Nana Gigi opened the door. “Here’s my Lindalee!”
She was so happy to have Lindalee back that she gave her a big bowl of strawberry ice cream and a chewy chocolate chip cookie.
And Lindalee was never nice again, except every once in a while when she couldn’t help it.
Yippee!
When Hans woke to the scrumptious smell of hot, fresh waffles baking, he thought it was the most perfect morning. Because everybody loves waffles, right? Well, Hans really, really, REALLY loved them!
Mmm, my lovely mommy is making my favorite breakfast, Hans thought. Hans was very lucky to have a lovely mommy who often made his favorite breakfast. We should all be so lucky. But sometimes we are not as lucky as we think we are….
Hans put on his favorite robot T-shirt and a pink hair bow that Lindalee had given him once when she was being nice. His mouth watered as he walked down the stairs, just thinking of the crisp, buttery waffles dripping with maple syrup. Yum, yum, yum.
When he got to the kitchen, there was his lovely mommy setting the table just for him. “Good morning, lovely Hans, darling,” she said.
“Good morning, lovely Mommy, darling,” said Hans. “You sound strange.”
And in fact, her voice did seem different. Scratchier or something.
“Oh, Hans, darling, I just have a little cold. Achoo!” She rubbed her nose and achooed again. “See?”
“A little cold?” Hans asked. “Do you need to go back to bed?”
His lovely mommy laughed. “Oh, Hans, you are too sweet, but I do not need to go back to bed. I am here to serve you breakfast.”
And Hans believed her, even though she hadn’t even noticed how nice he looked in his robot T-shirt and hair bow.
“Are you ready for waffles?” she asked.
“YES, I am ready for waffles!” said Hans. Then he added “please” and “thank you” because he was, after all, sweet.
His mommy put a plate of fresh waffles in front of him. Hans smothered them with butter and syrup. He took a bite.
DELICIOUS!
Hans gobbled them all up lickety-split.
“My, my,” his mommy said. “You are quite the hungry boy. Would you like some more?”
“YES!” said Hans, and then he added, “Please and thank you!”
And so his lovely mommy placed another plate of fresh waffles in front of him. And again Hans smothered them with butter and syrup and gobbled them all up. And again they were DELICIOUS.
“More?” asked his mommy.
“YES!” said Hans. “Please and thank you.”
For the third time, his lovely mommy placed a plate of fresh waffles in front of him.
And guess what? Yup. Hans smothered them with butter and syrup and gobbled them all up. And yup, they were DELICIOUS.
“More?” asked his lovely mommy.
“YES!” said Hans. “Please and thank you.”
It went on like this for a long time. Hans was a waffle-eating machine, and his lovely mommy was a waffle-making machine to match.
How many waffles do you think Hans ate?
Ten?
No. It was more than that.
Twenty?
No. More than that.
Thirty?
Nope. Keep counting.
Forty?
Fifty?
Sixty?
Seventy?
Nope, nope, nope, and nope.
It was more than eighty and even more than ninety!
Hans ate ONE HUNDRED waffles that morning. All of them smothered in butter and syrup, and all of them DELICIOUS. In fact, each waffle was better than the one before.
But finally, after the one hundredth waffle, Hans was stuffed. His belly was so full it hurt.
“Don’t you want any more waffles?” his lovely mommy asked.
“No, thank you,” groaned Hans.
“But you must eat one more,” she said. “I have been making them all morning just for you.”
Now, here is where I should warn you that this lovely mommy was not Hans’s real mommy. She was a fake mommy, and she was not lovely at all, as you will soon see. But she looked just like his mommy, and she acted just like his mommy, and she was exactly like his mommy in every way…except for her strange voice (but she had a cold, right?), so Hans was sure she was his mommy.
Hans thought his mommy was so lovely to make him so many yummy waffles that he didn’t want to disappoint her. So even though he was really, really full, Hans said he would eat just one more. After all, it was the polite thing to do.
