Affectionately dedicated to all the Stay-at-Home Moms

Author’s note:

This story occurs in my “Here and Now” universe, after “Boys Will Be Boys”. This is Special Edition Anniversary CWP #4, which was created to celebrate four fabulous years of Jixemitri.

Helen Belden bolted awake as her alarm clock buzzed loudly. With a weary groan, she reached over to the nightstand and turned it off.

Just five more minutes, she told herself. She’d been up late the previous night, working on table centerpieces for the annual Garden Club banquet. When she finally did go to bed, her mind had been reeling from all that still needed to be accomplished the following day.

Twenty minutes later, she looked at the digital clock and frantically hopped out of bed. I only meant to lie back down for a minute! she thought as she raced to the bathroom. She hurriedly turned on the shower and jumped inside. The hot water scalded her body, and she cried out in pain as scrambled for the cold knob. She reached for her shower gel, opened the top, but nothing came out of the bottle onto her loofah sponge.

Oh, that’s just great!

She reluctantly used the scentless soap, preferred by the male members of the family. She quickly added shampoo to her thick, sandy curls and rubbed the lather from her hair onto her legs.

I’ll use this to shave my legs. That’ll save me a few minutes.

She grazed the razor over her legs, ignoring the stinging sensation she felt. She turned off the water, and hurriedly dried off with the towel hanging on the hook by the shower.

As Helen was drying her legs, she noticed countless razor nicks. This is just what I need— a hundred cuts on my legs. Now I’ll have to wear dark hose to the banquet tomorrow night. I look like Bobby after he “capsized” the Lynches’ cat.

She quickly dressed and dried her hair. Makeup would have to come later. She made sure that her husband was awake, and then she practically ran downstairs to the kitchen to begin fixing breakfast. As luck would have it, her youngest son, Bobby, was already wide awake and, therefore, into trouble. He was sitting at the maple kitchen table, calmly drinking a glass of juice. However, there was a large puddle of orange liquid on the floor, which ironically resembled the juice in Bobby’s glass.

“Mornin’, Moms,” Bobby greeted cheerily, blowing bubbles in his juice with his straw. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the sticky mess under his feet.

“Good morning, Bobby. Are you enjoying your juice?”

“Yup, sure am.” The little boy sat back in his seat, merrily swinging his legs. Finally, he noticed the cross look on his mother’s face. “Sumpin’ wrong, Moms?”

“Bobby, why is the floor covered with orange juice?”

“I kinda spilled it. I was gonna bring Reddy in after breakfast to holp me clean it. He just ‘dores norange juice.”

Helen sighed. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take care of it. I’d rather keep Reddy off the clean-up crew.”

“I’m sorry, Moms,” Bobby solemnly replied. “I did it actually.”

“Do you mean ‘accidentally’?” Helen corrected with a slight smile. Bobby had a habit of confusing his words.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. I actually did it.”

“Well, stay in your seat while I get the mop. Orange juice can be slippery, and I wouldn’t want you to fall.”

On her way to the broom closet, Helen stepped in a spot of juice that she hadn’t noticed before. Suddenly, her feet flew out from under her and she landed flat on her back, right smack dab in the middle of the “norange” juice.

“Gee whiz, Moms!” Bobby exclaimed. “I didn’t know norange juice was that slippy! Maybe you could leave it there an’ see if Trixie falls in it, too! Wouldn’t that be funny?”

Helen stiffly stood to her feet; her backside throbbed and her clothes were wet with juice. She retrieved the mop, a bit more carefully this time, and began cleaning up the mess. She sighed with relief when she finished, but before she could put away the mop, Bobby suddenly hopped down from his chair, leaving little orange tracks throughout the kitchen. Helen rolled her eyes, and mopped the floor a second time.

After she finished her task, she looked at her watch to see if she had time to go upstairs and change before beginning breakfast. Seeing that it was already after 7:00, she threw on her apron and began peeling and cutting up potatoes.

This would be the morning that I promised Peter a big breakfast, she thought mournfully. She threw the potatoes into a big skillet with oil and added salt and pepper. She put the lid on the big skillet and began frying sausage, enjoying a moment of peace.

Her quiet moment ended abruptly as she heard her oldest children clambering down the stairs.

“Is not!” her only daughter yelled.

“It is too!” her almost-twin hollered back.

“Is not!” Trixie bounded into the kitchen. “Moms! Mart says it’s my turn to clean out the chicken coop, but I did it last time!”

“Negative, my nefarious female sibling! Methinks it was I who expurgated the fowls’ abode last.” Mart loved to use big words to show off his vast knowledge of the English language. An added benefit was that it infuriated his younger sister.

“Sorry, Mart, but I have to side with Trix on this one,” their eldest brother, Brian reminded. “Trixie cleaned the coop out last time for you, so now it’s your turn.”

Trixie stuck her tongue out at Mart. “Told ya!”

Mart merely sulked, knowing it was pointless to argue with Brian. “Alas, I must concede to my eldest kinsman,” he murmured with a weary sigh. “Brian most likely has an itemized spreadsheet, effectively calculating all antecedent exertions performed by each constituent of this domicile.”

“Hey Moms, why are you all orange?” Trixie asked, taking the juice out of the refrigerator and pouring herself a big glass.

“Because Bobby poured his own juice this morning, and ended up spilling the majority of it in the floor. I had a little accident while I was cleaning it up.” Helen removed the lid to the skillet and stirred the potatoes. “I overslept, and now I’m running late, so I haven’t had time to change my clothes.” As she replaced the frying pan’s lid, she touched the hot skillet with her finger. “Ouch!” She hurried to the sink and ran cold water over the burn.

Brian, the future M.D., ran to get some ointment. “Let me put some of this on you, Moms.” He rubbed some of the ointment onto her burn and covered it with a band aid. “Now you’re as good as new.”

“Thanks, Brian.” Suddenly, Helen smelled burning meat. “Oh, great! My sausage!” She hustled to the stove and turned the meat, which by now looked like tiny black discs on one side.

Mart sniffed the air. “Oh, fair maternal caregiver, where are the delectable carbohydrates affectionately known as biscuits?”

Helen groaned and looked at her watch. She had completely forgotten to start the biscuits! She threw a loaf of bread to her middle son. “Start making toast.” Thank goodness she missed the crestfallen look on Mart’s face!

“I’ll set the table for you, Moms,” Trixie offered. Quickly, she had the placemats on the table, followed by the plates, silverware and glasses.

“Brian, can you find Bobby and make sure his hands are clean?” Helen asked. “Goodness knows what that boy has been up to.”

“Sure, Moms,” Brian agreed.

Helen reached into the refrigerator to get out some eggs. She knew her husband would want scrambled eggs with his sausage and potatoes. Suddenly, Reddy bounded into the kitchen. The big Irish setter got tangled up in her feet, and soon they both crashed to the floor, covered in gooey yolk.

Bobby, followed by Brian, ran into the kitchen. The little boy whooped with joy. “Hooray! You caughted him, Moms! You caughted him!”

Helen sat on the floor, dripping in yellow goo, too stunned to say a word.

Trixie, however, was rarely at a loss for words. “Robert Harold Belden! What were you doing to poor Reddy? Where is his fur?”

Helen fearfully looked at the big dog that was presently sitting on her lap. Only then did she notice the large bald spot on Reddy’s head. The exposed skin had been colored with an orange marker. “Bobby! What did you do to poor Reddy?”

Bobby assumed his most angelic look. “I didn’t mean to, Moms. Honest. I actually did it.”

Brian led Reddy outside while Mart helped his mother to her feet. With a sad sigh, Helen looked at the floor, which needed mopped once again. “So what happened, Bobby?” she asked as calmly as possible.

“Well, I wented outside to get outta your way. I was gettin’ hungry so I stuckded a piece of bubble gum in my mouth. Me an’ Reddy started rompin’, an’ that gum just hoppded outta my mouth an’ jumpded on Reddy’s head,” Bobby admitted. As he continued his story, his china blue eyes grew wider by the second.

