Viva sighs. “You’re such a pessimist. That’s like saying we’re never going to break a record, just because we haven’t broken one yet.”
“You have a point,” I say. “Maybe this surprise will be great.”
Lonnie says, “Maybe.” And then he laughs.
But since we’re talking world records, I move the conversation to breaking a Smarty Pants record. “What can we do?”
Lonnie straightens up. “Because all Smarty Pants ever wants is to eat, we should do a food record.”
“I love it.” Viva pets Smarty Pants. We decide on the most cat food eaten by a cat in one minute.
“Yuck,” I say as I open a can.
“The stink.” Lonnie holds his nose.
“How does your mom do it?” Viva waves her hand in front of her face.
I think about this for a minute. “After changing the diapers of seven kids, I’m pretty sure she’s totally lost her sense of smell.”
Lonnie and Viva agree. It’s the only logical explanation.
Anyway, we dump five cans of food in front of Smarty Pants and start timing. But after one minute she’s barely gotten through any of it, and after two I’m pretty sure all she’s doing is pretending to lick it. After three minutes, she’s still working on her food, so we give up.
THE SURPRISE
Lonnie, Viva, and I are about to visit the aviary and think up more Smarty Pants records to break when the front door opens. I hear Mom’s voice: “Let me take that for you.”
Then a small, white fur ball charges into the kitchen. It runs straight for me and pounces on my feet. Yapping at my shoes, it reaches out and snaps at one of my laces, tugging on the lace with razor-sharp teeth. I’m forced to balance on one foot as it snarls and shakes my lace back and forth like it’s about to kill it.
“What’s that?” Viva asks.
Lonnie says, “A mad Wookiee?”
It’s clearly a dog, but just barely. We’ve never owned a dog. We’re cat people. And speaking of cats, I look around for Smarty Pants and find her hissing in her cat box.
“Would somebody help?” I ask as the dog drags me across the kitchen.
Lonnie backs away. “Not me.”
Viva follows Lonnie. “Look at those teeth!”
“Peanut,” a voice from the hallway calls. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Proving once again that in my family, surprises are always bad.
EVERYTHING CHANGES
“Peanut!” Aunt Ursula squeals. “Come to Mama.” She reaches down, but Peanut doesn’t come.
Mom leans over the lady, who is blocking the door. “Teddy, you remember Aunt Ursula. And this is her dog, Peanut.”
When Peanut hears his name he whips his head back and forth, growls, and tugs harder on my shoelace.
“Teddy, stop moving,” Aunt Ursula says. “Peanut is very sensitive. You’re scaring him.” That is hard to believe.
The Destructor peeks from between Aunt Ursula’s legs. “Isn’t he adorable?”
Aunt Ursula clucks at Peanut, who finally drops my shoelace.
I try to move away, but Peanut erupts in barking. “Rrrr-ar! Rar-rar-rar!”
“Peanut, come here!” she singsongs to him, but Peanut isn’t listening. “Peanut, come here,” Aunt Ursula says again.
“Rrrr-ar! Rar-rar-rar!”
Mom says, “You remember Teddy’s friend Lonnie.”
“Of course I remember Lonnie. You still like Star Wars?”
Lonnie nods.
“Good.”
“And that’s Viva, another friend.” Mom points.
Viva waves.
“Rrrr-ar! Rar-rar-rar!”
“It would be best to stay still,” Aunt Ursula says. Viva freezes. Aunt Ursula reaches into her pocket and brings out a treat. “Peanut, come to Mama.” Peanut immediately runs for it.
I have three thoughts about this:
1. Why didn’t she offer the dog treat right away?
2. What the heck is she doing here so soon?
3. How can everything change so quickly?
NOTHING HAS CHANGED
Peanut jumps into Aunt Ursula’s arms and gives her a million kisses. Depending on how you feel about dog kisses, this is either adorable or gross.
The Destructor takes Aunt Ursula’s hand. “This is the trash can I was telling you about. And this is where I like to sort it.” He spreads his arms out like he is showing off the record for most expensive bathroom, worth $3.5 million. “Right here on the floor is where I do the sorting. Paper, plastic, and all the other stuff.”