Hans’s (fake) mommy put the last waffle in front of him. The butter was perfectly melted. The sugary syrup trickled into the crispy nooks. He took a bite. This time more slowly, because he was so full.
“Eat up, Hans, darling,” his (fake) mommy said. “You mustn’t let good food go to waste.”
Hans forced down one more bite and then another and another. Each went into his mouth, down his throat, and into his very full, very stuffed belly, which stretched out even more.
Finally, there was just one last bite of waffle left on his plate. Hans speared it with his fork and put it on his tongue. He closed his mouth, then chewed and swallowed with a big gulp. Down it went!
Hans was now so full of waffle that he was more waffle than boy. He smelled like waffle. He looked like waffle.
He was so much like waffle that his lovely (fake) mommy, who by now was very, very hungry herself, smiled a not-very-lovely smile and told Hans, “I am not your lovely mommy! I hid your lovely mommy in the closet! And I am HUNGRY!”
Then she smothered Hans with butter and syrup and she gobbled him up, lickety-split!
And wouldn’t you know, Hans tasted just like waffle, too.
But remember that Hans had eaten one hundred waffles, plus that last one, which made one hundred and one.
So when his not-very-lovely fake mommy ate him, she also ate all those waffles inside of him. She started to feel sick, because even though she loved waffles, there is such a thing as too many waffles.
Her stomach twisted and gurgled. Her throat tickled and she let out a little burp. Then she let out a big burp, and then…she threw up. Blech! She threw up all one hundred and one waffles—it was a lot of throw-up. Then, finally, I must tell you, she threw up Hans. Right onto the floor.
Hans jumped to his feet, wiped himself off, and chased that mean fake mommy out of the house. “You get out of here and never come back!” he shouted.
Hans chased her all the way to the end of Cattywampus Street, where she ran straight into the Waddlebee Toy Store and was never seen again.
When Hans got home, he found his real mommy, his lovely mommy, stuck in the closet behind an old trunk and some moth-eaten sweaters. He let her out. They hugged and hugged.
Then his real mommy said, “You look lovely this morning, Hans! Do you want some waffles for breakfast?”
Hans shook his head. “Thank you, but no thank you, lovely Mommy. I don’t like waffles anymore.”
And after that, his real mommy never, ever made waffles for breakfast again.
Yum, yum.
I warn you: this is going to be a sad story. It will get sadder and sadder as it goes on. The end will be okay, but still, you might cry.
It is about Evelyn, who lived in a yellow house on Cattywampus Street with her mother; her father; her brother, Emmett; and her cat, Chocolate Bear. She loved them all very much. Sometimes her brother wasn’t very nice to her, but she still loved him.
Evelyn liked to do things with her family, with her friends, and by herself.
Here are some of the things she liked to do with her family: have picnics in the park, go to the zoo, bake coconut cookies (and eat them), and just hang out.
Here are some of the things she like
d to do with her friends: take bike rides, swim in the pool, go to the toy store, and just hang out.
And here are some things she liked to do by herself: read fairy tales, play “Für Elise” on the piano, cuddle with Chocolate Bear, and make up stories.
So far everything in this story is happy, especially Evelyn. But no one can be happy all the time. I mean, are YOU always happy? I don’t think so. Sometimes you are sad. And sometimes Evelyn was sad, too. Sometimes she even liked being sad. In fact, one of her favorite things to do, besides all the stuff already listed, was to sit under the willow tree in the park and think sad thoughts.
One day as she sat under the willow tree, Evelyn heard a rustle in the bushes. It sounded just like Chocolate Bear when he was playing around outside. Rustle, rustle, rustle.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” Evelyn called. But Chocolate Bear didn’t come running and meowing the way he usually did. She looked under the bush, but she didn’t see him. She crawled deeper into the bush…and there he was, lying very still.
