A Day in the Life of Moms

Affectionately dedicated to all my fellow 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 jumped 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 sleepily said to herself. She had 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 in exasperation, 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.

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 rinsed and 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 great. 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 said cheerily, blowing bubbles in his juice with his straw. He did not seem the least bit concerned about the sticky mess under his feet.

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

“Yup.” Bobby 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 had not 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 excitedly. “I didn’t know norange juice was that slippy! Maybe you could leave it there an’ see if Trixie falls in it, too!”

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 once again mopped the floor.

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, Helen 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.

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 excitedly 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.” Brian’s responsibility was well known around Sleepyside.

“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.” Moms 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 maple 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 egg yolk.

Bobby, followed by Brian, ran into the kitchen. “Hooray! You caughted him, Moms!” he blurted.

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?” she yelled at her youngest sibling.

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?”

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. 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 was 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. ‘Cause 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.” His eldest sibling cast him a warning glance.

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

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

“Much gratitude bestowed upon you, 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 said. Helen shook her head as her sons’ conversation drifted out of hearing range.

“Thanks, kids. I’ll just be down in a minute.” As she walked to the stairs, she passed her husband in the hallway. He leaned down to kiss her good morning, but after seeing the gooey residue all over her apron, he changed his mind.

“Everything all right, hon?” he questioned, straightening his tie.

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

Fifteen minutes later, freshly scrubbed and dressed, 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 Belden was smiling and waiting for her so he could ask God’s blessing on the food. Once she was settled, he prayed, and everyone began filling their plates.

“Feeling better?” Peter asked, spearing a slightly-charred piece of sausage. Helen winced and nodded. Helen Belden never ruined a meal. “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, in between bites of scrambled egg. 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 an’…”

“It looks like today will be a most splendiferous day!” Mart exclaimed. “The sun is 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, as 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 piped, knowing 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 any way they wanted, as payment for a prank the boys had played on the girls. However, Brian still had not 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 are your plans for the day, dear?” Peter asked his lovely wife.

“I have so much to do! 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 still have to make a fruit basket that’ll be given to the club president. Then, I need to drive to the community building and take everything there and start setting up.” Helen 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, and he has to tell me what to do. If I’m going to get it finished by the beginning of the fall term, I need to get started today! 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…”

“Many apologies, Moms,” Mart interrupted, his mouth full of fried potatoes. “My eldest fraternal sibling has already solicited my assistance for the afternoon.”

“Yeah, Moms. 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 exclaimed frantically. “I already told Honey that we would ride our bikes to all the neighbors today and ask for donations for that family who lost their home in that fire. 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. “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.

“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’ll be planning a big two week open house. I’d like to wear that new navy suit, but the pants need to be hemmed. Do you think you can handle that today?” Peter glanced hesitantly at his wife.

“I’ll take care of it, Peter.” Helen didn’t sound too excited, but neither did she sound angry.

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

“He didn’t 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!”

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

Peter’s moustache twitched in stifled amusement. “Mart, don’t call your brother names, especially names that he doesn’t understand.”

“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.”

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

Mart stuffed the last bite of his 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 the middle of them. “For dessert,” he muttered with his mouth full. “See ya later, Moms!” He hurried after his brother.

“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 ran out the back door in typical Trixie-fashion.

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

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

“Don’t worry, Moms! I’ll holp you!” Bobby proudly proclaimed. He picked up the plates and carried them to the sink. Suddenly, there was a loud crash, and ceramic shards covered 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 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 quite relieved, 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 as she cleaned the floor for the third time that morning.

An hour later…

Helen stretched and yawned as she settled down to work on the fruit basket. It had been a hectic morning. It was nice to have 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 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. Probably because you are such a pushover, Helen Belden!

Helen’s 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. “What are 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”. “It would be very dangerous to ever stick anything up your nose, Bobby. So never, ever do that.”

“Yeah, but, what would it feel like, Moms?” he persisted.

“I don’t know. I’ve never stuck anything up my nose.” She carefully examined her son’s face for any evidence of guilt. “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 flower 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 rose she held. She suspiciously took Bobby’s chin and lifted up his face. She looked up his nose for any sign of crayons or pebbles. Satisfied it was clear of everything (except for the usual objects little boys often have up their noses, that is), she halfheartedly commented, “I don’t know. What exactly did I pretend to stick up my nose?”

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

“Sweetheart, Moms is really busy today. I don’t have time to play guessing games,” she replied in an exasperated tone. “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 move 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 she had been holding down on the table. “Out with it, son. What did you do?” she demanded.

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

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

“ ’Cuz it does!”

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

“Maybe I actually stucked it up there!” he cried, large 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 tearful 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 it 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, Moms?” Bobby began wailing again at the thought.

