by Isla Fisher
Marge transforms Theo, Jakey, Peter, Matthew, and Daniel into warlords and Vikings, and she puts cat whiskers on herself, Zach, and Stella; but Posy doesn’t want her face painted, so she just watches.
Marge really has saved the day.
Lucy and I wander away from the party and take turns on the swing. I show her my red tongue from the watermelon lollipop and she shows me hers, and we giggle.
Can you believe that Lucy also has a little brother like me, she has also lost five teeth like me, and she also has a secret diary that not even her mommy knows about? We have so much in common!
It’s time for the party games.
The first game is Pass the Present. My mommy always makes sure everyone gets a present when we play this game on my or Jakey’s birthday. But Marge doesn’t seem to know the rules. When the present reaches her, she just passes it from her left hand to her right hand until the music stops.
“I win!” She laughs, unwrapping a layer of paper.
“Marge!” I scold her. “You have to share the present!”
“Sorry!” says Marge guiltily. “When I lived in the palace, the king always let me win!” She hands the present along, and Theo’s little brother, Matthew, finally wins!
After the games, Theo’s mom calls out: “Everyone sit down, please!”
It’s time to sing “Happy Birthday” to Theo and eat cake, so we find a place to sit cross-legged in front of the picnic bench.
“Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,”
we all sing. Jakey’s voice is the loudest as he hugs his best friend.
Looking at Theo’s big chocolate cake with five candles on it, I feel very hungry. I sometimes wish, when I see a big cake like that, that I could stick my whole face into it and gobble it all up. But I remember to sit nicely as I lick my lips and wait patiently.
Just as the cake is placed in front of Theo and he draws in a big gulp of air to blow out the candles, Marge pops her head up and blows them out first!
Oh no! I think.
Silence. Everyone stops singing “Happy Birthday.” No one has ever blown out the candles before except the birthday person. What bad manners!
Theo looks like he might be about to cry.
But suddenly the five candles relight, and we all gasp.
Candles relighting by themselves?
“What happened?” asks Theo. He looks confused.
“It’s because YOU are a secret magician,” Marge tells Theo.
“But I have never been a magician before,” Theo says.
“I made the wish for you,” Marge explains, “when I blew out the candles. That’s my birthday present for you. Candle wishes always come true.”
Theo gives a big puff and blows out the flames!
Whoopee!
Theo looks very happy, as though being a magician might be the best birthday present ever. Everyone claps and cheers, and all the grown-ups take photos with their phones.
“How did you do that, Marge?” I whisper.
“It’s just a trick!” Marge winks. “A trick that I can’t reveal unless you are a member of the Magic Square, which I am.”
“I thought it’s called the Magic Triangle?” corrects Josh.
“Possibly,” concedes Marge.
Secretly I make a wish that Marge will always be our babysitter.
After this we all get absorbed in eating the food, and Marge says that the children are allowed nine slices of cake each; but after the sandwiches and chips and fruit salad and candy and nuts and popcorn, I am too full to eat more than three slices of birthday cake, and Jake only manages one (very big) one.
Marge reaches into her bag and pulls out her gold paper crown that we made earlier.
“So no one throws cake at me,” she whispers to Lucy, and we laugh.
“I am going to nap before the cake fight starts.” Marge yawns. “You know, Countess La Roo was able to marry off her two daughters by teaching them magic,” our babysitter warbles as she curls up with Archie. And there she lies, her feet poking out from behind the bounce castle. Her gold crown is lopsided, and her face paint is smeared. But she is sound asleep. Lucy and I decide she looks adorable.
“Shh,” says Lucy. “She needs her sleep after all that work. How old do you think Marge is?”
“Jake thinks that she is one hundred and fifty-one,” I whisper, and we head over to where the other kids are playing.
I have a fantastic time playing with Theo, Jakey, and Lucy. We play Follow the Leader, with me and Lucy at the front and all the younger children following, until we arrive at the swings. Then Jake and Theo take turns pushing all of us back and forth.