“Come here, sweetie-weetie, kitty-witty, Chocolate Bear!” Evelyn said, but Chocolate Bear didn’t move.
Evelyn reached out and touched his body. It was cold and stiff. She put her hand where his heart was and there was no beat.
“Oh, no! Chocolate Bear is dead!” cried Evelyn.
Now, this is sad, but it is not the saddest part of this very, very, very sad story.
Evelyn tried to move poor Chocolate Bear, but his body was tangled in the prickers. She ran home to get her parents, crying all the way. Just as she reached the front door, her father opened it. She was about to tell him that Chocolate Bear was dead, when she noticed he was already crying.
“What’s wrong?” asked Evelyn.
“Emmett i-i-is…d-d-d-dead!” Evelyn’s father cried.
“What?! NO! He can’t be dead!” Evelyn burst into tears. First her cat, now her brother.
Her father told Evelyn that Emmett had been chasing a ball across Cattywampus Street when a car drove by and hit him. An ambulance had taken him to the hospital, but it was too late.
Now, this is very sad, but it is still not the saddest part of this very, very, very sad story.
Both Evelyn and her father sat on the step and cried and cried and cried. Then Evelyn asked where her mother was. Why wasn’t she there, too?
“Well,” her father said, “she was so sad, she had to go to the zoo, where she likes to cry.”
So Evelyn and her father went to the zoo to find her mother.
They passed the penguins waddling and splashing into the water. Her mother wasn’t there.
They passed the monkeys swinging on the branches, going “chee-chee-chee,” but her mother wasn’t there, either.
When they got to the lions’ section, there was a big crowd and everybody was screaming.
“What’s wrong?” Evelyn asked the zookeeper.
“A woman fell over the wall into the den and was eaten by the lion!” the zookeeper said.
And do you know what? I have to tell you that the woman who was eaten by the lion was none other than…you guessed it, Evelyn’s mother.
“OH, NO!!!” Evelyn cried.
“OH, NO!!!” her father cried.
How could they go on?
But even though this is very, very sad, it is STILL not the saddest part of this very, very, very sad story.
Evelyn and her father went back home, crying the whole time. And do you know what sad thing happened next? On their way, Evelyn’s father tripped and he cracked his head, and…yes, he died, too!
How could this ever be? Now Evelyn had no one. First her cat, then her brother, then her mother, then her father. What next?
Evelyn stumbled the rest of the way home all alone. She cried and cried. She didn’t even see her friends Ameera and Rodney across the street. They waved to her, but Evelyn was too busy crying and crying and crying and crying.
It seemed like she would cry forever.
The good news is, that was the last sad part of this very, very, very sad story. (I told you it was going to be sad, didn’t I?)
But wait, the story is not over! As Evelyn cried, she thought she heard a faint rustle. She opened her eyes and listened. There it was again. Rustle, rustle, rustle, followed by a little “mew.” Evelyn wiped away her tears and looked in the bushes.
Chocolate Bear came running out. He wasn’t dead!
Evelyn picked him up and cuddled him. She carried him home, and guess what? Emmett was there. He wasn’t dead! And her mother and her father were there, too. Nobody was dead! Evelyn had just been imagining all these very, very, very sad things.
Evelyn hugged everybody (even her brother).
And to make herself feel better, she went down to the Waddlebee Toy Store. This time she saw Lionel kicking his magic ball, and Lindalee, who actually smiled. Then Evelyn bought a stuffed lion with her allowance, and even the grumpy shopkeeper smiled.
Back home, Evelyn set the lion on top of her piano and played “Für Elise” six times. Then her family made coconut cookies together and ate them!
Evelyn was overjoyed that everyone was still alive, but when she remembered all of those sad thoughts, she felt very, very, very sad again, and she cried a little more. She didn’t want anyone to die.
And now it really is the end of this story.
Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo-hoo.
To make up for that last story, I will tell you a happy one.