“Then,” he went on, “I tried to get all the gum out, but it just keeped on stickin! I didn’t want Reddy to have that junk in his hair, so I gotted a razor that someone leftded outside an’ shaveded his head, just like Daddy shaves his beard off in the mornin’.”

“Oh, Bobby,” Helen protested. “You should never play with razors! You could hurt yourself!”

“I’m all right, Moms,” Bobby proudly proclaimed. “But then I seed that Reddy looked kinda funny with that big bald spot on toppa his head. So I thoughted if I colored it to match his fur, it wouldn’t look so bad. But I couldn’t find my reddish-brown marker. I only founded my norange one, so I used it instead. ‘Cuz red an’ norange sorta’ look alike, duddn’t they?” Bobby paused momentarily, noticing the angry look on his mother’s face. “It don’t look so good, does it, Moms?”

“No son, it don’t look so good,” Helen agreed in exasperation.

“Well, I was gonna try sumpin’ else, but Reddy tooked off before I could. Then Brian opened the back door, an’ Reddy runned inside, quick as a wink.” Bobby batted his big, blue eyes innocently. “So really, it’s Brian’s fault.”

Brian cast his youngest sibling a warning glance, which Bobby effectively dodged.

“You go up and get changed, Moms,” Trixie offered. “I’ll finish breakfast for you.”

“Yeah, Moms,” Brian coaxed. “I’ll help Trixie here, and Mart will get the little monkey cleaned up.”

“Thanks a lot, Brian,” Mart muttered. He took Bobby’s sticky hand and led him to the stairs. “Come on, you little ignoramus.”

“Hey, I’m not a ignor…ignor… Mart, what’s an igno… igno… what’s a whatever you said?” Bobby asked as they walked up the stairs.

“When I call you an ignoramus, I’m saying that you’re really smart,” Mart fibbed.

Helen shook her head as her sons’ conversation drifted out of hearing range. “Thanks, kids,” she told Brian and Trixie. “I’ll just be down in a minute.”

As she walked to the staircase in the living room, she passed her husband in the hallway. He started to lean down to kiss her good morning, but after seeing the sticky residue all over her clothes, he changed his mind.

“Everything all right, hon?” he questioned.

“Just peachy,” she mumbled, heading up the stairs. In her haste to change, she tripped on a toy truck somebody had left on one of the steps. She quickly righted herself and continued the trek to the master bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later, freshly scrubbed and redressed, Helen returned to the kitchen. She sighed in relief as she sat down in her seat. Trixie and Brian had quite successfully put the food in serving bowls and placed it on the table. Mart had cleaned up the horrorcane, and everyone was sitting at their places. Peter was smiling and waiting for her so he could say grace. Once she was settled, he prayed, and as soon as he said “amen”, everyone began filling their plates.

“Feeling better, dear?” Peter speared a slightly-charred piece of sausage. A look of distaste clouded his face as he noticed how crispy it was.

Helen winced at his expression. In all her years of homemaking, she’d never ruined a meal. “Yes, clean clothes make a world of difference.”

“That’s good.” Peter searched the table for his wife’s delicious buttermilk biscuits. “Gee, didn’t you make biscuits?”

Helen glared at her husband and slid the plate of toast closer to him. He smiled contritely and helped himself to a piece.

“Mmmm! Good toast!” he exclaimed, after smothering it with marmalade.

“Hey, Moms, what does ‘scrog’ mean?” Bobby asked.

Mart and Brian choked on their food and looked at their plates, as if those Corelle® dishes held the secrets of the universe.

Helen looked at her older sons, then back to her youngest. “I don’t know, Bobby. I’m not familiar with that term.”

“Brian and Mart said you was ‘miliar with it. I hearded them talking and—”

“It looks like today will be a most splendiferous day!” Mart interjected. “The sun’s shining, there’s a nice breeze blowing from the east…”

“And I don’t think we’ll get that rain that was predicted,” Brian added.

“Does ‘scrog’ mean rain?” Bobby questioned, scratching his head with his fork.

“I haven’t heard that word either, Bobby,” Peter remarked. Sensing something was amiss, he scrutinized his oldest sons’ faces. “Where did you hear it?”

Bobby wiped his sticky mouth with his arm and launched into an explanation. “Well, last Friday, me an’ Brian an’ Mart was outside playin’ ball. I hearded a noise that sounded like dogs fightin’. I runned to see what was wrong ‘cuz I was worried sumpin’ was wrong with Reddy. When I founded him, he was with the neighbor’s girl collie dog, and they was makin’ an awful racket!”

“Aw, this is a boring story,” interrupted Mart. “Moms, have I ever told you how lovely and youthful you’ve been looking lately? And I must say, that apron matches your beautiful eyes perfectly.”

“Thank you, dear, but I’d really like to hear the rest of Bobby’s story,” Helen remarked wryly. “Please go on, Bobby.”

Bobby took a deep breath, and then launched into the rest of his account. “I thoughted Reddy was hurtin’ the girl dog, so I runned over to them, but Brian an’ Mart said to leave ‘em alone. They started laughin’ and whisperin’, but I hearded them anyways. They said there must be sumpin’ ‘bout Fridays ‘cuz everybody liked to ‘scrog’ that night. So, what’s it mean, Moms, an’ can I do it, too?”

The silence was so deafening at the Beldens’ breakfast table that you could hear birds chirping in China. Peter and Helen sat in horrified silence. Brian and Mart were frozen, waiting for the hammer to fall. Trixie covered her mouth with her hand, trying her best to stifle a giggle. Bobby, unaware of the tension in the room, picked his nose, wiped something on his shirt, and then picked up a piece of toast to eat.

“So, what’s everyone doing today?” Peter asked in an overly cheerful voice, obviously trying to change the subject.

“I’m going to start working on my car today, Dad,” Brian announced. He knew that his words would please his father. For weeks, his father had been asking Brian to work with Tom Delanoy to refinish his old jalopy. As an added incentive to make him begin the job more quickly, Peter allowed the girls to decorate the old Ford Fairlane any way they’d wanted, as payment for a prank the boys had played on the girls. However, Brian still hadn’t found time to begin the monumental task. Instead, he parked the “Pink Panther”, as Trixie now called it, in front of the house and refused to drive it.

“That is good news!” Peter exclaimed. “You’ve been procrastinating long enough. Although I knew you’d begin that project eventually. I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to take the Pink Panther back to college with you.”

Brian, having skipped a year of grade school, was going to be a sophomore in college at the age of 18. He attended Harvard University with his best friend, Jim Frayne, who was 17. Mart, 16, would be a junior at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School. He and his best friend, Dan Mangan, were in the same grade. Trixie was going to be a sophomore this year. At 15, she was the same age as her best friends, Honey Wheeler and Diana Lynch. Bobby, a precocious six-year-old, miraculously never seemed to age, only get more mischievous as the years passed. He would be in first grade, much to dismay of the first-grade teacher at Sleepyside Elementary School.

“What’re your plans for the day, dear?” Peter asked his lovely wife.

“I have a million things to do!” Helen exclaimed. “The appreciation banquet for the Garden Club is tomorrow night, and I need to have the centerpieces finished by this evening so the decorating committee can get the banquet hall ready in the morning. I also volunteered to make a fruit basket that’ll be given to the club president, and that needs to be finished sometime today. Then, I need to drive to the community building and take everything there and start setting up.” She sighed wearily. “It’s going to be a long day. I’ll need you kids to pitch in and help out with Bobby.”

“But Moms, I need to spend the whole day working on my car!” Brian retorted. “Tom has the day off, so we have to start today. He has to tell me what to do. Besides, if I’m going to get it finished by the beginning of the fall term, I need to get started as soon as possible! It’s going to take about two weeks to finish.”

“I guess you’re excused from Bobby-duty. Like your father said, you’ve procrastinated long enough. I’m sure I’ll have enough help with—”

“Sorry, Moms,” Mart interrupted, his mouth full of fried potatoes. “I’d be happy to watch the Bobster, but Brian already asked me to help him and Tom with the jalopy.”