HONK HONK!
I can hear Dad’s horn!
I look over and see Mommy and Dad getting out of the car.
“Buon giorno!” I say as I run and give them a hug. They look exhausted from their long drive.
“How was the party?” asks Dad.
“I made a new friend called Lucy,” I tell Mommy.
“That’s great, Jemima! Well done,” says Mommy.
“It was the best party ever!” says Jakey.
We all thank Theo and his parents for a wonderful time, and when Marge reappears with her face paint wiped off and looking very sensible, they thank her for saving the day.
“I can’t believe that Jakey wore a hat!” Dad says when he hears about Jake’s paper crown.
Then Mommy notices Archie.
“Is that your party dress, Jemima?” she asks me.
“Yes, Archie needed to be properly dressed to be a magician’s assistant,” Marge explains.
Mommy and Dad exchange a look.
“What a clever puppy, putting it on all by himself. Amazing paw control!” Dad jokes.
“He’s the real Harry Houdini!” says Jake proudly, and we all laugh and laugh.
Marge at Large in School
Hi. Jemima Button here, with my little brother, Jakeypants. There are lots of things that Jake and I don’t agree on. Jake prefers the shallow end of the pool and I like to swim in the deep end, and I always eat sweets slowly to make them last and he gobbles them up in one bite. But we both love to sit by the upstairs square window that looks down over our driveway. We call it the “spying window.” Sometimes we spy on the neighbors walking their dog, and sometimes we count how many garbage cans there are on our street. But right now we are waiting for someone.
Marge, our royal babysitter and favorite grown-up (after Mommy and Dad), is coming to take us to school today.
We are going to jump out and surprise her!
Even though it’s seven o’clock on Monday morning and I have gym before lunch, I am still so excited because I love Marge. I love Marge as much as I hate gym (I’m the third-slowest runner in our class).
As Marge’s mint-green Mini Cooper screeches into the driveway, my heart is racing.
“In position!” Jake shouts.
We run downstairs, and Jakeypants and I hide behind the front door. I have a sofa cushion as a weapon, and he has a pillow. Our puppy, Archie, is with us as well, and he keeps panting loudly.
“Shhh,” I whisper at him, “or you’ll have to hide somewhere else! Marge can’t know we’re here.” We wait, holding our breath. Her footsteps get closer.
DING DONG—that’s the doorbell!
Jake and I squeeze farther back against the wall. The door handle turns.
Marge steps into the doorway. “Hellooooo,” she calls to the empty hallway.
Jakey and I shout, “ATTACK!” and we both jump onto Marge.
I cling onto her back, and Jakey throws his pillow first and then grabs her leg. Archie barks and wags his tail in excitement.
“Argh!” screams Marge in surprise as she flies forward onto the carpet. I wrestle her, but she is so small and quick that she manages to roll away from us like a ninja.
“It’s Marge the tickle monster,” she calls, and begins tickling my stomach and Jakey’s armpits. I throw a pillow at her head, but she ducks. We
can’t stop laughing, and Archie is yapping at us all tangled in a heap.
“Kids, get off Marge right now, please.” Dad sounds mad as he passes through the hallway into his office.
Jakey and I spring to our feet as Mommy appears in the hallway.
“Sorry, Marge!” Mommy apologizes. She makes a stern “we’ll talk about this later” face at us.
But Marge is smiling as Mommy helps her up. Marge is wearing a blue skirt with a beret.
“The list of things to remember is on the kitchen table,” Mommy says, grabbing Dad’s glasses for him, which he always forgets.
As Mommy gives Jake and me quick kisses good-bye, she says, “Remember to be polite and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when Marge takes care of you. And no more wrestling the babysitter!”
“Have you seen my glasses?” Dad calls.
“I have them,” Mommy answers as they both head out the door.
“Bye, kids. Have fun at school,” our parents call as the door slams.