“In the kitchen?” Aunt Ursula pulls Peanut a little closer.
The Destructor presses his face against Peanut’s and says, “Isn’t Peanut the cutest?”
“Mom!” Grace yells from the front door as she slams it. “I’m home!” Right away, Peanut begins his rrar-rar-raring. Grace walks in with her camera already raised to her face. “What’s the commotion?” she asks, and clicks away.
“Grace, you remember Aunt Ursula,” Mom says.
Grace stops clicking. Her camera slowly moves away from her face. “Nice to see you—” she says, but Peanut, who is still cradled in Aunt Ursula’s arms, explodes into more barking.
“RRAR! RRAR! RRAR! RRAR!”
Grace steps back. The first time I’ve ever seen her do that.
“Now, now, Peanut,” Aunt Ursula coos.
The Destructor says, “I don’t think Peanut likes you, Grace.”
“Peanut doesn’t like his picture taken, do you, Peanut?”
Grace looks shocked. She starts to hold up her camera and Peanut starts barking again. That’s when Maggie runs into the house dripping with sweat and stink.
“Maggie,” Mom says, “Aunt Ursula has arrived early.”
Maggie goes to hug her. This time, Aunt Ursula steps back just as Caitlin and Casey bound into the kitchen, laughing their heads off, carrying their bicycle chains, and covered in grease. They freeze. “Aunt Ursula,” they say at the exact same time.
Aunt Ursula nods at Casey. “Hello, Caitlin.” She nods at Caitlin. “Casey.” No one corrects her, which is probably because Sharon’s singing pierces the momentary calm.
“Morrrrrning has broooooken like the first mor-or-or—” She stops at the kitchen door. “Aunt Ursula!”
“Well, this family hasn’t changed a bit,” Aunt Ursula says, right as Peanut leaps from her arms, dashes over to me, lifts a leg, and pees on my foot.
Aunt Ursula shakes her head. “I told you he was sensitive.”
RULES FOR DOGS
1. Dogs should not growl or bark.
2. Dogs should be bigger than a loaf of bread.
3. Dogs should not pee on anyone.
WHAT’S THE RULE?
There are some things that animals do that are cool, like Bertie, the fastest tortoise (0.92 feet per second) or Happie, the record holder for the farthest distance to skateboard by a goat (118 feet). A dog peeing on my leg is not on that list.
But I have to say, for the first time in my life my sisters are absolutely quiet. Grace doesn’t even make a peep.
Aunt Ursula grabs Peanut. She looks at Mom. “This was not what I expected.”
“Really?” Viva asks out of the corner of her mouth so only Lonnie and I can hear. “Compared to the usual stuff that goes on here, this seems pretty tame.”
Lonnie whispers, “Compared to Peanut, Teddy’s family seems pretty tame.”
Aunt Ursula sighs. “I’ll be going now.”
Mom reaches out to block her. “You can’t leave.”
“Leaving? No, I am here as long as you need me.” She looks around at all of us. “And you definitely need me. But it’s four thirty, which means it’s time for one of my favorite rules.”
“What’s the rule?” The Destructor asks.
“Every day at four thirty is nap time.”
The Destructor looks at me. “You didn’t tell me she had a nap rule.”
“I’ve taken naps for years, and lo
ok how healthy I am.” She looks at Mom. “You could use a nap.”
I hate to say it, but Aunt Ursula is right, Mom could use a nap.
Aunt Ursula kisses Peanut. “You need a nap, too.” She walks out, chatting to Peanut about how tired he looks.
You can tell we’re all in shock because even though there’s a crowd in the kitchen no one speaks except The Destructor, who says, “I’m still confused about the nap rule.”
Mom takes a deep breath, looks at all of us, and says, “I didn’t know she was coming. I would have told you, but she surprised me, too.”
All of a sudden, Aunt Ursula pops back in. She’s still carrying Peanut but now he’s got something wrapped around his bottom half.
“Peanut wears a diaper?” The Destructor blurts out. “That’s so cool!”
“Only when he sleeps,” Aunt Ursula explains. “It’s a rule—better safe than sorry.”
