by Penny Colman
“This will is our first birthday without Dad,” Jag said when Mom told us.
“Maybe he’ll surprise us and show up,” I said. “Maybe he’s the big surprise.”
“Do you really think so?” Jag asked eagerly.
“Maybe,” I said with my fingers and toes crossed. Mom just smiled.
Cumpleanos feliz, Gayle shouted on Friday when Jag and I came downstairs for breakfast.
“Cum . . . . what? ” we asked.
Cumpleanos feliz, Gayle repeated. “Happy Birthday!” Your Mom left early this morning so she can get home early to celebrate.
Without Dad there, I didn’t feel much like celebrating.
I hoped all day long that Dad was the BIG birthday surprise. So did Jag. Tag thought we were being silly.
“Ah, forget it you two. Dad’s not coming just for your birthday,:
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Gayle said.
Finally we heard Mom’s car stop in the driveway.
“Did you hear that?” I shouted and jumped up dropping the cards in my hand. “Two car doors slammed! Two, not one, but two!”
We tripped over each other running to the window. Leaning out, I saw the shape of a familiar looking man.
“DAD!” I shouted. “DAD!”
“You’re close,” the man said with a laugh and turned around.
“Uncle Everett!” Tag said as he pushed me aside. “How did you get here?
“Your Mom picked me up at the train station,” he explained. “Since your Dad couldn’t be here, he asked me to come as a BIG birthday surprise.”
Sliding down the wall to sit on the floor by the window, Jag said in a quiet voice, “Uncle Everett is nice, but . . . . ”
“I know,” I mumbled as I slid down beside her.
“Come on everybody, let’s be happy!” Mom announced. “Tonight we’re all going out for dinner, and tomorrow we’re going to the circus.”
The circus was okay. Uncle Everett bought us anything we asked for - - hot dogs, ice cream, cotton candy, peanuts. And stuff we didn’t ask for like plastic elephants on a stick and clown hats.
“This sure was a fun birthday celebration,” Uncle Everett said when he kissed us goodbye. Then he gave us another kiss, “This one’s from your Dad,” he said. “And a big hug, too.”
I still felt sad when Gayle came on Monday. Why, I wasn’t sure. Maybe because Uncle Everett was the BIG surprise instead of Dad. Maybe because I was beginning to wonder if Dad was ever coming home. Maybe because Jag and I were eleven and we still had a babysitter. Maybe because of all those reasons.
“Why the sad face?” Gayle asked.
“Huh?” I replied.
“I said, why the sad face?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure?”
Then without meaning too, I blurted out, “I want my Dad to come home, and we’re too old for a babysitter.”
Gayle didn’t say anything for a minute or two. Then she said, “Your Dad will get home before you know it. And, as for being too old for a babysitter, I know how you feel.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. When I was your age, I didn’t like having babysitters either. As a matter of fact, my brothers and I used to try to chase babysitters away.”
“So, do we,” I confessed. “Although not you,” I quickly added. “We like you. We really do.”
Gayle laughed.
“Why don’t you talk to your mother?” Gayle asked.
“I’ve tried. But every time I almost convince her something happens that makes us look dumb.”
“Well,” she said, “keep trying.”
“I will,” I replied.
Little did I realize that I would end up convincing Mom when I wasn’t even trying.
Chapter Seven
A Washcloth, Heating Pad, and Warm Socks
The week before Dad was due home, the phone rang early Monday morning. For some reason, Mom didn’t answer it so I got up.
“Hello,” I said trying not to sound too sleepy.
“Hello, this is Ruth Swanson,” Gayle’s mother. I’m calling to say that Gayle is sick, so she won’t be able to baby-sit today. In fact, I don’t think she’s going to be able to baby-sit for several days, at least.
“On, no,” I said. “I’ll tell my mother. Tell Gayle, I hope she gets better soon.
“Mom, Mom,” I called as I opened her door. “Mom, are you awake?”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she moaned.
“Mom?” I said again feeling goose bumps pop up on my arms. “Are you okay?”
“Ahhhhhhhhh, Jig, help me to the bathroom,” Mom said in a wobbly voice. “I’m going to throw up.”