“Yeah, Moms,” Brian contributed. “Tom and I really need all the help we can get. I’ve already asked all the fellas to give me a hand.”

Helen sighed and nodded her head. “I suppose you both are excused. I’m sorry, Trixie, but that leaves—”

“Oh, Moms!” Trixie cried. “I already told Honey that we would ride our bikes around the neighborhood today and ask for donations for the family whose house burned down. It’s really important, and it’s for a good cause. I’ll just die if I don’t get to help!”

Helen listened to her daughter’s heartfelt pleas and found it impossible to say no. “Okay, Trixie. I suppose you can, just this once.” She smiled weakly at her youngest child. “I guess it’ll be just you and me today, Bobby.”

Bobby noisily chewed his sausage that he had smothered with ketchup. “Sure, Moms. I can holp you with your ‘rangements. I know lots about flowers an’ junk.”

“Thank you, Bobby, but it might be best if you played outside while I work on the flower arrangements. Thanks for the offer, though.” Helen patted him affectionately on the arm.

Peter glanced hopefully at his wife. “I hate to bother you when you’re so busy, Helen, but I need to ask you to do a favor for me. I have an important meeting tomorrow at the bank with Mark Cox. He’s some grand high Pooh-Bah fellow from another branch. We’re going to discuss the 50-year anniversary for the bank. We’re planning a big two week open-house. I’d like to wear that new navy suit to my meeting, but the pants need to be hemmed. Do you think you can handle that today?”

Helen exhaled noisily. “I’ll take care of it, Peter.” Her voice had taken on a wounded tone.

“You’ll look handsome in your new suit, Dad,” Trixie told him. “You know what Mark Twain said. Clothes make the man; naked people have little or no influence on society!” She giggled at the remark.

“Mark Twain did not say that!” Mart needled her.

“He did too! I read it on the computer!” Trixie argued. “You aren’t the only one around here who can look up things, Mr. Smarty-Pants!”

“Hey, I’m a smarty-pants! Mart said I was an ig-nor-a-mus!” Bobby exclaimed proudly.

Peter’s moustache twitched in stifled amusement. “Bobby, don’t tell that to anyone else. Mart, don’t call your brother names, especially names that he doesn’t know the meaning of.”

“Gee Dad, that just about deletes every word that Mart likes to use,” Trixie snickered.

Mart scratched his head. “I’m not sure if dear Beatrix was affronting me or young Robert with her snide remark.”

“Well, we don’t have time for you to sit here and ‘ponder’ about it,” Brian teased, getting up from the table. “It’s almost 8:30, and we’re supposed to meet Tom at Manor House in a few minutes. We’ve gotta go.”

Mart stuffed the last bite of his fried potatoes into his mouth. Spying the breakfast leftovers, he grabbed the two last pieces of toast and crammed the remaining sausage and scrambled eggs in between them. “For dessert,” he garbled through all the food in his mouth. “See ya later, Moms!” He hurried out the back door to catch up with Brian.

“Gleeps!” Trixie yelled, hopping up from the table. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I was supposed to meet Honey fifteen minutes ago!” She followed Mart out the door in typical Trixie-fashion.

“I’ve got to go too, sweetheart,” Peter said, kissing his wife on the cheek. “Thanks for breakfast. And for hemming my suit pants!” After he grabbed his briefcase, he left for the bank.

Helen looked at the mess on the table, counters, and stove. She sighed loudly as she began carrying the serving bowls to the already-overflowing sink.

“Don’t worry, Moms! I’ll holp you!” Bobby proclaimed. He picked up the plates, intent on carrying them to the sink. Suddenly, there was a loud crash, and ceramic shards littered the kitchen floor. The zealous little boy had tripped on his untied shoelaces and broken all the plates.

“Good heavens! Are you all right, sweetheart?” Helen helped her son to his feet, making sure that he carefully avoided the broken dishes.

“Boy, that sure made a big mess!” Bobby was unfazed by his accident. “Sorry, Moms. I actually did it.”

Helen was more relieved he was okay than she was concerned about the aftermath, until she saw the mess of which Bobby spoke. Not only was the floor covered with ceramic pieces and bits of food, it also had big splotches of dark, red ketchup, which Mart and Bobby insisted complemented any type of food.

“Go outside and play, Bobby. I’ll take care of this.” Once again, Helen made her way to the broom closet and retrieved the broom and mop. “Stay out of trouble!” she called as he slammed the back door.

Lord, grant me serenity, she prayed. For the third time that morning, she mopped the floor.

An hour later…

Helen stretched and yawned as she settled down to work on the fruit basket. It had been a hectic morning, and although she loved her family, she enjoyed having a quiet moment to herself. She sipped a cup of hot tea, arranging fruit attractively in an expensive decorative basket. When it was perfectly perfect, as her daughter’s best friend would say, she wrapped it in a transparent piece of gift packaging and wrapped a blue bow around the top.

Not bad, she thought, pleased with her work.

She checked that item off her mental to-do list and proceeded to lay out the supplies she would need in order to finish her centerpieces. She had completed three last night. Only three more to go, she thought mournfully. Her fingers were still sore from sticking artificial flowers into the Styrofoam bases inside the decorative vases.

Why did I volunteer to do all these? she wondered, brushing a curl out of her eyes. She snorted as she answered the question herself. Probably because you are such a pushover, Helen Belden!

Helen’s blissful moment of silence abruptly ended as Bobby slammed the kitchen door shut and plopped down at the table across from her.

“Whatcha doin’, Moms? Workin’ on the ‘rangements?”

She nodded her head. “Yes, son. I need to get these finished by this afternoon. Do you need something?”

Bobby shook his head. “Nope. I was just wonderin’ sumpin’.”

Helen looked up from the centerpiece she was arranging and studied her son’s cherubic face. “What’re you wondering, Bobby?”

“Well, I was just wonderin’ hypokinetically what would it feel like if someone stucked sumpin’ up their nose?”

She stifled a giggle at Bobby’s pronunciation of “hypothetically”. She assumed a stern tone as she prepared the deliver a serious warning. “It would be very dangerous to ever stick anything up your nose, Bobby. So never, ever do that.”

“Yeah, but, if someone did do that, what would it feel like, Moms?” he persisted.

“I don’t know, son. I’ve never stuck anything up my nose.” Helen carefully examined her son’s face for any evidence of guilt. Not finding any, she asked, “Why do you ask?”

“I-I’m just wonderin’…” Bobby stammered. He sat at the table, swinging his legs back and forth.

Assuming he had gotten the answer to his question, Helen picked up a tiger lily and resumed her task.

A few minutes later, Bobby said in a quiet voice, “Hey, Moms. Just pretend you stucked sumpin’ up your nose. What do you think it would feel like?”

Helen put down the artificial flower she held. Suspicious, she gently cupped Bobby’s chin and lifted up his face. She looked in his nostrils for any sign of crayons or pebbles. Satisfied they were free from small objects (except for the usual “objects” little boys often have up their noses, that is), she halfheartedly commented, “I don’t know, Bobby. What exactly did I pretend to stick up my nose?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he casually answered, still swinging his legs. “Maybe sumpin’ like a… a string.”

“Sweetheart, I’m really busy today. I don’t have time to play guessing games,” she replied in an exasperated tone. Although she tried to be longsuffering with her children, her patience had gone out the window during her third time mopping the floor. “I don’t know what a string would feel like if you stuck it up in your nose. Maybe you can ask Brian when he gets home.”

“Okay, Moms.” However, Bobby didn’t budge from the table. He watched his mother skillfully add some baby’s breath to the arrangement. “So, you really don’t know what it would feel like?” he whispered, his voice sounding a little shaky.

Helen slammed the decorative bird down on the table. “Out with it, son. Exactly what did you do, young man?” she demanded.

“It feels like there’s a string up my nose!” Bobby wailed, bursting into tears.

“Why would it feel like there’s string up your nose?”

“ ’Cuz it does!”