We three run upstairs and wave good-bye to them from the spying window. When their car is as small as an ant, Marge turns to us.
“Bonjour,” she sings as she pulls off her beret, and out tumbles her rainbow hair.
Holy hamburger!
It is plaited into a million tiny colored braids with little bows on the ends.
“Bonjour means hello in French. Now let’s take a quick look at this list.”
I fetch the list and bring Mommy’s fountain pen too, as I know that Marge likes to add new rules of her own.
The list says:
1. Breakfast.
2. Pack school lunches.
3. Jakey must wear new school shoes.
4. Drop off at school at 8 o’clock.
“What’s for breakfast?” Marge asks, swanning into the kitchen. “I’m feeling a little hungry—what are you both making me? Hop to it!”
Jakey looks at me with one eyebrow raised. I giggle.
“Marge, YOU are the grown-up! YOU are supposed to be making breakfast for us!” I explain.
“Oh!” Marge is surprised. “I’ve never made breakfast before. The queen’s cook, Mabel, used to bring me breakfast in bed every morning,” she says wistfully.
I am curious. “What did Mabel make you?”
“Royal Pancakes”—Marge sniffs—“with extra syrupy syrup.”
“I love pancakes,” Jake says. “I’m hungry!”
My tummy is grumbling too. What are we going to do about breakfast?
“I am sure that I can make you a pancake,” Marge announces confidently. “How hard can it be? If Mabel can do it, so can Marge!” She takes Mommy’s pen and adds Royal Pancakes to the first rule. “Marge’s marvelous pancakes with extra syrupy syrup coming right up!”
Marge begins by rummaging around the kitchen in search of a pan and a bowl.
“You really don’t have a butler or a chef to help me?” she asks after a while.
I giggle and shake my head. I wish we didn’t have to go to school today. Spending time with Marge is so much fun!
I help Marge, and together we mix some eggs, butter, flour, and milk into a batter, and Jake whisks it up. Then Marge turns on the stove.
“Back away, little servants,” Marge hollers as flames lick the giant pan. “I don’t want to burn down the kingdom!”
Jake and I step away as Marge pours the entire mixture into the pan.
“I am actually making crepes, which is French for pancakes. They taste even more delicious!” Marge exclaims.
“Don’t you want to use the spatula thing that flips the pancakes?” I squint at Marge. “That’s what Mommy uses.”
“Nonsense. Mabel the royal cook never needed to rely on fancy utensils. I am just going to toss it up in the air like . . . THIS!”
Marge grabs the pan with both hands and launches the pancake high in the air. Jake and I watch as it flies up, up, up and sticks SPLAT onto the ceiling!
“Call the guards, shut the drawbridge—we have a runaway pancake!” shouts Marge urgently.
I don’t know what to think. The pancake is stuck on the ceiling, and it doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere.
“I think we should call the fire department,” Jakey suggests. “They have a big ladder that we can climb to reach it.”
“That’s silly,” I say. “The fire department can only come for emergencies.”
“This is most definitely an emergency,” Marge says gravely.
We all stare at the pancake for a few moments, thinking. Then Marge suggests we should just wait for it to drop back down into our mouths and catch it like Archie catches his ball.
But after we have waited with our mouths wide open for a while, my jaw is beginning to ache. “I’m so hungry and tired,” complains Jake.
“Maybe it’s still cooking,” Marge offers hopefully.
“On the ceiling?” I ask.
Just when we are close to giving up and getting some cereal instead, gravity gets the better of the pancake.
PLOP!
Down it falls, landing right in the middle of Marge’s head!
“Breakfast is served! Dig in,” Marge says.
We grab forks and Marge pours syrup all over her head, and we eat it right off her hair in big, gooey gulps! Jake is so hungry, he ends up gobbling up half the pancake, so I have to stop him before he eats any of Marge’s multicolored hair!
“Here!” Jakey grabs Marge’s beret. “I think you need to put your hat back on—your hair looks very sticky!”