Helen tried to remain calm. She wondered if Bobby needed to go to the emergency room. Where is Brian when you need him? she thought to herself. “Let me try something, Bobby,” she soothed in a calm voice. She hurriedly found a tissue. “Hold this under your nose, sweetheart.”

Thankfully, Bobby obeyed, and she massaged his nose. “Gently blow while I rub,” she commanded. 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 happily exclaimed. “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! Or in your ears!” Helen called.

“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 Bobby horrorcane style, he flew up the stairs.

Helen rubbed her 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.

An hour later…

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

“Hey, baby! How’s your day going?” She smiled at the husky voice of her husband.

“Much better, now that you’ve called,” she answered with a smile.

“Is Bobby behaving himself?”

“Does he ever?” Helen teased wryly.

“What did he do now?”

“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.”

Peter burst out laughing. “Why did he 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.”

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

Helen cleared her throat. “If I recall all the stories your mother told me, I believe our children get their curious gene from your side of the family. Remember the time you, Harold, and Andr…”

“That may be true,” Peter admitted. “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. He could practically see the steam from Helen’s ears through the phone receiver.

“I’ll get to it right now, darling,” she replied 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!”

“Love you, too,” Helen said, hanging up the phone. She forsook her arranging and found her sewing basket as well as her husband’s navy suit. She had already pinned the cuffs up so that they were the correct length. Soon, she had the pants expertly hemmed and pressed. I’d better hang this up in our closet so Bobby doesn’t get jelly on it.

Helen climbed the stairs to their second-floor bedroom, and hung up the suit in the closet. 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 exit from his sister’s room.

“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. 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?”

“I think you mean her diary,” she amended with a laugh. “I don’t think Trixie would like you looking in it. She writes her secrets in there.”

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

“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 to complete. Hope Bobby doesn’t mind a Crabapple Special for lunch. 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 replied 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! 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 to eat more often.”

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

“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 remembered that! 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 went 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 readed 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. “Trixie an’ Jim, sittin’ in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-M-B!” 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.”

Honey giggled. “No problem, Mrs. Belden. It sure is fun around here!” She trotted up the stairs to break up any fights.

Helen sighed and continued buttering bread for sandwiches. After she finished that, she put a 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 she put several of the cold grilled ham and cheese sandwiches in a skillet. “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?”

“That would be much too simple and a dissipation of my obvious aptitude for the Anglo-Saxon lexicography,” Mart retorted with a grin. “However, if that is 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 and vegetable soup. But first, please go wash your hands. You’re all covered in grease.”

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

“Where’s Honey? And Trixie?” Brian hastily added.

“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 him immediately!”

“Awww, Moms! 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.”

Trixie sighed unhappily and dug the key for the handcuffs out of her shorts’ pocket. “If you say one word, Bobby, 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.

Helen placed the platter of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches onto the table. Honey quickly removed the vegetable soup from the microwave and carried it to the table. Trixie hurriedly grabbed cans of soda out of the refrigerator, just as the boys came in the room. Trixie flushed at the sight of her brother’s red-haired best friend. Helen noticed that Honey fluffed her honey hair at the sight of Brian.

“I’m telling you, Brian, it would work,” Mart whispered excitedly. “After we get your car all painted and looking good, we’ll put a dual exhaust on it. And, I 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 laughed. 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!”

“Perfectly perfect!” Honey added with a giggle.

“Well, this food’s getting cold,” Helen chided. “Brian, will you please ask the blessing.” As soon as the word “Amen” was uttered, the table returned to its previous state of chaos.

“What have you lazy squaws been up to today while we men labored on Brian’s automobile?” 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. I know it would’ve been easier if I could’ve driven you around in the Bob-White station wagon, but I had already promised to help Brian,” Jim said. “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 can surely use the physical exertion to rid her anatomy of unwanted calories,” Mart taunted. Trixie smiled sweetly as she kicked him under the table.

“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 are your flowers 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 at Bobby. “Do you think Regan might be up for some company later?”

“He loves visitors, but he’s out of town today,” Dan offered. “He went to look at a new horse that Mr. Wheeler is 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!” Jim complimented. “It’s just as good as Mr. Maypenny’s hunter’s stew.”

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

“Too bad Di had to miss it,” Mart muttered under his breath. His feelings for the violet-eyed beauty were renowned.

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

“Pretty good. 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. “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 wants his car to actually look good,” Dan replied with a grin.

“I thought it looked perfectly perfect!” Honey giggled.

“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.

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 have 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!” 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, tugging on his favorite curl.

Trixie batted her wide blue eyes, just like Di had taught her. “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 am 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.

“Hmph! Not even a wave to his full-blooded adopted sister!” Honey pouted, 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 was not something that she liked to discuss.

Trixie and Honey carried the plates to the sink. Trixie glanced out the window by the sink. “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.