“Bobby, how would a string get stuck up your nose?!”

“Maybe I actually stucked it up there!” he cried, tears streaming down his chubby, freckled cheeks.

Helen hurried to get the flashlight and, once again peered up her youngest son’s nostrils. “I don’t see anything, Bobby. Are you sure you stuck a string up your nose?”

The sobbing boy nodded. “I jus’ wanted to see what it would feel like,” he explained, sniffling. “I founded an old string from my kite an’ wondered if I could fit it all up my nose. So I jus’ keeped stuffin’ an’ stuffin’ it up there till I gotted it all packed inside!

“Then, I gotted kinda scared ‘cuz I couldn’t get the string out. My fingers is too fat to wiggle all the way up there. An’ what if it gotted stucked to a big booger? Sometimes boogers is stickier than glue. Is Dr. Ferris gonna have to take off my nose to get it out, Moms?” The mere thought caused Bobby to start wailing.

Helen tried to remain calm. She wondered if she should take him to the emergency room. Where’s Brian when you need him? she wondered.

“Let me try something, Bobby,” she soothed in a calm voice. She hurriedly found a tissue. “Hold this under your nose, sweetheart.”

Too frightened to argue, Bobby obeyed, and Helen massaged his nose. “Gently blow while I rub,” she directed. After several minutes of rubbing and blowing, a long string finally shot out onto the tissue, dripping with mucus.

Helen sighed in relief.

“You did it, Moms!” Bobby cheered. “Oh, thank you, thank you! I thoughted Dr. Ferris was gonna hafta stick a clothes hanger up my nose and ‘trieve out that ol’ string!”

“Well, I have a lot of things left to do, sweetheart. Why don’t you go upstairs and play quietly?” she suggested.

“Okey dokey, Moms!” Bobby scurried to the stairs.

“Don’t stick anything up your nose!” Helen warned. As an afterthought, she added, “Or in your ears or in any other hole, for that matter!”

“Oh, I won’t!” he assured. “I know what it feels like now, so I won’t hafta do it ever again!” And in typical horrorcane style, he flew up the stairs.

Relieved to be alone again, Helen rubbed her throbbing temples. She felt the oncoming of a monster migraine. She looked at her watch and saw that it was a few minutes after ten o’clock.

Time to get back to those centerpieces, she thought with a weary sigh.

An hour later…

The ringing of the telephone interrupted Helen, just as she was putting the finishing touches on the first centerpiece she’d completed that day. “Hello. Belden residence.”

“Hey, darlin’! How’s your day going?”

She smiled at the husky voice of her husband on the other line. “Much better, now that you’ve called.”

“Is Bobby behaving himself?”

“Does he ever?”

“Uh-oh,” Peter muttered. “What’s the little imp doing now?”

Helen emitted a theatrical sigh. “Well, I cringe just thinking what he’s up to at this very moment, but an hour ago, I had to fish a kite string out of his nose.”

In spite of his wife’s mournful tone, Peter found the humor of the situation and burst out laughing. “Why on earth did Bobby put a kite string up his nose?”

“We’re talking about Bobby, sweetheart,” Helen reminded him with a giggle. “He probably put the string up his nose for the same reason he super-glued his fingers together last week: He wanted to know what it felt like.”

Peter snorted. “Gee, another curious kid. That inquisitive Johnson gene gets us every time.”

Helen cleared her throat. “Bobby may get his curiosity from me, but he gets his troublemaking tendency from you. If I recall all the stories your mother told me, I believe our children get their mischievous gene from your side of the family. Remember the time you, Harold, and Andrew glued that possum to your mother’s—”

“Okay, so maybe you’re right,” Peter interrupted. “Anyway, I was calling to let you know that I might be a little late this evening. I have to go over some facts with the bank president before my meeting in the morning. By the way, did you finish my suit?”

As soon as the words popped out of his mouth, Peter regretted them. Although he was a few miles away, he could practically see the steam from Helen’s ears through the phone receiver.

“I’ll get to it right now, darling,” she answered ever-so sweetly. “But if I’m going finish everything on my to-do list, I need to get off the phone and back to work.”

“No problem, babe!” Peter answered cheerfully. “Love you!”

“It’s a good thing that I love you, too,” Helen said. She exhaled loudly as she hung up the phone receiver. She made a mental note to purposely break the washing machine an hour before the Super Bowl this coming winter.

Knowing she’d forget to hem Peter’s pants unless she took care of it immediately, she forsook her arranging. Well, I needed a break from those centerpieces anyway, she told herself as she found her sewing basket.

Helen retrieved the navy suit from their closet and settled into her favorite chair. She’d already pinned the cuffs up so that they were the correct length. Soon, she had the pants expertly hemmed and took a few extra minutes to press them until the creases in the legs were crisp.

Looks good, if I do say so myself, she thought as she appraised her work. I’d better hang this up in our closet so Bobby doesn’t get jelly on it.

She climbed the stairs to their second-floor bedroom, and hung up the suit in the closet. It was then that she noticed how tranquil the house was.

Bobby is being quiet. Too quiet. I wonder what he’s up to. She shivered at the mere thought. Well, I guess I’ll find out soon enough, she decided with a shrug. She closed the door to her bedroom and was almost knocked over by a very guilty-looking Bobby, who had been making a hasty retreat from his sister’s bedroom.

“What’re you doing, son? You aren’t messing up Trixie’s room, are you?”

Bobby shook his head, his sandy curls flying back and forth.

“You’re not supposed to go in there without her permission, Bobby. Remember when you broke Spotty?” Helen reminded him gently.

“I didn’t broked anything, Moms! Honest! I was just lookin’ at Trixie’s diarrhea.”

“Trixie’s what?!” Helen exclaimed.

“Her diarrhea!” he insisted. “Did you know that Trixie wrote Jim’s name a whole bunch in her diarrhea?”

Helen laughed. “I think you mean her diary, not her diarrhea,” she amended. “I don’t think Trixie would like you looking in it. She writes her secrets in there.”

Bobby grinned impishly. “Hey, I won’t tell anyone Trixie’s see-cruds!”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t,” Helen scoffed. “Why don’t you go play in your room before lunch?”

“Okay, Moms!” Bobby cheerfully bounded to his room, thoughts of Trixie’s “diarrhea” hopefully miles away.

With a weary sigh, she went back downstairs to finish her centerpieces. It was 11:30, and she still had three left to complete.

Hope Bobby doesn’t mind a Crabapple Special for lunch, she thought to herself. I don’t have time to make anything else.

She chose some flowers and began sticking them into the Styrofoam base. However, her task was interrupted by the slamming of the back door. Her exuberate daughter and her honey-haired friend called out a merry greeting.

“Hey, Moms!” Trixie hollered.

“Hello, Mrs. Belden!” Honey greeted in a much more subdued voice. “Boy, you’re doing a marvelous job with those flower arrangements. They look like something a professional florist would make!”

“Thank you, Honey,” Helen answered, pleased by the compliment. “They’ve been a lot of work, but I have to admit that they are turning out nicely.”

“Moms is great at everything!” Trixie exclaimed, giving her mother a peck on the cheek. “Including cooking! Speaking of which…when will lunch be ready?”

Helen looked up in surprise. “Aren’t you eating lunch with the Wheelers?”

Trixie giggled. “Why, Moms, you’ve been telling us that we’re going to wear out our welcome there, and that we should bring everyone here more often.”

“I told you that months ago, Trixie,” remarked Helen.

“But I just thought of it today,” Trixie stated with a shrug. “And since I wanted to be a good, obedient daughter, I thought today would be a good time for the whole gang to meet here for lunch! The boys should be here any minute.”

Of course, it would be today that Trixie took my advice to heart! Helen thought mournfully.

“Are you sure it’s okay, Mrs. Belden?” Honey asked, observing the sorrowful look on Helen’s face. Honey was, by far, the most tactful member of the Bob-Whites. She was always quick to think of others. “If you’re too busy, then maybe Cook could fix us something…”

“No, I’m sure I can throw something together,” Helen assured her. “The Beldens have been eating the Wheelers out of house and home lately.” She stood up and walked over to the refrigerator and began searching for lunch fixings.

