Soupy Saturdays with the Pain and the Great One

by Judy Blume

  We wore them while we watched my favorite princess movie.

  When the movie ended, Emily said, “I’ve never wanted to be a princess. I want to be a vet when I grow up. Or maybe an explorer.”

  “You think I want to be a princess?” I asked.

  “Don’t you?” she said.

  “No—it’s just a party thing,” I explained.

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Now I’ll never be able to tell her the truth. I’ll never be able to tell her that actually, I wouldn’t mind being a princess.

  After the movie, Mom lit the candles on my cake. She and Dad and Emily sang “Happy Half Birthday” to me. That’s when the Pain came downstairs and into the kitchen. He was carrying Fluzzy over his shoulder.

  “Jake,” Mom said, “you’re supposed to be in bed.”

  “Fluzzy smelled ice cream,” the Pain said.

  “That’s impossible,” I told him. “A cat can’t smell ice cream from so far away. And neither can a human—especially a sick human.” I looked at Mom. “Make him go back to his room.”

  “Ice cream would help Fluzzy’s sore throat,” the Pain said.

  “Since when does Fluzzy have a sore throat?” I asked.

  “He caught it from me.”

  “Would Fluzzy like a scoop of vanilla?” Mom asked the Pain.

  “If it’s the white vanilla,” he said. “Fluzzy doesn’t like the yellow vanilla.”

  Emily looked at me. “What’s he talking about? Vanilla is vanilla.”

  I didn’t even try to explain.

  Dad said, “I’ll keep Jake company upstairs while Fluzzy has his ice cream.”

  After we finished our cake and ice cream, Emily and I went up to my room. She looked at the two sleeping bags laid out side by side on the floor. Then she looked at me. Then she looked back at the sleeping bags. Then she said, “I think I’ll go home now.”

  “But it’s a sleepover party,” I reminded her. “You can’t go home. You’ll ruin everything if you go home now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily said, “but I want to go home.”

  “Is it because of my brother?”

  “Your brother?” Emily said. “It has nothing to do with your brother.”

  “Then what?” I asked, choking up.

  “I just want to go home,” Emily said. She sounded choked up too.

  I found Mom and told her Emily wanted to go home.

  Mom asked Emily if she was feeling okay.

  “Yes,” Emily said. “But I want to go home.”

  “Are you sure?” Mom said.

  Now Emily got teary for real. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Mom called Emily’s house. Her dad explained that Emily has never slept over at anyone’s house. He said, “This was going to be her first time. But I guess she’s not ready yet.”

  “Don’t be mad,” Emily said to me at the door. “It was a good party. I liked the cake. Can I take my tiara with me?”

  I nodded.

  My sleepover party, the one I’d waited for all my life, was over. And it wasn’t even nine o’clock. Mom put her arm around me. “This was the worst half birthday party in the history of the world,” I told her. I tried not to cry but it wasn’t easy.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped,” Mom said. “Maybe next year …”

  But I didn’t want to think about next year.

  The next morning the Pain came into the kitchen. “I need juice.”

  Dad poured him a glass. He asked the Pain if he was feeling better.

  “A little,” the Pain said. He eyed the two extra tiaras on the counter. “Can I have one of those?” he said.

  “You want to be a princess?” I asked.

  “No, I just want a crown,” he told me.

  “Help yourself,” I said. “I’m so over everything princess!”

  He took a tiara and a bag of fake jewels. He stuck the jewels on the tiara. Then he put it on his head—backwards. He looked so silly I started to laugh.

  “Next year you better have a white cake for your half birthday,” he said. “Because I’m coming to your party.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not having any more half birthday parties. This was my first and last.”

  “What about your regular birthday?”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m coming to your party, right?”

  “You always do.”

  “And you can come to mine,” he said. Then he ran to the hall mirror to look at himself in his tiara.

  While he was gone I cut myself a huge slice of birthday cake. It tasted even better than last night.

  Olive One

  Aunt Diana is going on a trip. “Maybe she’ll bring the baby to stay with us,” the Great One said. “And I’ll be the babysitter.” She started lining up baby toys. Some of them were mine.