I have to admit, that seems like a pretty smart rule, for dogs like Peanut or for brothers like The Destructor.
Aunt Ursula looks at Mom. “I’m sure you remember, but I eat dinner at seven.”
Mom says, “That’s a little late for us.”
“No it isn’t,” Aunt Ursula corrects her. “It’s perfectly normal.” And she leaves.
Mom smiles. “It’s all going to be fine. I know it will. We just have to try to be a little more normal.” And then she looks at me. “Let’s start with your shoes. I can smell pee.”
Sure, Mom can start with my shoes, but it won’t get her far. She doesn’t know how hard being normal is. It’s definitely harder than breaking a world record.
RULES FOR BEING NORMAL
If we want to be normal there’s a lot we would have to change.
1. Stop hanging out with pigeons.
2. Get rid of my little brother.
3. Get rid of all my sisters.
4. Stop breaking world records.
In other words, it’s impossible.
QUIET TIME
Lonnie and Viva decide that under the circumstances it’s probably best that they go home. When I get back from washing my sneaker, sock, and foot, my sisters have all cleared out and Mom is talking to The Destructor about taking a nap.
“Yuck,” he says. “Sounds boring.”
“We could turn it into a game,” she says. “We could see who can be quiet the longest.”
I don’t wait around to see what he’ll decide but leave for the aviary, my own kind of quiet time.
RARE
I sit around watching the pigeons eat and counting the seconds until I get to six hundred and need to take their food away. I’m on 591 when Grumpy Pigeon Man walks into the aviary. I haven’t seen him for a few days, so he doesn’t know any of my family’s news.
“Finally,” I say. “Five hundred ninety-two. If I didn’t see you today I would have checked to see if you were still alive. Five hundred ninety-three.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Tent Boy,” he says. “I just had a cold.”
I don’t take what he says personally because that’s just the way he talks. “Five hundred ninety-four. Mom got a job as an animal control officer. Five hundred ninety-five.”
“Animal control officer?” He frowns.
“Five hundred ninety-six,” I say.
“How are you going to survive without her?”
“Five hundred ninety-seven. My great-aunt Ursula has moved in. Five hundred ninety-eight.”
“Is that the same Aunt Ursula who stayed with you before?” He looks over at our house and tucks in his shirt.
“Five hundred ninety-nine. Yup.”
“If I remember correctly, she’s the one with a lot of rules.”
“Six hundred!” I take the food away. “Thank goodness for your pigeons. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
Strange but true, there is a category in The Guinness Book of World Records for rarest things, like the rarest snake (Antiguan racer), the rarest stamp (a British Guiana One-Cent Magenta from 1856), and the rarest sloth (the pygmy three-toed sloth), but even rarer is Grumpy Pigeon Man smiling, which is what he is doing this very second. I guess it’s nice for him to know how much I love his birds.
A NUMBER OF THINGS
I’m back in the kitchen flipping through The Guinness Book of World Records when I hear Aunt Ursula come out of the guest room and walk into the bathroom.
Mom and The Destructor come down the stairs.
“I am never doing that again,” The Destructor declares.
Mom yawns. “Well, I liked it. And to say thank you for trying it, I have a little something for you. I was going to give it to you later.”
I wonder if she got something for me, too. Just like Viva said she might. But Mom holds up a small metal bucket by its handle, and hands it to The Destructor.
The Destructor takes the bucket from her. He lifts the lid on and off. He looks inside. It’s empty.
“It’s for food scraps,” Mom says.
“You mean for compost?”
Mom nods and The Destructor gives Mom a hug and goes straight to the trash and starts digging. He pulls out a banana peel, orange slices, and coffee grinds. Of course, along the way he also dumps all the other trash on the floor. I wonder how Mom connects this to being normal.
And that’s when Aunt Ursula walks into the room. Peanut locks eyes with me and growls. He is diaper-free. Aunt Ursula is about to say something, probably some rule she has about compost, but The Destructor holds up his new bucket. “We put food in here and it makes dirt. That’s crazy, right? Food becomes dirt!”
