

"Hello?" said Dad and Sharon on the other extension.

"Hello?" said a fifth voice.

"Logan?" I asked.

"Mary Anne?"

"Okay, everyone can get off the phone," I said. "We haven't inherited an island. This is just Logan calling."

"Just Logan?" he repeated. "Thanks a lot."

"Don't be insulted," I told him, giggling, as

the rest of my family went back to being tired. "It's just that — Oh, never mind. It's a long story."

"Oh. Well, I was calling because . . . You won't believe this, but good news! Sammie is walking, and I captured the event on videotape."

I began to laugh again. "A Kodak moment?" I suggested.

"Definitely." Logan was laughing, too.

I knew he was calling so we could talk things out, so we could make up once and for all. "How is Sammie really?" I asked.

"She's fine. How were the twins this afternoon?"

"A mess. They're teething. I'm glad you were taking care of Sammie today. I could never have handled her and the twins. As it was, Dawn had to come over and help me."

"Wow. I hardly ever hear you say you can't handle a sitting job."

"Sitting is different when babies are involved."

"Yeah. Mary Anne? I'm sorry we've been arguing."

"Me, too," I answered. "It's Sammie and Modern Living. That's why we're arguing. Mrs. Boy den is asking us to do something really difficult — be adults, be married, have babies, and at the same time be kids in school.

I'm glad she didn't give us real babies. Can you imagine what shape we'd be in now?"

"For one thing, we'd be broke. Dad took Hunter to the pediatrician for a checkup the other day, and you know what that visit cost? Seventy-five dollars! Seventy-five dollars when nothing was wrong with him in the first place. And we still haven't gotten the bill from the lab for the tests they're doing. Who knows how much that will be for. I don't know how my parents can afford to raise three children. Kerry and Hunter and I are expensive!"

"Well, we already know we can't afford even an egg right now, but I didn't expect us to argue so much. I thought that when two people got married they just moved into a nice little place and began hanging curtains and planting flower gardens."

"You mean they played house?"

"I guess so. I never thought about stuff like what to do if you can't find a baby-sitter. Or if you and your husband couldn't agree on how to raise a baby."

"Maybe when you're older you can figure those things out more easily."

"Maybe. I don't think that being older solves everything, though. Look at Dawn's mother and father. Or Kristy's mother and father. Or Stacey's mother and father."

"Yeah. But I bet you have a better chance at

a relationship if you wait awhile. Until after college or something."

"Probably."

"I mean, we couldn't get married now," said Logan.

"We? You and I? Get married now?" I squeaked. "I'll say we couldn't. I want to enjoy the rest of eighth grade first. I want to enjoy being thirteen and not have to worry about all those things I'll have plenty of time to worry about when I'm twenty-two or something."

"Yeah. I would like to play baseball without first having to think of who's going to watch Sammie. That would be a luxury. I'm not ready for so many complications."

"Me, neither. Logan, I really like you. I hope you know that."

"I do."

"But I'm not ready to be your wife, or anyone else's wife."

"That's cool. I'm not ready to be a husband."

"Do you think this is the kind of material Mrs. Boy den wants us to include in our report? What we learned about ourselves?"