  “The baby doesn’t like you,” I told the Great One.

  “Does so!” the Great One shouted.

  “Does not!” I shouted back. I picked up my old horn and tooted it at her.

  She covered her ears and called, “Mommmm!”

  I laughed. I love to make the Great One mad.

  Mom came out of the kitchen. She was making soup. She always makes soup on Saturday mornings. She said, “Children … the baby will like both of you when he’s older.”

  “But he’ll like me better,” the Great One said. “Because I know how to babysit.”

  “No, you don’t,” I told her.

  “Yes, I do!” The Great One put her hands on her hips. She glared at me. I laughed again.

  “You are such a pain!” she shouted.

  “Children,” Mom said again. “This is a silly argument.” Then she went back to the kitchen.

  “Silly, silly, silly!” I sang, dancing around the Great One and all the baby toys.

  The Great One tried to kick me. But I’m faster and jumped out of the way. Fluzzy sniffed an old windup monkey. “Stop that!” the Great One told him. “That’s for the baby, not you.”

  When the doorbell rang the Great One called, “I’ll get it!” But she ran so fast she tripped over the hall rug and fell flat on her face. I felt like laughing but I didn’t. Instead, I opened the door.

  It was Aunt Diana holding the baby. “Ooooh,” the Great One called, picking herself up off the floor. “I knew you’d bring the baby.”

  The baby’s name is Jackson. But everyone calls him the baby. I wonder if they’ll still call him the baby when he starts school. I feel sorry for him if they do.

  Aunt Diana shoved the baby at the Great One. “Abigail, would you hold him for a minute?”

  “I knew you’d want me to babysit,” the Great One said.

  As soon as the Great One took the baby, the baby started to cry. The Great One patted him on the back. “You’re going to like me soooo much,” she cooed.

  The baby cried louder.

  “I’m going to be your favorite babysitter,” she sang. “You’ll see.”

  Aunt Diana wriggled off her red backpack.

  Now the baby was screaming.

  “Maybe he’s tired,” Aunt Diana said, reaching for the baby. She stuck a pacifier in his mouth. The baby stopped crying.

  “Where’s your mom?” Aunt Diana asked. She looked at her watch. “I don’t want to miss my plane.”

  “Here I am,” Mom said, coming from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her jeans. “I was just getting ready for Olive.”

  “I don’t like olives,” the Great One said. She wrinkled her nose. “You know I don’t like olives.”

  Neither do I, but I didn’t say so. I never agree with the Great One if I can help it.

  Aunt Diana laughed. “You’re a picky eater, Abigail. I hope the baby won’t be a picky eater.”

  “I’m not a picky eater,” the Great One said. “I just don’t like olives. You want to see a picky eater, look at Jake. He only eats white food.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not picky,
” I told her. “I’ll eat any white food.”

  “No, you won’t,” the Great One said. “You won’t eat cauliflower.”

  “Cauliflower has green stems.”

  “That’s enough,” Mom told us. “Aunt Diana is in a hurry.”

  Aunt Diana handed Mom the red backpack. “Everything you’ll need is right in here,” she said. “Food, vitamins, toys, treats, brush, special blanket, and a list of emergency numbers just in case.”

  “Don’t worry,” the Great One said. “I’m going to be the best babysitter in the history of the world.”

  “Olive will be glad to know that,” Aunt Diana told her.

  “Olive?” the Great One said. “Who’s Olive?”

  I was wondering the same thing.

  Aunt Diana opened the front door and whistled. A scruffy old dog walked up to the house. “This is Olive,” Aunt Diana said. “She’s staying with you while I’m away.”

  “A dog?” the Great One cried, as if she couldn’t believe it. “A dog! I thought you were leaving the baby.”

  Aunt Diana smiled. “Not this time.”

  The Great One looked at Olive. Olive looked at the Great One. Then the dog barked. Fluzzy practically flew up the stairs.

  “Maybe Olive will think you’re the best doggy-sitter in the history of the world,” I said.

