Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 031

"Yes, boy. And he's just fallen down the stairs." Claire immediately crumpled to the floor.

"And I'm the doctor," said Nicky, grabbing for the stethoscope, which Vanessa had left on the floor.

"Oh! Oh, doctor!" cried Margo immediately. She tried to pick Claire up, but she wasn't strong enough, so she dragged her over to Nicky by the legs. "My little boy fell down the stairs! Oh, no! Help! What am I going to do?" Before Nicky could answer, Vanessa made an announcement from the head of the stairs.

"Mallory is itchy," she said. "She wants to take a baking-soda bath." "I'll go talk to her," said Claudia, and she ran up the stairs again. "Mal?" she called through the crack in the door. She thought it was awfully frustrating not to be able to see Mallory.

"Can I take a baking-soda bath?" asked Mal. "It helped a lot last night. You can't believe how much I itch. I feel like I have poison ivy." "I'm sorry," said Claudia. "That must be awful. I remember when I - " "Can I please take a bath?" Mal interrupted her.

"I think you should wait until your mom gets home." "I knew you were going to say that." If she knew it, Claud thought, then why did she ask? But she reminded herself that Mallory felt really lousy. "Why don't you play with your Kid-Kit?" she teased.

At last she got a laugh out of Mal. "Maybe I'll read some more after all," she said.

"Or how about a nap?" suggested Claud. "I'm. serious. You might feel better." "Okay." Claud returned to the game in the rec room. Nicky was now the patient. He had fallen off a building in New York City and had broken every bone in his body. "Doctor, doctor," he mumbled, "will I ever play the violin again?" "I think so," replied Dr. Vanessa. "Yes, I think so." "That's funny," said Nicky. "I could never play before!" He convulsed in laughter.

"Patient," said Vanessa, "you cut that out. You can't do that with broken bones." Nicky couldn't stop laughing at his joke. The three girls looked at each other helplessly.

Finally Claire said, "I'll be the doctor now." "No, you won't. I'm the doctor!" cried Vanessa.

"It's my turn!" "No way!" "I'm telling Mallory!" "No, you're not," Claudia broke in. "Mallory's trying to take a nap." "I am not," called Mallory from upstairs. "I can't sleep. I'm thirsty again." So Vanessa brought Mal some more ginger ale. Claire was just about to come down with appendicitis when the back door opened and in walked Mrs. Pike, followed by the very pale triplets.

"Mommy!" Claire cried. "I have appendicitis and Nicky fell off a skyscraper." "Oh, I hope not," said Mrs. Pike, and she looked so distressed that Claudia asked worriedly, "What's wrong?" "The doctor thinks the boys have pneumonia," replied Mrs. Pike.

"All of them?" asked Claudia. "I didn't know it was catching." "Usually it isn't, but they've got some viral form. They'll have to be kept isolated in their bedroom. Claudia, don't you get too close to them." "No," said Claudia, backing away.

"Oh, dear. How am I going to keep them quiet until they're well?" "Don't worry, Mom," spoke up Jordan, who had sunk into a chair. "I don't think I can move." But he did. He managed to follow his brothers upstairs.

"Four sick kids," moaned Mrs. Pike. "I guess I should be used to it. Once, all eight of them had a stomach virus at the same time." "Ew," said Claudia. And then she remembered poor Mal. "Oh, by the way," she added. "Mallory is dying to take another baking-soda bath. She really itches." "Okay." Mrs. Pike nodded wearily.

"Can I stay and help you with anything?" asked Claudia.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," replied Mrs. Pike, looking relieved.

"I can stay until five-fifteen," said Claud. "Then I'll have to leave for our BSC meeting." "Great. Can you watch Vanessa, Margo, Claire, and Nicky while I go take care of the others? I'll get the triplets settled and help Mallory with her bath." No sooner had Mrs. Pike dashed upstairs than Claire began talking again. "Now this time," she said, "Margo has been caught in a hurricane. And a tornado. And Vanessa is her mother, who's looking for her. I'm the doctor, waiting at the hospital. ..." The game was still going on when Claudia left.

Chapter 7.

I used to like weekends better than weekdays - for the obvious reasons. I could sleep late, I didn't have to go to school, I had free time, I could go shopping. Ever since the wedding, though, I've liked the weekdays better. You want to know why? I'll tell you why. Because on the weekends everyone is around all the time (well, usually), and Richard and Mary Anne are driving me crazy.

I have never seen anyone as neat as Richard. And he's not just neat, he has these systems for everything. For instance, he has organized all our books into categories, such as fiction, nonfiction, poetry, plays, and reference. And within each category, the books are arranged alphabetically according to the author's last name. And Richard's clothes are arranged not only by type but by color. In his closet hang (from left to right) his white shirts, his yellow shirts, then his blue shirts, from lighter to darker.

And little changes have crept into our house. For the first time ever, there are dividers in the kitchen drawers, so we have a place for the spoons, a place for the forks, etc. Even our refrigerator is organized. Richard put all these special holders in it so that we have certain spots for eggs, for cans of seltzer, you name it.

Now, I happen to like being organized (within reason), but my mother is an incurable slob, which can cause problems. I am now going to describe a typical Saturday at my house: Richard wakes up around six o'clock. He gets up early no matter what day it is. He starts brewing coffee in his coffee-maker. While the coffee's going, he gets the newspaper. He reads it in this order: business news, international news, national news, and local news. He sets the rest of the paper aside.

He does his reading while he drinks his coffee. He always makes exactly one and a half cups. That's the perfect amount for him. No one else in the house drinks coffee. Then he washes out the coffeepot, puts his mug in the dishwasher, and starts breakfast.

The rest of us come downstairs all bleary-eyed anywhere from eight o'clock until ten o'clock. Mom always sleeps the latest and Richard always says to her, "I'd just about given up on you. I hope your breakfast still tastes okay." If he knows she's going to get up so late, why does he start cooking so early?

But Mom just kisses him and tells him that she's sure breakfast will be okay, and that anything he's cooked is fine with her. (Which isn't true, because she never eats the bacon, and she doesn't like waffles or pancakes.) After breakfast, Mom strews the newspaper all over the living room while she reads it, and Richard tidies it up and puts the sections back together - in order. (What's the point? We're just going to get rid of it.) Then Mom goes upstairs and showers and dresses. She leaves her nightgown on the floor and wet towels all over the bathroom. Richard comes along and picks everything up.

At this point, Mom sometimes gets mad. "I can clean up after myself!" she protests.

"But you never do," replies Richard.

Once Mom is dressed, we either do something together as a family or go our separate ways. Mom likes movies, shopping, or going to a park for a picnic. Richard likes driving to Stamford and visiting museums, taking in a matinee (of a play, not a movie), or going out for a fancy meal. I like going our separate ways. I would much rather baby-sit than go to an art museum.

Then comes dinner. If we don't eat out, then Mom cooks. She is trying to convert Richard and Mary Anne to our vegetarian, health-food way of eating. She is not having much luck.

Mary Anne tries to kid about it. She says, "Where's the beef?" Richard is more direct. He comes right out and says, "Can't we have a little meat sometimes? Mary Anne and I are used to it." "Have it at lunch during the week," was Mom's answer once. "Then I won't have to look at it." In all honesty, I think Mom can go a little overboard. That was a rude comment. She didn't have to talk to Richard like that.