And she did. All over the bathroom.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” she said after I helped her back to bed.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll clean up.”
“Maybe Gayle will help you,” was the last thing Mom said before she fell asleep.
Mom was like that all day. Awake and throwing up. Asleep and moaning. Up and down. Jag helped. Tag, too. We all took care of her - - helping her to the bathroom, cleaning up, putting cold cloths on her forehead. Finally as the sun was setting, Mom opened her eyes without moaning.
“How do you feel?” I asked anxiously.
“Better,” she said and smiled a little bit.
“I’ll make you some tea and toast,” Tag said.
“Weak tea and dry toast,” Jag added. “I’ll help.”
“That sounds good,” Mom said and closed her eyes again. “What a day.”
“You can say that again,” I said and tucked the blanket around her shoulders.
Mom drank a little tea and nibbled on a little toast. Then she fell asleep until the moon was high in the sky.
“Jig . . . Jag . . . Tag,” I heard a voice in the darkness. Was I dreaming or was someone calling us?
“Jig . . . Jag . . . Tag,” I heard the voice again. Suddenly I came to; that’s Mom’s voice, I said out loud and jumped out of bed.
Jag had gotten to her first. “She’s feeling sick again,” she said, wiping Mom’s face with a damp, cold washcloth.
“I’ll get the heating pad,” Tag offered.
“Socks,” I said. “Warm socks on my feet always makes me feel better.”
Maybe it was the washcloth or the heating pad or the socks or all three, but something helped because soon Mom went back to sleep and she slept for the rest of the night and most of the next morning.
“Shouldn’t she be waking up?” Jag asked in the middle of the morning.
“Pretty soon,” I said, trying not to act worried.
“I can’t wait any longer,” Tag said. “I’m going to go ask her if she’s okay.”
‘No, Tag, let her sleep,” I said.
Just then we heard the toilet flush.
“She’s up!” we shouted and dashed up the stairs and almost knocked her down as she came out of the bathroom.
“Are you okay? How do you feel? Are you hungry?
“Yes, yes, I’m better. How are you?
“Fine. We’re fine.”
“I’m glad,” Mom said and pulled the blankets up around her chin. “Wow, was I sick.”
‘You sure were,” Tag exclaimed.
‘Well, I’m glad that Gayle is here to look after you kids. Why don’t you have her come up so I can thank her.”
Tag shrugged his shoulders. Jig twirled her hair. I shuffled my feet.
“We can’t do that,” I said.
“Oh, why not?” Mom asked and closed her eyes.
“Because Gayle isn’t here.”
Mom’s eyes flew open.
“And she hasn’t been here for two days,” I continued. “She’s sick too.”
“You mean you kids have been taking care of yourselves?
“And you, too,” I said.
“And me, too,” Mom said with a sigh.
“And during the night, too,” Tag added.
�
��Yes, during the night,” Mom said and rubbed her hands across her forehead. “Vaguely I remember someone was wiping my face with a cool cloth.”
“That was me,” Jag said proudly.
“And someone putting a heating pad on my stomach.”
“Me,” Tag said standing up tall.
“So, Jig, you must have been the one who put warm socks on my feet.”
I didn’t say anything. I just smiled.
“Well, well, well,” Mom said with a soft smile that lasted. “My children are old enough.”
Old enough for what? I wanted to ask her. Old enough to stay alone? But I stopped my words. This wasn’t the right time to ask. Besides Mom was asleep again. We’ll talk about it later, I said to myself. Later when she’s feeling better.
Chapter Eight
All of Us Under the Bed
Before I had a chance to talk to Mom, Dad called to say he was having car trouble and wasn’t exactly sure when he could get it fixed.
“He’s taken the car to the garage three times, but it keeps overheating,” Mom explained.
I sat still for a minute thinking and thinking. “I have an idea!” I said. “Let’s go get him in your car.”
“But what would we do with Dad’s car?”
“Just leave it. It’s just a piece of junk anyhow.”
“Now, come on, Jig. Be realistic.”
“I am!”
Mom gave me a long look.
“Well, if he does have to stay longer, we’re old enough to stay alone, you know,” I told her.