“I’m hungry, Moms!” Bobby called as he ran in the room. “When’s lunch?” Spying Honey, he shrieked in delight. “Yay! Honey’s here! Honey’s here! Do you have time to read me a book, Honey? I haven’t heared Peter Rabbit in just ages!”

Honey smiled and tousled the little boy’s curls. “Maybe later, Bobby. After lunch, Trixie and I need to finish asking for donations for the Miller family.”

“Can I go with you to get nodations?”

Honey smiled at his pronunciation. “I’m sorry, Bobby, but we’re riding our bikes much too far for you to go along. Maybe next time you can come with us.”

“Is Jim goin’?” Bobby inquired innocently, glancing at Trixie.

“No, lamb,” Honey answered, her tone patient. “He’s helping Brian with his car. But he’ll be here later. Why do you ask?”

“I was wantin’ to show him his name. Trixie wrote it in her diarrhea.”

Honey’s mouth fell open for a minute. “W-w-what?”

“Robert Harold Belden!” Trixie shrieked angrily. “What are you talking about?”

Helen put down the bread she was buttering. “He means your ‘diary,’ dear. I told you not to mention that ever again, Bobby.”

“Why did you drawed Jim’s name in your diarrhea with all those little hearts an’ plus signs an’ junk?” He giggled as Trixie chased him around the kitchen table. He skillfully dodged her grasp as she pursued him.

“Get back here, you little twerp!” Trixie stormed.

“Trixie an’ Jim, sittin’ in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-M-B!” Bobby chanted. He escaped the confines of the kitchen and ran up the stairs, his furious sister clipping at his heels.

“Honey, can you make sure Trixie doesn’t do any irreparable damage to her brother?” Helen asked wearily. “And please ask her to make sure he washes his hands before lunch.”

Enjoying the ruckus, Honey giggled. “No problem, Mrs. Belden. It sure is fun around here. You never know what will happen next!” She trotted up the stairs to break up any fights.

Helen sighed and continued buttering bread for sandwiches. “I’m glad somebody’s having fun today, because I sure ain’t,” she muttered.

Once she’d buttered the bread, she spread them on her griddle and layered them with slices of cheese and ham before topping each of them with another slice of buttered bread. She put a large bowl of homemade vegetable soup in the microwave to heat. This was going to be dinner tonight. I guess I’ll worry about that later.

The boys came clambering through the back door just as the microwave beeped.

“What’s that delectable aroma permeating the stratosphere?” Mart inquired, sniffing the air.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Gee, Mart, couldn’t you just ask what smells good? After all, Trixie isn’t here to bug, and Di isn’t here to show off for.”

“That would be much too simple and a dissipation of my obvious aptitude for the Anglo-Saxon lexicography,” Mart retorted good-naturedly. “However, if that’s beyond my compeer’s comprehension, I’ll rephrase it to, ‘What’s cookin’, Moms?’”

Helen laughed in spite of herself. “Grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with vegetable beef soup. But first, please go wash your hands. You’re all covered in grease.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Belden,” Jim apologized politely. “We’ll be careful not to get black junk all over the place.”

“I’d appreciate that, Jim,” Helen said. “You all had better hurry before the girls come down to eat. They looked hungry.”

“Where is Honey?” Sensing his brother’s teasing eyes upon him, Brian quickly added, “And Trixie?”

“Upstairs, getting Bobby ready for lunch,” Helen reported. “Now scoot to the bathroom and wash your hands. Lunch will be ready soon.”

As soon as the boys left, the girls returned with Bobby in tow. Honey was stifling a giggle, Trixie was looking quite pleased with herself, and the impish boy was bound in handcuffs and gagged with a bandana.

“Trixie!” Helen reprimanded sternly. “Take those handcuffs off your brother immediately!”

“Awww, Moms!” Trixie moaned. “I just know he’s going to say something about you-know-who in my you-know-what! Then I’ll just die!”

Helen glared down at her son. “If Trixie lets you go, not one word about what you read today. Do you understand, young man?”

Bobby enthusiastically nodded his head, his blond curls bobbing up and down.

“Let him go, Trixie,” Helen ordered.

Trixie sighed unhappily and dug the key for the handcuffs out of her shorts’ pocket. “If you say one word about my diary, you’ll never see Oscar again!” she hissed as she unlocked him. His blue eyes grew large as saucers.

“It’s our see-crud!” he blurted, as soon as the bandana was gone. “Golly, Moms! Trixie almost drownded me washing me up! I couldn’t even fight back ‘cuz I was all chainded up!”

Helen smiled, secretly thinking that maybe Trixie was onto something. The sandwiches were done, and she lifted them from the griddle to a platter, which Trixie set on the table. Honey quickly removed the vegetable soup from the microwave and placed the bowl beside the platter. Trixie was gathering cans of soda out of the refrigerator, just as the boys came in the room.

Helen couldn’t help but grin as she watched Trixie blush when Jim smiled at her. She also noticed that Honey fluffed her honey hair at the sight of Brian. Oh, to be young and carefree again!

“I’m telling you, Brian, it would work,” Mart was whispering. “After we get your car all painted and looking good, we’ll put a dual exhaust on it. And, I’ll bet if we add a pint of Mr. Maypenny’s homebrewed whiskey to the gas, she’d go ten miles-per-hour faster!”

“Aw, Mart, that doesn’t really work!” Brian argued, taking a seat at the table beside Honey.

“Yeah, that only works in cartoons,” Jim said, laughing. He nonchalantly pushed Dan away from the seat beside Trixie and sat there himself.

Dan chuckled good-naturedly. “I don’t know. You all have never smelled Mr. Maypenny’s moonshine. You could use it to take the tarnish off of silver.”

“Then it’s not getting anywhere near my jalopy. She’s been through enough!” Brian glared over at his sister.

Trixie snorted. “Gee, Bri. I just don’t understand why you’d want to repaint your car after all that hard work we did on it. I, for one, think the old jalopy looks marvelous with her Pepto-Bismol paint!”

“Perfectly perfect!” Honey added with a giggle.

“Well, although I understand how important your car’s paint scheme is, the food’s getting cold,” Helen chided. “Brian, will you please ask the blessing.” As soon as the prayer ended, the table returned to its previous state of chaos.

“What’ve you lazy squaws been up to today while we men labored on Brian’s car?” Mart asked between bites of sandwich.

“We’ve been biking to all the neighbors’ houses, asking for donations for the Miller family,” Honey explained. “So far, a lot of people have promised to give them money or some extra clothing. It was so awful about the fire.”

“It’s a nice thing you girls are doing,” Jim told them. “I know it would’ve been easier if I could’ve driven you around in the Bob-White station wagon, but I’d already promised to help Brian. You sure are swell, though, going to all this trouble for the Millers.”

Trixie blushed to the roots of her sandy hair. “Gee, thanks, Jim!” she gushed. “We don’t mind riding our bikes at all.”

“And I dare say that my xanthous-haired sibling could surely use the physical exertion to rid her anatomy of unwanted calories,” Mart taunted.

Trixie smiled sweetly as she kicked her almost-twin under the table.

Helen shot the pair a warning glance.

“You’re just grouchy because Di had to go to Arizona to see her Uncle Monty,” Trixie remarked, helping herself to a second helping of soup.

Mart scowled at his sister, ignoring Dan’s snickering beside him.

“How’re your centerpieces coming, Moms?” Brian asked thoughtfully.

“All right,” Helen answered, “if I can get them finished, that is. I’ve had several interruptions today.” She nonchalantly nodded in Bobby’s general direction. “Do you think Regan might be up for some company later?”

“He loves visitors, but he’s out of town today,” Dan said. “He went to look at a new horse that Mr. Wheeler’s thinking about buying.”

“I just ‘dore Regan!” Bobby piped up, bits of sandwich falling out of his mouth. “And Regan just ‘dores me! I wish I coulda goed with him to look at the new horse.”