  “Shut up!” the Great One shouted.

  But I was already rolling around on the floor and Olive was licking me.

  Olive Two

  Fluzzy doesn’t like Olive. He’s been hiding in the closet since Olive got here. We think he comes out to eat in the middle of the night. Poor Fluzzy. Maybe he doesn’t like the way Olive smells.

  “Dog breath,” my friend Justin said. “We should brush her teeth.”

  So we tried. I put plenty of toothpaste on my toothbrush. But Olive wouldn’t open her mouth.

  “We need a treat,” I told Justin. So we went to the kitchen. Olive followed us. I knew she would. She loves to eat.

  I got out a treat and showed it to Olive. She opened her mouth, and when she did, Justin got the toothbrush inside. But Olive bit down on it and Justin couldn’t get it out of her mouth.

  “That’s my toothbrush!” I said.

  “Was your toothbrush,” Justin said.

  Finally, Olive dropped the toothbrush. There was no toothpaste left on it.

  Olive licked her chops. When she opened her mouth I smelled my toothpaste.

  Later, Dylan came over. “That’s a smelly dog,” he said, holding his nose.

  “She’s a rescue dog,” I told him. “She’s old.”

  “What’s a rescue dog?” Dylan asked.

  “A dog who needs a home.”

  “Maybe she needs a bath,” Dylan said.

  So we filled the bathtub. We threw in some of the Great One’s bubble bath.

  The bubbles came up so high we were sure they would hit the ceiling.

  Olive sniffed them. Some got stuck to her nose. But she wouldn’t get into the tub. She growled when Dylan tried to pick her up. “Is she going to bite me?” he asked.

  “No,” I told him.

  “Are you sure?” Dylan asked.

  “Pretty sure. Just don’t try to pick her up again.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dylan said.

  “Maybe a shampoo would work better,” I said, looking at Olive.

  “Yes, a shampoo,” Dylan agreed.

  “Come on, girl,” I said to Olive. “You’re going to like this.” I dug another treat out of my pocket and waved it in front of Olive’s face. She followed me into Mom and Dad’s bathroom. They have a walk-in shower.

  I rubbed some shampoo into Olive’s fur. It smelled nice, like coconut.

  “That’s not enough,” Dylan said. “Olive is a big dog. She needs a lot of shampoo.” He grabbed the bottle and poured it onto Olive’s back. I rubbed it in. Olive’s fur turned white and sudsy. “She smells better already,” Dylan said.

  It was true. She did.

  I showed Olive another treat and she followed me into the shower. But when I turned on the water Olive jumped out without getting wet. I wasn’t so lucky. I got soaked. Dylan laughed his head off.

  Suddenly, the bathroom door opened. The Great One stood there with her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?” she shouted. “And what’s wrong with Olive?” She ran her hand over Olive’s back. “Is this shampoo?” she asked, smelling her hand.

  “Yes,” I told her.

  “Are you out of your mind?” she said.

  Before I could answer—before I could say No, I’m not out of my mind, she yelled, “You can’t use people shampoo on a dog.”

  “Says who?” I asked.

  But the Great One didn’t answer. She marched out of the room and yelled, “Mom … Dad … we have an emergency!”

  Mom and Dad both came running.

  “Uh-oh,” Dad said. “What’s happened to Olive?”

  “We were just trying to shampoo her,” I explained.

  Dylan didn’t say anything.

  Mom looked at me and said, “Jake, you’re all wet. Go and change your clothes.”

  So I went to my room. I got out of my wet clothes. I pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie. Then I flew down the stairs in time to see Dad hosing off Olive in the yard. The Great One was wearing rain gear even though it was a sunny day. She was trying to hold Olive still.

  “You better pray Olive doesn’t catch cold and die,” the Great One said to me. “How would you explain that to Aunt Diana?”

  I started to worry.

  Dylan said, “Dogs swim even when it’s cold out. What do they care about water from a hose?”

  But I could see that Olive cared. I felt really bad for her.

  “Get some towels, Jake,” Dad called. “We have to dry off this dog.”

