Sigmund," she said. "Thanks for the help."
"Anastasia!" her mother's voice came up the stairs.
"What? Come on up!"
"You know I can't do that. I can't come in your room, not as long as—well, you know," her mother said. "I don't want to be in the same room as those two things. You come down here to the second floor. I want to talk to you for a minute."
Those two things my foot, thought Anastasia as she started down the stairs. Would you believe those
eleven
things?
In a million years she couldn't tell her mother that there were now eleven gerbils. Her mother would truly freak out. Anastasia had sworn Sam to secrecy.
She had even vacuumed her own room a couple of times.
She found her mother in the second floor bathroom, rubbing Sam dry with a big towel after his bath. There
were fourteen plastic boats churning around in the bath water as it drained.
"What's up, Mom?" Anastasia asked.
"Look at Sam," her mother said, with a worried frown. "Turn around, Sam. Show Anastasia your behind."
Sam turned around dutifully. On his rear was a bruise.
"That kid Nicky Coletti did that to him," Mrs. Krupnik explained.
"Whacked me with a dump truck," said Sam. "Whammo. During Juice Time."
"Brush your teeth, Sam," said his mother. Sam climbed onto his special wooden stool and reached for his toothbrush.
"What do you think, Anastasia? I know what your father thinks, that they have to work it out themselves. But I'm beginning to get very angry about this. Give me some productive advice."
"Well, for starters, if I were you, I wouldn't let Sam squeeze his own toothpaste," said Anastasia. "Take a look."
Mrs. Krupnik looked. Sam had squeezed a mountain of Crest onto his little blue toothbrush. "I like my toothpaste to be cheeseburger size," he explained.
His mother sighed.
Sam inserted the mound into his mouth. "Iwahong Anashtashis topuhmy tube ed," he said.
"He wants me to put him to bed," Anastasia translated for her mother.
"Cuzh I godda sheecred fo Anashtashia," he said, through the toothpaste.
"Because he has a secret to tell me," she explained.
"Okay," said her mother. "You tuck him in. But give it some thought, about what I should do, okay?"
"Okay," said Anastasia.
"Gimmea kish?" Sam asked his mother.
She hesitated, and then kissed him good night on his ear, avoiding the toothpaste.
"What's the secret?" asked Anastasia, as she tucked Sam, de-toothpasted, into his bed. "Something about your rotten friend Nicky Coletti?"
"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "About the gerbils."
"What about them?"
"I want you to spell them for me," he said. "So that I can write 'gerbil' with blocks, at nursery school."
"Oh, that's no problem. Here." Anastasia got a pencil and paper from Sam's little desk. She wrote "gerbil" on it and showed it to him.
Then she thought for a moment. "Uh-oh," she said. "Sam, you have to be very careful that Mom doesn't see this paper. She doesn't even want to
see
the word 'gerbil.' It might make her freak out."
"Okay," Sam said. "I'll keep it in my pocket."
Anastasia picked up his jeans, which were folded over the back of a chair. "I'm putting it right here, Sam," she told him, "in the pocket of your jeans."
He nodded, and snuggled into his covers. "Tomorrow at school," he said, "I'll write 'gerbil' a million times, with blocks."
He frowned sleepily. "Then," he said in a resigned
voice, "probably Nicky Coletti will throw them all at my head."
After she had turned off Sam's light and closed her door, Anastasia went back up to her room. She turned Freud's head back around so that it faced her bed.
"Sigmund," she said, "I have to go talk to my mom in a minute, so this will be a short appointment."
He smiled agreeably.
"I have this problem with my mother," Anastasia grumbled. She looked at her psychiatrist.
"You think that's
funny?
" she asked him angrily.
"Well," she said, after a long silence. "Maybe it
is
sort of funny. My
mother
certainly seems to think it is. She finds it wildly amusing that
"Anastasia!" her mother's voice came up the stairs.
"What? Come on up!"
"You know I can't do that. I can't come in your room, not as long as—well, you know," her mother said. "I don't want to be in the same room as those two things. You come down here to the second floor. I want to talk to you for a minute."
Those two things my foot, thought Anastasia as she started down the stairs. Would you believe those
eleven
things?
In a million years she couldn't tell her mother that there were now eleven gerbils. Her mother would truly freak out. Anastasia had sworn Sam to secrecy.
She had even vacuumed her own room a couple of times.
She found her mother in the second floor bathroom, rubbing Sam dry with a big towel after his bath. There
were fourteen plastic boats churning around in the bath water as it drained.
"What's up, Mom?" Anastasia asked.
"Look at Sam," her mother said, with a worried frown. "Turn around, Sam. Show Anastasia your behind."
Sam turned around dutifully. On his rear was a bruise.
"That kid Nicky Coletti did that to him," Mrs. Krupnik explained.
"Whacked me with a dump truck," said Sam. "Whammo. During Juice Time."
"Brush your teeth, Sam," said his mother. Sam climbed onto his special wooden stool and reached for his toothbrush.
"What do you think, Anastasia? I know what your father thinks, that they have to work it out themselves. But I'm beginning to get very angry about this. Give me some productive advice."
"Well, for starters, if I were you, I wouldn't let Sam squeeze his own toothpaste," said Anastasia. "Take a look."
Mrs. Krupnik looked. Sam had squeezed a mountain of Crest onto his little blue toothbrush. "I like my toothpaste to be cheeseburger size," he explained.
His mother sighed.
Sam inserted the mound into his mouth. "Iwahong Anashtashis topuhmy tube ed," he said.
"He wants me to put him to bed," Anastasia translated for her mother.
"Cuzh I godda sheecred fo Anashtashia," he said, through the toothpaste.
"Because he has a secret to tell me," she explained.
"Okay," said her mother. "You tuck him in. But give it some thought, about what I should do, okay?"
"Okay," said Anastasia.
"Gimmea kish?" Sam asked his mother.
She hesitated, and then kissed him good night on his ear, avoiding the toothpaste.
"What's the secret?" asked Anastasia, as she tucked Sam, de-toothpasted, into his bed. "Something about your rotten friend Nicky Coletti?"
"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "About the gerbils."
"What about them?"
"I want you to spell them for me," he said. "So that I can write 'gerbil' with blocks, at nursery school."
"Oh, that's no problem. Here." Anastasia got a pencil and paper from Sam's little desk. She wrote "gerbil" on it and showed it to him.
Then she thought for a moment. "Uh-oh," she said. "Sam, you have to be very careful that Mom doesn't see this paper. She doesn't even want to
see
the word 'gerbil.' It might make her freak out."
"Okay," Sam said. "I'll keep it in my pocket."
Anastasia picked up his jeans, which were folded over the back of a chair. "I'm putting it right here, Sam," she told him, "in the pocket of your jeans."
He nodded, and snuggled into his covers. "Tomorrow at school," he said, "I'll write 'gerbil' a million times, with blocks."
He frowned sleepily. "Then," he said in a resigned
voice, "probably Nicky Coletti will throw them all at my head."
After she had turned off Sam's light and closed her door, Anastasia went back up to her room. She turned Freud's head back around so that it faced her bed.
"Sigmund," she said, "I have to go talk to my mom in a minute, so this will be a short appointment."
He smiled agreeably.
"I have this problem with my mother," Anastasia grumbled. She looked at her psychiatrist.
"You think that's
funny?
" she asked him angrily.
"Well," she said, after a long silence. "Maybe it
is
sort of funny. My
mother
certainly seems to think it is. She finds it wildly amusing that
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