Me too! Helen thought glumly.

“This sure is good soup, Mrs. Belden!” Jim complimented. “It’s just as good as Mr. Maypenny’s hunter’s stew.”

“Yes, we love coming here for one of your meals,” Honey told Helen, smiling. “Your food is always so yummy!”

“Too bad Di had to miss it,” Mart mumbled under his breath. His feelings for the violet-eyed beauty weren’t a secret.

“How’s the work on your car going, Brian?” Honey shyly asked.

“Pretty good,” Brian answered, smiling at her. “Tom helped us remove the chrome bumpers, and we’re busy sanding off all the old paint and the rust spots.”

“That should only take a month or three,” Trixie muttered under her breath.

“Tom sure is a great guy for helping us out like this,” Jim said quickly before Brian could comment. “He knows all about refinishing cars. We couldn’t do this without his help.”

Trixie tossed her sandy curls. “Well, Honey, Di, and I painted it all by ourselves, and we didn’t need any help,” she said with a sniff.

“Yes, but this time Brian actually wants his car to look good,” Dan replied with a cheeky grin.

“I thought it looked perfectly perfect when we painted it!” Honey retorted.

“Poor Di used every last bit of her new lavender fingernail polish on those little flowers, and you’re just going to paint all over her masterpiece!” Trixie sighed in exasperation, and was rewarded with a cringe from Brian.

“So that’s why it was so hard to get off those little pansies,” he marveled.

“Hey, Brian, after you getted your car all done, can I paint some more labender flowers on it?” Bobby asked pitifully. “Labender is almost always my favrit color.”

Brian looked horrified. He was obviously imagining his littlest brother adding his own “special” touches to the jalopy. “No, Bobby. Real men don’t want purple flowers and happy faces all over their vehicle.”

Trixie snickered. “At least Jerry Vanderhoef and Bill Wright got to see our handiwork outside of the video store before you parked it! I think they may’ve even taken a picture to put in your college yearbook!”

“Jerry and Bill don’t go to the university with me,” Brian corrected brusquely. “Those morons couldn’t get into clown college, much less Harvard.”

“Maybe they’ll just put it in the Sleepyside Sun then instead!” Honey teased. “With the caption, The Bob-White males, out cruising in their new wheels, rent the chick flick ‘A Perplexing Existence.’ ”

“If I never see ‘A Perplexing Existence’ again, it’ll be too soon,” Dan added with a groan.

“I hate Ewan McGregor,” Jim muttered.

“And Tom Welling,” Brian added unhappily.

“Don’t forget Matthew McConaughey,” Mart mumbled.

“Oh, I liked that movie!” Helen exclaimed. “Pierce Brosnan was so good as the father! Don’t tell your father, but he’s so handsome!”

Honey sighed dreamily in agreement.

Jim looked at his watch. “I hate to eat and run, Mrs. Belden, but we need to get back to the garage. Tom will be waiting for us.”

“Gleeps! Is it 1:00 already?” Mart hurriedly crammed the rest of his second sandwich into his mouth. He grabbed another one and stuffed it in his pocket “for later”.

“Gosh, Moms! We’ve got to go! We still have a lot of sanding to finish today.” Brian quickly kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Thanks for lunch, Mrs. B.! I always like coming over.” Dan, with an impish grin, copied Brian’s actions and kissed her cheek as well.

“You boys are welcome any time,” Helen told them, smiling. Just please don’t come for dinner tonight!

“Hey, Trix, maybe later I can take you and Honey around to pick up some of those donations,” Jim offered, leaning over the table to give his favorite curl a gentle tug.

Trixie batted her china blue eyes, just like Di had taught her. “Gosh, that’d be wonderful, Jim.” She saw her almost-twin open his mouth, but she kicked him under the table again.

“Ouch!” Dan exclaimed. “Watch where you’re kicking, Trixie!”

Mart snickered. “I’m much too perspicacious to be trifled with, dear Beatrix! Now, you lazy squaws can assist with the lustrating of the kitchen while we men folk retire to the Wheelers’ automotive abode!... Ouch!” This time, Trixie’s foot hit her intended target.

“Guys, we’d better get going,” Brian ordered, making his way to the door.

“Yes, sir!” Mart gave a mock salute, then he and Dan marched out the back door.

Jim carried his plate and utensils to the sink and started to help clear the table.

“Thank you for helping, Jim, but you go along with the rest of the boys,” Helen insisted.

“Okay, Mrs. Belden,” he reluctantly agreed. “Thanks again for lunch. See ya’ Trix!” And after a quick fond glance, he was on his way.

“Humph! Not even a wave to his full-blooded adopted sister!” Honey complained, pretending to have her feelings hurt. “I think his mind was on someone else.”

Trixie shot her best friend a warning glance. Everyone knew that the sandy blonde had special feelings for the supple redhead, but it wasn’t something that she liked to discuss, especially in front of her mother and Bobby.

As Helen stored the leftovers, Trixie and Honey carried the plates to the sink. While running the dishwater, Trixie glanced out the window. “Gleeps, Moms! It looks like it’s going to rain after all! Honey and I had better hurry, if we’re going to finish asking for donations!” She looked pleadingly at her mother.

Helen sighed wearily. “I suppose you’re excused from the lunch dishes, dear.”

Trixie threw her arms around her mother. “You’re the greatest, Moms! I promise to dust every inch of the house tomorrow!”

Helen only smiled. She’d heard those same words many, many times before. She’d yet to see her daughter attack every inch of Crabapple Farm with Pledge and a dust cloth.

“Thanks for lunch, Mrs. Belden,” Honey said politely. “You sure put our cooks to shame.”

“You’re welcome any time, Honey,” Helen hugged her daughter’s best friend.

“C’mon, Honey! We’d better get on the road!” Trixie was practically ready to explode from excitement. She and Honey flew out of the house, leaving Helen a mound of dishes to wash.

“I’ll holp you, Moms!” Bobby exclaimed cheerfully.

“Thank you, Bobby, but I’ll take care of it myself,” Helen answered, remembering that her serving set was lacking six plates thanks to his “holp” after breakfast. “Why don’t you bring your coloring books and crayons down to the kitchen? You can keep me company while I tidy up?”

Bobby ran excitedly to his bedroom and retrieved his art supplies. He sat down at the kitchen table and happily colored and chattered while his mother cleaned. A half hour later, Helen finished washing and drying the last dish. “How’re you doing, sweetheart?”

“See my picture, Moms! Didn’t I do a good job on Spiderman?”

Helen smiled weakly as she peeked down at his work. Bobby certainly had colored well; however, he didn’t limit his artwork to the paper. He’d accidentally gotten crayon all over her antique maple table.

“Sorry, Moms. I actually did it,” he admitted in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I understand. I should’ve put newspaper under your coloring book.” Helen plastered a fake smile on her face. “Gee, I think it’s about your naptime, Bobby.”

“Can I go upstairs and brush my teeth first? The dentist tolded me that you should brush your teeth after ev’ry meal. They even say that on all those commercials. The ‘merican Denal ‘sociation sayed so, too.” Bobby was infamous for finding a million excuses to delay his nap.

“All right, but hurry up. You have five minutes.”

Bobby raced out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs, clomping loudly. Helen picked up his coloring book and crayons. She sprayed some all-purpose cleaner on the table and prayed it would remove the red and blue streaks.

“Holp, Moms! Holp! Holp me!” Bobby wailed, running into the room. “My tongue burnded off, Moms! Holp me!”

Helen looked up in alarm. “Did you use your brothers’ and sister’s toothpaste again?” Bobby had his own special toothpaste, finding the grownup toothpaste too hot for his taste.

“I didn’t go in our bathroom!” Bobby cried. “The boys gotted grease all over the sink, an’ I didn’t wanna get in it!”

Helen sighed at the thought of cleaning up yet another mess. “Did you brush your teeth in my bathroom, Bobby?”