“Oh, you think so?” Mom answered with a soft chuckle.
Feeling my face get red, I swallowed hard and said, “Yes, I think so.”
“Actually, so does Gayle. She called me this morning to say she was well enough to stay with you, but she also said she didn’t think you needed a babysitter,” Mom said.
‘I don’t either,” I replied.
Just then the telephone rang.
It was Dad. I talked to him after Mom.
“When are you coming home,” I asked.
“Soon. Very soon.”
“Unless it’s today - - it’s not soon enough!”
Dad laughed. “Then it’s not going to be soon enough. But it will be soon. I promise.”
Mom told us that Dad had found a new mechanic, who promised to fix the car. Then she said, “Now about a babysitter.”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted her. “What about what Gayle said?”
Mom rested her head back on the pillows. She sighed. She looked at me and Jag and Tag. She ran her fingers along the soft border of the blanket . . . . Then in a serious voice, she said, “Yes, yes, I think you are old enough.”
At first I couldn’t believe my ears. Mom really said, yes. After all this time, she just said a simple - - yes. It was almost too easy. Easy that is, if I don’t count Toby and Cindy and Mrs. Rizzoli and Gayle and Mom being so sick.
“I’m going to work half a day for the rest of the week, so you can get used to staying alone,” Mom explained.
Tag and Jag and I threw our arms around her.
“Hooray, no more babysitters,” we said. “You won’t be sorry.”
And Mom wasn’t. Although on Thursday afternoon Tag burned a piece of toast and black smoke poured out the open kitchen window and the neighbor called the fire department. But that wasn’t Tag’s fault.
“The neighbor would have called the fire department whether or not we had a babysitter,” I told Mom.
On Friday afternoon, I ran into the cellar door and got a black eye.
“A babysitter wouldn’t have stopped that from happening,” I pointed out to Mom when she came home.
The next week, the week that Dad was due home on Thursday, Mom went to work for the whole day, and we stayed alone for the whole time! Monday went great. So did Tuesday. On Wednesday, I was feeling confident, until I realized that Jag was missing.
“JAG . . . JAG . . . JAG,” I called.
“What’s the matter,” Tag shouted from the backyard.
“I can’t find Jag. Come help me look for her,” I replied. We searched inside and outside. We rode our bikes to the pool. To the library. To the store. We called everybody we knew, except Mom because we didn’t want to worry her. Not yet. Finally we got really scared.
“Where could she be?” Tag ask anxiously. “We’ve looked everywhere.”
That’s when I realized there was one place we hadn’t looked. “Follow me,” I ordered Tag and zoomed up stairs to Jag’s room
Kneeling on the floor, I lifted the bedspread and peered under the bed. There she was - - sound asleep!
“Jag, Jag,” I said and wiggled her foot.
“Mmmmmmmm,” she said, “I was dreaming about Dad.”
“A happy dream, I hope,” we heard someone say who sounded just like Dad.
Startled, I spun around to see who it was. It was Dad - - a day early!
“Dad!” I shouted and jumped up to hug him. Tag was right behind me, but Jag was too sleepy to move so Dad crawled under the bed to hug her.
Just then we heard the front door open.
“Hi!” Mom called. “I see Dad’s car is in the driveway. Where are you all?”
“Under Jag’s bed,” Tag and I shouted as we dove in under the bed beside Dad and Jag.
“Then here I come,” Mom said.
Dad crawled out to hug Mom. We did too and talked and laughed until it was almost dinnertime.
‘We’ll cook tonight,” Jag and Tag and I shouted at the same time.
“Wow, cook for all of us,” Dad said with a little question mark in his voice. “That’s a big job.”
“Not for us,” Tag said. “We’re old enough to cook dinner.”
“That’s right,” Jag added. “And to take care of Mom when she’s sick.”
“And to stay by ourselves,” I said proudly. “Because we’re too old for a babysitter!”
“Okay, okay,” Dad interrupted me with a laugh. “I believe you. I believe you’re old enough!”
“They sure are,” Mom said with a big smile.
About the Author
Penny Colman loves to write fiction for young readers that keeps them guessing and makes them laugh. She has also written many award-winning nonfiction articles and books for all ages.