Marge reads Rule Two aloud in a French accent: “Pack school lunches.”
I show her where Mommy keeps our lunch boxes in the fridge. She looks suspiciously at the sandwiches, sniffing the bread and cheese. In the end she decides that they are delicious and healthy but that we must have treats too. So she fills the rest of our lunch boxes with chocolate sprinkles from the baking drawer.
I grin, and Jake claps his hands. “Marge is in charge!” he declares.
Marge consults the list again. “Now for Rule Three: Jake, Mommy says you have to wear your new school shoes.”
Jakey looks furious.
His little face has turned red like a traffic light. “I hate wearing shoes!” he yells.
“All shoes?” asks Marge.
“Yes,” replies Jake. He looks determined.
So Marge runs out of the room and returns five minutes later with a big brown sack she has brought from the hallway closet.
“Ta-da,” she says. “It’s Super Marge to the rescue!”
She turns the sack upside down and pours out a mountain of shoes. There are hiking boots, roller skates, clown shoes, flippers, stilts, skis, and even a pair of ice skates.
“Do any of these look fun?” she asks my brother.
“I wanna wear the roller skates!” Jake says, grinning.
Marge laces them up.
“But I don’t know how to roller-skate!” confesses Jake.
“Don’t worry,” Marge replies. “They can teach you at school!”
“Let’s bring your school shoes too, just in case,” I say sensibly, packing them in his backpack.
“From what I’ve heard, they can teach you everything at school,” Marge says. “I would love to go myself one day.”
“Didn’t you have to go to school when you were a kid?” I ask Marge.
Marge pauses to think for a moment, then curls into Dad’s armchair, which I am beginning to think of as Marge’s story chair.
“Are you ready for a story?” Marge asks.
I love it when Marge tells us stories from her days at the palace. Marge gave up her life as a duchess because she hates rules. If you think living in a normal house has lots of rules, imagine living in a palace! But I don’t want too long a story now, because we have to go to school soon, and I hate being late.
“Prince Rupert and I had a governess called Lady Morag. A governess is like a teacher for the royal family. She had pointy teeth, and she made us practice piano until our finger
tips were sore.”
Oh no! Jakey and I share a look. She sounds terrifying. Poor Marge.
“One day Prince Rupert and I had had enough. We tricked Lady Morag into the dungeon and then locked her in with the rats and cobwebs.”
Jake claps his hands with glee, but I think the palace dungeon sounds scary. Marge seems to understand.
“We let her out again, of course,” she explains. “It wasn’t for long, but she learned her lesson. Lady Morag was much nicer to all the royal children after that!”
Marge stands up, and we head to the door.
Suddenly Jakey’s bottom lip starts to quiver, and he bursts into tears. “I don’t want to go to school today!” he sniffs.
I know why my little brother is upset, so I tell Marge. “We are practicing for the school concert first, before class.”
Jakey and I are obviously not in the same class, but we share music rehearsals with some of the other classes on Monday mornings. I like the practices, but Jake says they are lame. He does not enjoy playing the recorder.
“It’s BORING,” Jakey wails. “I’m allergic to music.”
I give him a hug and try to cheer him up. “You just have to practice the notes.”
Suddenly Marge springs to life and leaps onto the coffee table dramatically.
“By day I am Magnificent Marge the Babysitter, but by night I am Marge the Musician.”
WOW! Marge is a musician too!
“I am the star of the Royal Brass Band,” Marge boasts.
“What’s a brass band?” asks Jakey, his tears drying up.
“It’s a group of musicians who all play brass instruments like trumpets, horns, and the tuba,” explains Marge.
“Who is in the band with you?” I ask, imagining her princess friends.
“No one,” says Marge. “I play all the instruments by myself. I like to promenade in the royal gardens wearing all of them around my neck.”
Jake seems to cheer up at this. “Will you come to our school concert rehearsal?”
“Of course!” says Marge, gathering our backpacks and putting her beret on.