Charlotta had five dolls—a mommy doll, a daddy doll, a girl doll, a boy doll, and a baby doll.
Oh, yes, and a dog doll, too! So that makes six.
The dolls were made of wood, and they were so well loved and well played with that their painted faces were faded and strands of their yarn hair were missing. The dog’s yarn fur was almost completely gone. Their clothes were made of tiny pieces of rags. The dog, of course, didn’t have clothes, but he had a tiny, faded blue ribbon for a collar.
The doll family lived in a shoe box next to Charlotta’s bed. She didn’t have enough money to buy a real dollhouse. (This may seem sad, but the story is not over yet. Just wait.)
Every day after school, Charlotta walked down Cattywampus Street to the Waddlebee Toy Store and stared at the big dollhouse in the window.
My dolls would love that house, she thought.
One day Charlotta packed up her dolls in their shoe box and carried them to the toy store. In front of the window, she lifted the lid of the shoe box just enough for her dolls to see the big, beautiful dollhouse.
Charlotta wasn’t entirely sure, but she was pretty sure that she heard her dolls gasp with delight. How beautiful the house was! So many rooms! There was a big bedroom for the parents with a four-poster bed! A bedroom for the boy and girl with a bunk bed! A nursery for the baby with a rocking crib! There was even a fancy, fluffy bed for the dog! And there were all kinds of extra rooms for guests to come and stay whenever they wanted! The living room had a fireplace with a mantel and candlesticks! There was a tiny piano with real keys that could be played! And in the kitchen there was a table, and on the table was a yummy doll cake! Charlotta thought it looked like chocolate—her favorite!
“Someday I am going to buy this house for you,” Charlotta told her dolls.
Charlotta saved and saved and saved every penny she could. She did chores for the neighbors. She searched for change on the sidewalk and in the park, just in case. But the dollhouse cost a lot of money, and it was going to take Charlotta a long, long time to save that much. She visited the dollhouse every day, then hurried home to tell her dolls it was still there.
But one day when Charlotta went to see the dollhouse…it was gone! She opened the door of the Waddlebee Toy Store and the bell went jing-a-ling-ling. She went up to the shopkeeper and asked where the dollhouse was.
“What dollhouse? I
don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grumbled.
“There was a big, beautiful dollhouse in the window!” cried Charlotta.
“Well, it’s gone now,” the shopkeeper said.
There was nothing Charlotta could do but go home and break the bad news to her dolls.
Does this still seem sad? Well, it’s not anymore, because when Charlotta got to her room, instead of the shoe box, guess what she found?
The very dollhouse from the toy store! Her dolls were in it—sitting in the living room in little, comfy armchairs, having a tea party. The dog was snuggled in the fluffy dog bed by the fireplace.
How did the dollhouse get there?
Could Charlotta’s parents have snuck out and bought it when Charlotta was sleeping?
Could it have gotten there by magic?
Well, however it got there, there it was. And the dolls had moved right in.
They must like it, Charlotta thought.
And they did. They liked it a lot.
As Charlotta watched, the daddy doll started playing the piano and the other dolls began dancing! The dog doll wagged its tail and jumped about.
Charlotta wanted so badly to join them. She especially wanted a bite of the yummy doll cake that was on the table in the kitchen. She wanted to know if it was indeed chocolate.
You see, I didn’t tell you this yet, but Charlotta’s own house was pretty small and bare. She had to share a room with her little brother, Chadwick, and her baby sister, Charlena. Her grandparents slept in the other bedroom and her parents slept on a foldout bed in the living room. Her family could not afford comfy armchairs, let alone a piano. They usually had cabbage for supper and never, ever had chocolate cake.
Sad again? Please, keep reading—the best part is still coming, I promise.
Just then, Charlotta’s brother and sister wailed from the living room and her mother yelled at them to settle down, and then her grandfather grumbled loudly from his bedroom.
The Kids of Cattywampus Street Page 2