He takes a quick breath and keeps talking. “My family is not good about composting yet, but they will be. It’s all about learning new ways of doing things. And learning takes time. At least that’s what Dad told me yesterday when I was talking to him about how scared I was about you living with us. He says I don’t have to worry that you like to do things your way, because you’ll learn new ways by living with us. I sure hope so, because quiet time was not much fun. And if that’s a rule, I’ll probably break it.”
The Destructor stops talking and smiles.
And there’s a long silence that is intensified by Mom turning bright red.
RULES ABOUT TALKING TO GROWN-UPS
1. Keep it short.
2. Don’t tell them everything on your mind.
3. They get hurt feelings about the weirdest things. (Like when I told Mom how she had a hair growing out of her nose that might be able to break a record. I meant it as a compliment; she didn’t take it that way at all.)
DINNER
Aunt Ursula cooked dinner tonight. This worries me. Dad’s cooking is not good, and Aunt Ursula is from his side of the family. She brings it out and I can honestly say it looks as bad as Dad’s, which is not surprising because stuff like this is passed down in families. Just like the Flying Wallendas, who broke the world record for the highest eight-person pyramid on a tightrope and also have been circus performers for seven generations.
Also, it’s safe to say that if her cooking is anything like her rules, it’s going to be worse than Dad’s, because before we even take a bite, Aunt Ursula announces the rules for dinner.
1. Sharon: No singing. (Dinner is a time for conversation.)
2. Casey and Caitlin: No talking about trash. (Dinner is a time for conversation but not about trash.)
3. Maggie: No sit-ups between bites of food. (It causes indigestion.)
4. Grace: No pictures during. (Dinner is a time when we shouldn’t have to worry about how we look.)
5. Teddy: No sitting next to Aunt Ursula because of my strange smell. (She doesn’t know what the smell is, but she can’t stand it.)
She hasn’t made a rule about The Destructor eating under the table because Mom and Dad had a whispered conversation about how Jake needed time to adjust to the change and that for tonight it was best to leave him where he was.
Clearly, none of her rules include no dogs at the table, which is why Peanut is sitting in h
er lap staring ferociously at all of us until Aunt Ursula offers him a bite from her plate and invites us all to start.
The Destructor is the first to try. “This is great!” he says, sticking his head out from under the table. “Almost as good as Dad’s.”
I still don’t try it, remembering that this is coming from The Destructor, and when have I ever agreed with him?
Sharon says, “Wow.”
Caitlin and Casey nod.
And Maggie smiles.
Grace is still chewing when she sneaks her camera out and takes a picture. Aunt Ursula is about to get mad but Grace explains, “I need to record the best meal I’ve ever had.”
Aunt Ursula blushes.
So I finally taste it. It’s amazing. I never knew food could taste like this. I knew ice cream and candy could, but not regular food.
Maybe having Aunt Ursula around won’t be so bad.
WHERE WOULD WE BE WITHOUT RULES?
Before going to bed, Aunt Ursula directs the family into the living room. “If we are to get along while I’m here, I need to explain a few things,” she says, pacing back and forth. “Rules are the centerpiece of a society. They guide us. They steer us. They are our lighthouse and our boat.” She smiles. “Where would we be without rules? Nowhere.” Peanut barks as if he agrees. “Rules create order out of the mayhem of life.”
The Destructor raises his hand. “What’s ‘mayhem of life’ mean?”
“Chaos,” Grace says, but is cut off by Peanut barking at her, so she whispers the rest. “Havoc, pandemonium.”
The Destructor nods. “What’s wrong with mayhem?”
Aunt Ursula ignores him. “This is a big family and big families need a few rules so everything runs smoothly, or, as they say, like a well-oiled machine.”
“Who says that?” The Destructor asks.
Again Aunt Ursula ignores him. “For the sake of the family, I have drawn up a list of some rules that we shall now follow.” She unrolls a poster-size piece of paper.
Strange but true, in 1797 Andre-Jacques Garnerin became the first person to jump out of a hot air balloon with a parachute. He must have been nervous before he did that, and either wanted to just jump right away and get it over with, or never jump at all.
Teddy Mars Book #3 Page 5