He nodded, tears still flowing. He frantically rubbed his tongue with his fingers, trying to scrape off the yucky taste in his mouth.

“You’re making an awful big fuss over hot toothpaste,” Helen scolded.

“It burnses awful, Moms!” Bobby insisted. “I feel like my tongue is gonna rot off!”

Helen raised a sandy eyebrow and took him upstairs. When she went in the bathroom, she saw Bobby’s toothbrush beside a white tube on the counter. Surely he didn’t brush his teeth with that! she thought, reading Monistat 7 ® on the label. She picked it up with a shaking hand. “Is this what you brushed your teeth with, Bobby?”

He sobbed and nodded his head in affirmation. “That’s not very good toothpaste, Moms!”

Helen raced into her bedroom and picked up the phone. She quickly dialed the number for the Poison Control Center, which she had committed to memory after some of Mart’s shenanigans. She tried her best to both placate her son and to talk to the man at the PCC at the same time.

After the man at the Poison Control Center was convinced that this wasn’t a prank call and he finally quit laughing, he assured Helen that Bobby would live. He informed her that it was best not to apply Monistat 7 to one’s tongue, but it wasn’t fatal. He gave her some tips on how best to soothe the burning and added that at least Bobby wouldn’t get thrush.

Helen angrily hung up the phone, still trying to calm Bobby’s cries. She followed the man’s advice, and when his instructions didn’t stop the burning sensation, she tucked Bobby on the couch with a Popsicle. “Don’t get it on the sofa,” she warned. “I don’t have time right now to read Peter Rabbit to you, so why don’t you pick out a movie to watch.”

Bobby decided upon “Home Alone”. Helen loaded the movie into the DVD player, and Bobby snuggled on the couch with his Popsicle. His eyes were growing heavy, and she knew he’d fall asleep soon. After kissing him on the forehead, she went back to the kitchen to finish her centerpieces.

Helen looked at her watch. It was after 2:00. She had three hours to finish.

Two hours later…

Helen sneaked into the den and peered at her youngest child, curled up asleep on the couch. She turned off the television and tiptoed out of the room. Bobby sure is a little angel, she thought, when he’s asleep! When he’s awake, he can be a regular little devil! She sat back down at the kitchen table, appraising the centerpiece she’d just completed. I might make my deadline after all, she thought.

She jumped as the back screen door slammed shut. “Moms! Are you in here?” Trixie called loudly.

“Shhh!” Helen whispered. “Your brother’s asleep in the den. I don’t want you to wake him.”

“Gleeps! Why’s he asleep in there for? Did the little pyro finally blow up his room?”

Helen looked up in exasperation. “Bobby had a traumatic experience after lunch, so I laid him on the sofa to watch a movie. He fell asleep half an hour ago.”

“What happened to him?” The worried look on Trixie’s face showed she was truly concerned about her little brother.

“Bobby wanted to brush his teeth before his nap, but he accidentally used Monistat 7 instead of toothpaste,” Helen explained.

“He brushed his teeth with yeast infection cream?!” Trixie hooted. “That’s worse than the time Mart thought the laundry detergent was Fun Dip!” She dropped on the floor, overcome with hysterical laughter.

“Shhh!” Helen hissed. However, it was too late. A sleepy Bobby stumbled into the kitchen.

“What’s all the racket?” he mumbled, a grouchy look on his face.

“Nothing,” Helen replied, looking sternly at her daughter. “Why don’t you go lay back down, Bobby?”

He shook his head. “I don’t wanna. I wanna stay up an’ play with Trixie.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea!” Helen exclaimed happily.

“But I can’t, Moms!” Trixie cried. “I just came back to tell you that Jim’s going to take me and Honey around to pick up some clothing the neighbors donated for the Millers. I wanted to let you know that I might be late for dinner.”

Helen rubbed her temples. “I suppose you can, Trixie, but you’d better make plans to watch Bobby tomorrow evening while your father and I attend the Garden Club banquet.”

“I will, Moms! Thanks!” Trixie raced out the back door, the slamming noise making Helen’s head explode.

Bobby stomped his foot and began crying. “I wanna go, too! I never getta do anything fun! It’s no fair!”

“Bobby, you go outside and play while I finish up here. Maybe your brothers and sister will take you to the Wheelers’ later and see if Regan bought that new horse. If you’re good, that is,” Helen hastily added.

Bobby thought for a moment, and then bobbed his head in agreement. “Okey dokey, Moms. I just ‘dore Regan. Maybe he’ll gimme a ride while I’m there. Or maybe he’ll play with me. I wonder if he has any new tissue paper.” He ran outside, excited about seeing the red-haired groom.

Why on earth did Regan have that red tissue paper there to begin with? Helen wondered. She shook her head and then got right back to her centerpieces.

An hour later…

Helen flexed her tired fingers. Success at last! And not a minute too soon, she thought as Bobby ran into the house.

“Jeepers, Moms! It’s rainin’ bats and frogs out there!” Bobby shook the water from his blond hair to emphasize his point. His clothes were soaked and covered in mud. His shoes made a squeak, squeak sound, which he apparently found delightful, considering he danced around to make them squeak more.

“Bobby, I need to take these flowers to the community building. Since your brothers and sister aren’t here, you’ll have to come with me. Why don’t you run upstairs and change?”

Bobby looked up from watching his shoes. “Sure, Moms!” He skidded out of the kitchen, leaving muddy tracks behind him.

Helen once again sighed. Oh, goody. More mopping when I get home. But right now I need to change my clothes. She went upstairs and changed into a nice, lightweight pants suit. She wanted to look her best, in case any of the other ladies from the Garden Club were there.

Fifteen minutes later, she and Bobby pulled out of the driveway at Crabapple Farm. They were on Glen Road when the steering in the station wagon lurched to the left. Helen frantically righted the car, but then it suddenly swerved to the right. The abrupt motion was too difficult to control, and the station wagon crashed in a ditch. She screamed as the air bag deployed. She looked around to check on Bobby, and found him safe in the backseat, wide-eyed and excited.

“What happened?” Helen gasped. She leaned her head against the seat, taking a moment to regain her composure. “Are you all right, Bobby?”

“I’m great, Moms!” Bobby yelled. “Who teached you to drive like that?”

“Stay here, Bobby,” she commanded, ignoring his question. “I’m going outside to see how badly the car is damaged.”

Helen opened the car door. Rain stung her face as it poured down. She shielded her eyes and surveyed the car. The damage wasn’t too bad. The right fender was dented a little, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. It was then that she spied the cause of her accident. Both the right and the left front tires had blown out.

“What in the world!” she exclaimed, bending over to examine the left tire. She found several large nails in the tread. When she studied the right one, she discovered the same thing. By this time, she was soaked, and her lovely tan suit had splotches of mud all over it.

Helen opened the back door of the station wagon. “Come on, Bobby. We have a long walk home.”

Bobby unlatched his seat belt and clambered out of the car. “Do we getta walk all the way home in the rain?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Yippee! This is my lucky day!” Bobby gleefully hopped in a large mud puddle. The mud splashed up and splattered on Helen’s face. “Sorry, Moms!” he replied cheerfully.

Helen gritted her teeth and continued walking. There was no need to fuss about the mud. Her suit was already ruined, and she was drenched. The worst part was that home was over a mile away. After they made it there, she would need to call Brian and have him take her and the flowers to the community building. She would definitely be late now.

“Golly, Moms! This is the mostest fun I’ve had all day!” Bobby blurted out. “I’m sure glad you gotted stuck in that ditch! You never crash up the cars. You’re the carefulest driver in the whole world. Why’d ya wreck, Moms?”

“I ran over some nails, Bobby, and they made my tires have a blowout, which made me lose control of the vehicle,” Helen patiently explained, wiping the rain from her face.

“Was they big nails like Dad used when he fixded the porch?”

Helen stopped walking. “Yes. Why do you ask, Bobby?”

Immediately, Bobby began jumping up and down and shouting for joy. “Hooray! It worked! It worked!”

She counted to ten as calmly as possible. “What worked, son?”

