"Babysitters Club Special Edition Mary Anne's Book" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

"No," she said. "First of all, you were a very easy baby. And second, we were so glad to have you. For us it was a way of keeping Alma alive."
My earliest memory is of being with my dad. So it must have been when I was living with him again. I remember being in the house on Bradford Court. I was playing on the living room rug with a pile of plastic cones that fit into one another. Someone must have been baby-sitting for me, but I don't remember who. I do remember hearing a car pull into the driveway, which I recognized as the sound I always heard before my father came through the kitchen door. I put down the cones and stood up. When my father entered I was already running toward him. He reached out and lifted me into his arms. It must have been winter, because I remember the cold on his coat and face. I don't remember what we said. I don't even know if I could talk yet. I just remember how glad I was to be with him, and the feel of his cold cheek against my warm one.
From the time I was three or so I have a lot of memories. I remember my father braiding my hair every morning, and sitting at the table to eat breakfast cereal together. My dad liked to play number and letter games with me. On Saturday mornings we would sit side by side on the couch andХ watch Sesame Street reruns. We'd sing the alphabet and numbers songs along with the characters and their guests. My dad thought Letter Man was hysterical. Big Bird was my favorite.
I also enjoyed playing with my Legos while my father worked at his desk in the living room. My dad's a lawyer, so he often brings paperwork home. He says he brought work home on weekends so he wouldn't have to go into the office. He wanted to take care of me as much as he could.
For as long as I can remember we ate out on Sunday evenings. I recently asked him why
he bothered bringing a wiggly three-year-old to a restaurant. He said he wanted me to learn early how to behave properly in public. We always went to the same restaurant, sat at the same table, and ordered the same meals. He'd have roast beef with a baked potato. I'd have a hamburger without the roll and mashed potatoes. For dessert he'd have apple pie and I'd have a scoop of chocolate ice cream.
I remember being sad when the weekend ended and my father had to go back to work. I never liked being with the baby-sitters as much as with my dad.
One morning my dad announced, "No baby-sitter this morning. Today you are going to nursery school and I want to take you myself for your first day." He braided my hair especially tightly.
"Ouch," I protested.
"Sorry," he said. "But we want you to look extra nice for nursery school." He reminded me that a few- weeks earlier we had visited the school. I vaguely remembered a place where a lot of other kids were playing and having a good time. "Claudia and Kristy are going to nursery school, too," he said.
The first activity on my first day of nursery school was storytime. My dad read to me every night and I liked hearing stories. So far,
nursery school was fine. Especially since my dad was sitting on a little chair at the side of the room, watching me.
While we were still in the story circle we sang, "If You're Happy and You Know It." I'd never heard that song before, but I learned it pretty quickly. And my dad was still in that little chair smiling at me.
Next we broke into groups and played in different parts of the room. The teacher told me to go to the dress-up corner with two girls I didn't know. I didn't want to dress up, but I helped the others pick out what to wear, which was fun enoughХ for me. I was arranging a big red feather boa around a girl's shoulders when my dad appeared beside me. He kissed me on the top of the head and said he'd see me later. Then he was gone.
Uh-oh. I wasn't so happy about being in nursery school anymore. I was terrified I'd never see my dad again. What if my father forgot he had left me there? Tears came to my eyes. What if he remembered but forgot the way to the nursery school? Just then I felt a little punch on my arm. "Hi," another kid said. It was Kristy.
She grabbed my hand. "Come on, Mary Anne," she commanded. She pulled me over to the block corner where Claudia was building a high tower. "Nursery school is fun," Claudia said. "Want to help me build a beautiful building?" I nodded. In a few minutes I was so busy handing Claudia blocks that I forgot about crying.
I stuck by Kristy and Claudia during snack-time. When the teacher announced rest period, Kristy unrolled my mat between hers and Claudia's. "These are our permanent rest places," she told me. I didn't know what permanent meant, but I did know that Kristy would look out for me in nursery school. And that being in nursery school with Kristy and Claudia was going to be a lot better than being at home alone with a baby-sitter.
Now that we were in nursery school together, Kristy, Claudia, and I began playing
together more outside of school, too. Since Kristy lived next door to me and Claudia lived across the Street, it was easy for my sitters to arrange play dates. They were probably thrilled when I went to other kids' houses. That meant they had time off.
My favorite place for us to play was at Claudia's. I thought that, next to my father, Claudia's grandmother, Mimi, was the most wonderful person in the world. "And how are you today, our Mary Anne?" she would ask.
I remember once when I was playing in
Claudia's yard, I fell down and scraped my knee. It was a little scrape that didn't even hurt. But I still let Mimi gather me in her arms and sit me on her lap. "Well, Mary Anne, let's take a look at it." I enjoyed every second of her fussing over me. She brought me inside and cleaned my knee with antiseptic. Then she
suggested I rest with her for a few minutes on the back porch. I sat next to Mimi in the rocking chair and we watched Claudia and Kristy kicking a ball around the yard.
After awhile she asked, "Do you want to play again?" I shook my head no, snuggled even closer, and took a deep breath of the flowery smell that was special to Mimi.
When Mimi died not long ago, Claudia gave me one of her grandmother's silk scarves. It still has that wonderful Mimi smell.
Going to kindergarten with Claudia and Kristy was as-much fun as nursery school. We were always together. We stayed together in first grade, too. But first grade was not as much fun for me as nursery school and kindergarten. That's because our teacher was Mrs. Frederickson.
Mrs. Frederickson's volume control knob seemed to be permanently stuck on extra loud. She was one of those teachers who never spoke softly, but yelled all day long. Being in
Mrs. Frederickson's class was my first expe-. rience with an adult who yelled. I didn't like
it.
Mimi picked us up after our first day of first grade. I made sure to hold one of Mimi's hands as we walked home. Claudia held onto the other one. Kristy didn't seem to mind that there wasn't- a Mimi hand for her to hold. Her hands were occupied with tossing a rubber ball in the air and catching it.
"And how was first grade?" Mimi asked us as we walked along.
"I don't like it," said Claudia. "The teacher's mean."
"I'm going to wear earmuffs to school," Kristy announced. "She yells."
"What about you, Mary Anne?" asked Mimi. "What do you think of first grade?"
"It's okay," I told Mimi.
She gave my hand a gentle squeeze of approval.
"Maybe your teacher was a little bit nervous on the first day," she suggested.
"She's mean all the time," insisted Claudia. "I know it."
"It's good to think in a positive way, my Claudia," said Mimi.
I decided then that I would never complain about Mrs. Frederickson to Mimi. I wanted her to see that I would always "think in a positive
way." I wanted Mimi to love me. Now I know that Mimi would have loved me whether I complained about Mrs. Frederickson or not.
Mimi was the kindest, most understanding woman I've ever known. I used to pretend
that she was my grandmother.
At dinner that evening my father asked, "So how do you like first grade, honey?"
"I don't like it much," I admitted.
"You don't?" he said. He seemed alarmed.
"Why not?"
"There aren't any playtimes. There isn't even a dress-up corner. And no games. The
teacher yells all the time. I want to go back to kindergarten. Claudia and Kristy want to go
back to kindergarten, too. They said so."