bellowed. "Do you want the Tater Chips to be a championship ball team?"
"YEAH!" the team members all yelled.
Caroline grinned. "You should try out for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir," she said. "Okay, men. And women. Tie your shoes. Wipe your noses. Be here tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp. DISMISSED!"
Poochie walked beside her as she went back to the baby carriage. J.P. was leaning over, playing with the twins. "They need to be changed," he said, looking up, "and I think they're getting hungry. Do you know what you're supposed to give them for lunch?"
"Of course I do," Caroline told him. She sighed and took the handle of the carriage. They started toward their father's house.
"I can't stand that ball team," J.P. whispered, so that Poochie wouldn't hear.
"And I can't stand these babies," Caroline whispered back.
"You and I, Caroline, we really got stuck. You know what we ought to do?"
"What?" Caroline asked.
Her brother kicked a stone and glanced back at Poochie, who had lagged behind and was walking lopsided, with one foot on the sidewalk and one foot in the street. J.P. looked around to make sure no one was listening. Then he said, "We ought to think up a revenge."
7
"Hi there! Boy, am I exhausted! How was your day?" Lillian Tate asked as she came in from the driveway and put down her briefcase.
She sounds exactly like Mom, Caroline thought. "It was okay," she told Lillian.
J.P. didn't say anything.
Poochie grunted without taking his eyes away from the television. He was sprawled on the floor in front of the set.
In their playpen, the babies gurgled and kicked. They had just woken from their afternoon nap and had had their diapers changed. Now they were each happily chomping with their two teeth on special baby cookies. Caroline could see that already they had gluey cookie crumbs stuck to the creases in their fat little necks. They were going to need baths again before they went to bed.
Why on earth would anybody voluntarily have babies? Caroline wondered. It's just a lot of work and mess.
Lillian went over to the playpen, leaned in, and made kissing noises at the twins. "Hi, Holly," she cooed. "Hi, Ivy. Did you girls have a nice day?"
The twins answered her: gurgle, slobber, spit, burp giggle.
Next Lillian went to the place where Poochie was curled up like a pretzel on the floor, watching cartoons. She kissed the top of his head. "Don't sit so close, Pooch," she said. "How was baseball?"
He wiggled away from her. "I stink at baseball," he muttered.
"J.P. will help you to get better," his mother said cheerfully. "That's what a coach is for." She went to the kitchen and began getting some things out of the refrigerator. Good, thought Caroline; Lillian's going to cook dinner. At least I don't have to do that, too.
"Look who's coming!" Lillian exclaimed, looking through the kitchen window toward the driveway. "Make a date withâ" She waited expectantly.
"Herbie Tate," Caroline and J.P. said in unison. Poochie reached forward and turned the sound up a little louder on the TV.
"Ta-DA!" said Herbie Tate as he entered the house. He set a package down, kissed Lillian on the cheek, formed his right hand into a phony gun, and aimed it at Poochie. "Blam," he said. Poochie clutched his stomach, crossed his eyes, and fell over on the carpet, pretending to be dead. "You got me," Poochie said. Then he sat back up and turned his attention to the two cartoon mice who were being chased by a cat.
Herbie leaned over the playpen. "Hi hooooo," he said in a high voice to the babies, who grinned.
Caroline and J.P. stared at each other. Caroline had
often fantasized
about how nice it would be to have a father at home, instead of just a mother. In her daydreams, the father came in from the office in the evening, wearing a three-piece gray suit, carrying a briefcase and a newspaper. Her daydream father was very intellectual: a professor, or a physicist. He always came home and said, "Good evening," to the family in a deep
"YEAH!" the team members all yelled.
Caroline grinned. "You should try out for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir," she said. "Okay, men. And women. Tie your shoes. Wipe your noses. Be here tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp. DISMISSED!"
Poochie walked beside her as she went back to the baby carriage. J.P. was leaning over, playing with the twins. "They need to be changed," he said, looking up, "and I think they're getting hungry. Do you know what you're supposed to give them for lunch?"
"Of course I do," Caroline told him. She sighed and took the handle of the carriage. They started toward their father's house.
"I can't stand that ball team," J.P. whispered, so that Poochie wouldn't hear.
"And I can't stand these babies," Caroline whispered back.
"You and I, Caroline, we really got stuck. You know what we ought to do?"
"What?" Caroline asked.
Her brother kicked a stone and glanced back at Poochie, who had lagged behind and was walking lopsided, with one foot on the sidewalk and one foot in the street. J.P. looked around to make sure no one was listening. Then he said, "We ought to think up a revenge."
7
"Hi there! Boy, am I exhausted! How was your day?" Lillian Tate asked as she came in from the driveway and put down her briefcase.
She sounds exactly like Mom, Caroline thought. "It was okay," she told Lillian.
J.P. didn't say anything.
Poochie grunted without taking his eyes away from the television. He was sprawled on the floor in front of the set.
In their playpen, the babies gurgled and kicked. They had just woken from their afternoon nap and had had their diapers changed. Now they were each happily chomping with their two teeth on special baby cookies. Caroline could see that already they had gluey cookie crumbs stuck to the creases in their fat little necks. They were going to need baths again before they went to bed.
Why on earth would anybody voluntarily have babies? Caroline wondered. It's just a lot of work and mess.
Lillian went over to the playpen, leaned in, and made kissing noises at the twins. "Hi, Holly," she cooed. "Hi, Ivy. Did you girls have a nice day?"
The twins answered her: gurgle, slobber, spit, burp giggle.
Next Lillian went to the place where Poochie was curled up like a pretzel on the floor, watching cartoons. She kissed the top of his head. "Don't sit so close, Pooch," she said. "How was baseball?"
He wiggled away from her. "I stink at baseball," he muttered.
"J.P. will help you to get better," his mother said cheerfully. "That's what a coach is for." She went to the kitchen and began getting some things out of the refrigerator. Good, thought Caroline; Lillian's going to cook dinner. At least I don't have to do that, too.
"Look who's coming!" Lillian exclaimed, looking through the kitchen window toward the driveway. "Make a date withâ" She waited expectantly.
"Herbie Tate," Caroline and J.P. said in unison. Poochie reached forward and turned the sound up a little louder on the TV.
"Ta-DA!" said Herbie Tate as he entered the house. He set a package down, kissed Lillian on the cheek, formed his right hand into a phony gun, and aimed it at Poochie. "Blam," he said. Poochie clutched his stomach, crossed his eyes, and fell over on the carpet, pretending to be dead. "You got me," Poochie said. Then he sat back up and turned his attention to the two cartoon mice who were being chased by a cat.
Herbie leaned over the playpen. "Hi hooooo," he said in a high voice to the babies, who grinned.
Caroline and J.P. stared at each other. Caroline had
often fantasized
about how nice it would be to have a father at home, instead of just a mother. In her daydreams, the father came in from the office in the evening, wearing a three-piece gray suit, carrying a briefcase and a newspaper. Her daydream father was very intellectual: a professor, or a physicist. He always came home and said, "Good evening," to the family in a deep
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