“My plan to catch the bad guys!” Bobby exclaimed. “Just like Kevin ‘allister!”

Helen’s mouth fell open. “What did you do, Bobby?” she asked slowly.

“I was watchin’ that movie an’ gotted worried about all the bad guys Trixe caughted. I was scared they might come back. Some of them guys stealed things, an’ I was scared they might steal Trixie. So I setted a trap for ‘em!” Bobby bounded in a particularly large puddle, splashing mud all around him. “An’ it worked! It really worked, Moms!”

At this point, Helen didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “It sure did,” she replied grimly. “The only problem is that I’m not a bad guy.”

Bobby looked serious. “That’s true. I guess I’ll have to put those nails in the driveway all over again. Boy, it sure tooked a long time to get ‘em all to stand up like that with the pointy thing up.” Noticing the annoyed look on his mother’s face, he tugged on her sleeve. “I thoughted it’d be a good idea. I’m sorry I actually did it now, Moms.”

She smiled against her will. “You did it accidentally?” She raised her eyebrows in skepticism.

“No, I did it on purpose. I said actually not actually.”

Helen walked the rest of the way home without saying a word. She didn’t want to say anything to her son that she would regret after she cooled down. She also worried that someone else would get a flat tire in their driveway. At least the rain has stopped, she thought to herself grimly.

Fortunately, she met the Bob-White station wagon right as it was getting ready to pull in the driveway at Crabapple Farm. Jim pulled the car right by Helen and rolled down the driver’s side window.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Belden?” Jim asked.

“Gleeps, Moms! You look awful!” Trixie blurted from the front seat, beside Jim.

Helen glared at her daughter. “I had a blowout about a mile down the road, and had to walk back here. Actually, I had two blowouts.”

“How did you have two blowouts, Mrs. B.? That seems like a big coincidence,” Dan remarked.

“It seems somebody (she glared over at Bobby) put nails in the driveway to catch bad guys. I ran over several of them. The front tires blew out, and I wrecked in a ditch.”

Trixie started giggling at the explanation, until Honey whacked the back of her head from the backseat.

“So Jim, I wouldn’t pull the Bob-White station wagon in the driveway until all the nails have been picked up,” Helen continued wearily. “Now I need to get changed so someone can drive me to the community building.”

“Mrs. Belden, you’re soaked to the bone!” Honey cried. “Why don’t you let us take your arrangements to the community building?”

“Yeah, Moms,” Brian agreed from the backseat, beside Honey. “You really need to take a warm bath. Let us take care of that while you go in the house.”

Helen shook her head. “I need to help set up the tables. I n-need to be there,” she said, her teeth starting to chatter.

“Brian’s right, Mrs. Belden,” Jim insisted. “The Bob-Whites will handle everything for you.”

“And I’ll take Master Belden to search for the superfluous objects which perforated the rubber annuluses encompassing the wheels,” Mart graciously offered, although nobody could quite understand him. He got out of the front seat and took Bobby by the hand, leading him to the driveway.

“Thank you, kids!” Helen told them. “I really appreciate this.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. B.!” Dan exclaimed. “You’ve sure done a lot for us! It’s our turn to help you out.”

Helen tossed the Beldens’ station wagon keys to Brian so he could retrieve the arrangements. She gave them some last minute instructions. As they pulled out, Helen noticed that although Mart had left the front seat, Trixie hadn’t scooted over. She was still sitting close to Jim. Helen smiled and hurried to the house.

Helen starting stripping off her wet clothes as soon as she hit the stairs leading to her bedroom. A warm bath will certainly feel good.

Two hours later…

The gentle strains of “As Time Goes By” woke Helen up from her nap. After her bath, she had lain on the bed just for a minute, and had already fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes, she saw her handsome husband lighting candles around the bedroom.

“Peter!” she exclaimed joyfully.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, cuddling next to her on the bed. “Did you have a rough day?”

Tears fell down Helen’s cheeks. “You have no idea!”

Peter gently wiped her tears with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry you had a bad day, hon.”

“It’s better now that you’re here,” Helen whispered. “Candlelight and Barbra Streisand? What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion is that I have a wonderful wife who needs some special treatment,” Peter answered, kissing her softly.

“The kids—”

“The kids are fine,” he interrupted. “Brian and Trixie helped the others set up the tables in the community building. I stopped by there on my way home to see how it looked, and they were there working. They told me everything.”

“What about—”

“Mart and Bobby finished picking up all the nails. Then Mart took Bobby up to the Manor House to visit Regan. After the others get back, all the BWGs are taking the little monster to see a movie. A late movie,” he added with a waggle of his dark brows.

Helen arched a sandy brow at him. “And what about dinner for us?”

Peter pulled a picnic basket onto the bed. “I picked up a few things on my way home. I was planning something special anyway. I just didn’t know at the time how well it would work out.” He looked tenderly at his wife. “Just pretend we’re by some bluffs, overlooking a beautiful waterfall.”

Helen sighed in contentment. “I love you, Peter Belden!”

“And I love you, Helen Belden,” Peter said as he stroked her blonde curls. “I tell you that every day, but I don’t show you often enough.” He gently raised her head to his and kissed her. “And this isn’t all. I have another surprise.”

“Really? I’ll just die if you don’t tell me what it is!” she giggled, mocking her daughter.

“I’ve made arrangements for us to go away for your birthday. It’s all taken care of. Anyplace that you want to go is fine.” He grinned at her. “As long as we can be there and back in a few days.”

Helen threw her arms around her husband. “Oh, Peter! That sounds perfect.”

“After the day you’ve had, you deserve it,” he said adamantly. “Did Bobby really brush his teeth with Monistat cream?”

Helen covered her face with her hands, laughing. “Yes! And then there was also Trixie’s diarrhea, broken dishes, two blowouts—”

Peter interrupted her with another kiss. “Umm, Helen, the kids are gone.” He began kissing her neck.

“Why Peter, it isn’t even Friday night!”

“Contrary to what our kids think, when have we ever waited until Friday night?” Peter asked, loosening her robe.

Helen giggled as her husband nuzzled her neck. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that my day is ending a whole lot better than it began!”

Credits:

This was SEA #4. The required elements were any song from the fourth anniversary song list (“As Time Goes By” sung by Barbra Streisand), a grand high pooh-bah named Mark (Mark Cox at the bank), a yearbook (Trixie’s teasing about where Jerry and Bill will post a pic of the Pink Panther), a gift of fruit (the gift of appreciation for the Garden Club president), whiskey (Mart’s suggestion to increase the jalopy’s speed), cliffs or bluffs (Peter’s imaginary picnic site), a made-up word (scrog), a celebration lasting two weeks (the 50^th anniversary of the bank), someone procrastinating (Brian refinishing his jalopy), and a literary quote by someone other than Mart (Trixie’s Mark Twain quote).

A big thank you to my editor, Kathy W! You were a big help again, as always! Your advice about refinishing cars was very helpful! *bear hugs*

My “baby” brother, who is now a strapping Navy man, confused his “actually” and “accidentally” when he was a little boy. I had a lot of fun at his expense. He shaved one of our dog’s head, except he colored it blue. And he tried that “Home Alone” trick and blew out someone’s tire. J Now, he looks exactly how I picture a 20-some-year-old Bobby. Blond curls, stocky, and china blue eyes. Quite the lady killer!

My lovely daughter actually confused the words “diarrhea” and “diary”. She also stuck a string up her nose. Our conversation perfectly mirrored Moms and Bobby’s. She’s absolutely mortified that I told that. She’s a sophisticated lady of nine, and she would never do those kinds of things now. After all, she did that stuff three whole years ago! J

And yes, I knew somebody that had a nephew who used Monistat 7® as toothpaste. And no, it’s not fatal. I don’t remember what the PCC guy said, but I do remember that he laughed his butt off. And of course, Monistat 7 was not used with permission, so I’ll put a plug in for them. If you get a yeast infection, buy some! If you need to brush your teeth, buy Colgate! J