  But Olive had other plans. She started shaking the water off her coat. She shook and shook, spraying water everywhere. At Dad, at Mom, at Dylan, and at the Great One. “Stop it, Olive!” the Great One shrieked.

  But Olive didn’t stop until she wanted to.

  That night we were playing Monopoly when Fluzzy came out of hiding. He batted around one of Olive’s toys. Then he carried it away in his mouth. “Did you see that?” I asked. “Fluzzy just stole one of Olive’s toys.”

  “Borrowed,” the Great One said. “Fluzzy doesn’t steal.”

  That’s when the phone rang. I answered. It was Aunt Diana. She wanted to know if Olive was having fun.

  “Yes, Olive is having a lot of fun,” I told Aunt Diana.

  “What’s she been doing?” Aunt Diana asked.

  For a minute I wasn’t sure what to say. Then I got an idea. “Today we played dentist,” I said.

  “Dentist!” Aunt Diana said. “Was Olive the dentist or the patient?”

  I got this picture in my mind of Olive trying to brush my teeth. “We took turns,” I told Aunt Diana.

  Then I looked at Olive. She looked back at me with those big brown eyes. And I knew that even if she could speak, she would keep our day a secret from Aunt Diana.

  “Thanks, Olive,” I said.

  Weirdo on Wheels

  Olive stayed with us for a week. On Saturday we took her back to Aunt Diana’s house. Before we got going Dad stacked our bikes on the car rack. “Don’t bother taking mine,” I told him. But he took it anyway.

  “Are you going to ride your bike today?” the Pain asked.

  “None of your business,” I told him. “Are you going to get carsick today?”

  “None of your business,” he said. Then he laughed.

  Aunt Diana lives in the country. As soon as we got going, Olive stuck her head out the car window. I like Olive. She’s a good dog. There’s just one problem. Even after her bath, she’s still the smelliest dog in the history of the world. I covered my face with a towel so I wouldn’t have to smell her.

  It took an hour to get to Aunt Diana’s house. For once, the Pain didn’t get carsick. And Olive was very glad to see Aunt Diana a
nd Mitchell. Mitchell is Aunt Diana’s husband. We don’t call him Uncle. We just call him Mitchell. Or Mitch. He’s very tall. He’s so tall he can reach anything. Aunt Diana doesn’t need a step stool since she married Mitch.

  At their wedding, the Pain stuffed his pockets with mini hot dogs in tiny rolls. That was before he decided to only eat white food. Mom found the hot dogs the next morning when she was putting away his clothes. The mustard made a mess of his jacket. That’s what you get when you take the Pain to a wedding.

  Aunt Diana had lunch ready when we got to her house. Soup and sandwiches. The Pain ate white cheese on white bread. When we finished, I helped Aunt Diana clear the table. “Did you enjoy taking care of Olive?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes,” I told her. “Olive is a very nice dog. There’s just one thing.…”

  “What’s that?” Aunt Diana asked.

  “It’s about Olive’s smell,” I said.

  “What smell?” Aunt Diana asked.

  “You know,” I said. “The bad smell.”

  “What bad smell?” Aunt Diana asked.

  Then she put her face right up close to Olive’s and she cooed, “You don’t smell bad, do you, girl?”

  Olive licked Aunt Diana.

  I decided not to say anything else.

  Then Mom called, “Who wants to go for a bike ride?”

  “I do,” Dad answered.

  “Me too,” the Pain sang. “Come on, Abigail—let’s go!”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I’m going to stay here and play with the baby.”

  The Pain gave me a look.

  When the three of them were gone, Mitchell said, “Hey, Abigail …”

  Mitchell hardly ever says anything. When he does, he talks very softly. You have to listen carefully or you’ll miss what he’s saying. “There’s no traffic on our road,” he told me. “It’s a good place to learn to ride a bike.”

  I pretended I didn’t hear him.

  “Abigail …” he said, louder. Then he repeated what he’d just said—about how their road is a good place to learn to ride a bike.

  “No, thank you,” I told him. “I’m playing with the baby.”