Ann Martin - Kristy And The Mothers Day Surprise

Chapter 3.

When I left Claudia’s house, Charlie was waiting for me in the Kishis’ driveway. He has been really good about remembering to drive me to and from the meetings of the Babysitters Club. We are paying him, but still . . . I keep thinking he might get tied up with an after-school activity and forget me sometime.

Moving across town was so inconvenient. I’m not near any of my closest friends, and I’m not near my school. Now I have to get rides all the time and take the bus to school. The other kids in my new neighborhood go to private schools. But I wanted to stick with my regular school (so did my brothers), so we’re the only ones who go to public. We really stand out.

Charlie pulled into the drive, and Watson’s huge house (well, our huge house) spread before us. I am amazed every time I see it. We parked, and my brother and I went inside.

We were greeted by Sam. “Boy, Kristy. I don’t know how you do it,” was the first thing he said.

“Do what?”

“Baby-sit so much without going looney tunes.”

I grinned. Sam had been watching David Michael, Andrew, and Karen, since Mom and Watson were still at work. “Baby-sitting is easy,” I replied. “It’s a piece of cake. What happened?”

“What do you mean ‘What happened?’ Nothing happened. They’re just kids. I’m worn out. I couldn’t give another cannonball ride if my life depended on it.”

“That’s Charlie’s fault for inventing cannonballs,” I told Sam.

At that moment, Andrew came barreling into the front hall, crying, “Sam! Sam! I need a cannonball ride!”

Without pausing, Sam picked Andrew up, Andrew curled himself into a ball, and Sam charged off toward the kitchen, shouting, “Baboom-ba-boom-ba-boom-ba-boom.”

“I thought he couldn’t give another cannonball ride,” said Charlie.

“Andrew is hard to resist,” I told him.

Dinner that night was noisy. It was one of

the few times when everyone was home. Andrew and Karen usually aren’t with us, and when they are, they’re almost always here on a weekend — when Charlie’s out on a date or Sam is at a game at school, or something. But that night was different. We ate in the dining room. Watson sat at one end of the table, Mom at the other. David Michael, Karen, and I sat along one side of the table; Charlie, Sam, and Andrew sat across from us.

When everyone had been served, Mom said, “Isn’t this nice?” She had been a little emotional lately.

“It’s terrific,” agreed Watson, who sounded too enthusiastic.

Mom and Watson get all worked up whenever we’re together as a family, and I know why. I like my family and everything. I like us a lot. But sometimes I think we feel more like pieces of a family instead of a whole family. We’re a shirt whose seams haven’t all been stitched up. I mean, Mom and Watson got married, but I would only go to Mom if I needed to borrow money. And Andrew usually heads for Watson if he’s hurt himself or doesn’t feel well. We’re Mom’s kids and they’re Watson’s kids. Two teams on the same playing field.

Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t bad. Really.

Our family just needs to grow together — so Mom and Watson make a huge deal out of things like all of us sitting down at the dinner table.

Our dinners are usually not very quiet. That night, David Michael started things off by singing softly, “They built the ship Titanic to sail the ocean blue. A sadder ship the waters never knew. She was on her maiden trip when an iceboard hit the ship —“

“Cut it out!” cried Karen suddenly. “I hate that song. All the people die. Besides, it’s ‘iceberg,’ not ‘iceboard.’

“I know that,” said David Michael. But he didn’t. He had said ‘iceboard’ every time he had sung that song.

He stopped singing. He made a rhythm band out of his plate; glass, fork, and spoon.

Andrew joined him.

Chink-a-chink. Chinkety-chink, chink.

Mom beamed. Why did she look so happy? Usually dinnertime rhythm bands gave her a headache.

“Hey, Karen. Your epidermis is showing,” said Sam from across the table.

“What? What?” Karen, flustered, began checking her clothes. Finally, she said haughtily, “Sam. I am not wearing a dress. How can my epipotomus be showing?”

We couldn’t help it. Watson, Mom, Charlie,

Sam, David Michael, and I began to laugh.

Not rudely, just gently. Well, all right. David

Michael laughed rudely — loudly, anyway.

“What?” Karen demanded.

“It’s ‘epidermis,’ not ‘epipotomus,’ “ said David Michael, glad to be able to correct her, “and it means ‘skin.’”

Karen looked questioningly at Sam. “He’s right,” said Sam. “It does mean ‘skin.’ “My skin is showing?” said Karen. “Oh, my skin is showing! That’s funny! I’m going to say that to everyone in my class tomorrow.”

“Now let’s have a little eating,” said Watson.

For a few moments, we ate. I was working on a mouthful of lima beans when I heard David Michael murmur, “Beans, beans, they’re good for your heart. The more you eat, the more —“

I kicked him under the table. Not hard. Just enough to make him stop. Mom and Watson hate that song.

But soon my brother was singing, “Beans, beans, the magical fruit. The more you eat —“

I kicked him again. “Cut it out.”

“It’s a different song.”

“Not different enough”

David Michael grew silent.

At her end of the table, Mom put down her

fork and looked lovingly at Watson. “We’re so

lucky,” she said. Watson smiled.

I glanced at Sam and Charlie. Mom had been acting weird lately.

“We’ve got six beautiful children —“

“I am not beautiful,” said David Michael. “I’m a boy.”

“We live in a lovely town,” continued Mom, “we like our jobs, we have a gorgeous house . . . with plenty of rooms. Do you realize that we have three spare bedrooms?”

My mother was looking at us kids.

I glanced at Sam and Charlie again. They shrugged.

“It is a nice house, Mom,” I agreed. Mom nodded. “Plenty of extra space.” Suddenly Sam said, “Hey, Mom, you’re not pregnant, are you?”

(My mother could have been pregnant. She’s only in her late thirties. She had Charlie right after she graduated from college.)

“No,” Mom replied. “I’m not. . . . But how would you kids feel about another brother or sister?”

Oh. So she was trying to become pregnant. “Another brother or sister?” David Michael repeated dubiously.

“A baby?” squeaked Andrew and Karen. “Great!” said Sam and Charlie. “Terrific!” I added honestly. I love babies. Imagine having one right in my house, twentyfour hours a day.

But the little kids just couldn’t be enthusiastic.

“Why do you want a baby?” asked Karen bluntly.

“Oh, we didn’t say we want a baby —“ Watson began.

But before he could finish, Andrew spoke up. “A baby,” he said, “would be the youngest person in the family. But that’s me. I’m the youngest. I don’t want a baby.”

“Babies smell,” added Karen.

“They cry,” said David Michael. “And burp and spit up and get baby food in their hair. And you have to change their diapers.”

“Kids, kids,” exclaimed Watson, holding his hands up. “Elizabeth just asked about another brother or sister, that’s all.”

Silence.

At last David Michael said, “Well, brothers and sisters start out as babies, don’t they?”

And Andrew said, “I think we’ve got enough kids around here.”

“Yeah,” agreed Karen and David Michael.

But I couldn’t help saying, “Another kid would be great. Really.”

Sam and Charlie nodded.

No one seemed to know what to say then, but it didn’t matter because Boo-Boo came into the dining room carrying a mole he’d caught, and we all jumped out of our chairs. The poor mole was still alive, so we had to get it away from Boo-Boo and then put it back outside where it belonged.