cereal splattered and he sulked.
“Now, now, Randy. That’s not nice. Be a good boy and eat your cereal.”
“I want Cocoa Pebbles.”
“Me, too,” declared Brandy. Following her brother’s lead, she slammed her spoon into her bowl of cereal. Milk flew, cereal went splat , and Ronnie reached for the Tylenol.
“But last week—” Ronnie started, only to snap her mouth shut when the kids pounded their chubby fists on her kitchen table and screamed for Cocoa Pebbles.
She spent the next hour trying to convince them the chocolate milk she poured over the Fruity Pebbles technically made them Cocoa Pebbles.
Sort of.
“I hope they weren’t any trouble,” Suzanne said when she arrived a few hours later to find Ronnie clearing dishes and wiping up puddles of milk. Randy and Brandy stood in front of the television waving their hands in the air in a perfect imitation of the huge purple dinosaur on the screen, an activity that had only recently consumed them.
“Come on, angels,” Suzanne said. “Give Ronnie a kiss and let’s go.”
The angels, complete with sticky hands and a few cereal crispies in their hair, rushed at Ronnie. Four chubby arms wrapped around her neck and, despite the hectic morning, Ronnie smiled.
And then she frowned.
She was doing this for the money, she told herself for the umpteenth time as she pocketed the five bucks Suzanne handed her. Forget hugs and adoring smiles. She was interested in cold, hard dinero .
Yeah, right . A whole five bucks. You’re really raking it in .
Bite the bullet, old girl, and admit the truth .
Okay, five bucks wasn’t much, but it was all Suzanne—a single mother with two growing kids—could afford. And though Ronnie’s father might call Suzanne a poor example of motherhood and a ripple in the earthquake currently cracking the foundation of the traditional American family, Ronnie couldn’t help but feel for the woman. Root for her. Suzanne loved her kids, and that’s what made a good parent.
She closed the door and turned back to the chaos that had once been her apartment. While she might root for her neighbor, she couldn’t help but be extremely grateful that the twins were Suzanne’s little bundles of joy and not her own. There was definitely something to be said for birth control.
Not that Ronnie didn’t like kids. She loved them, but she wanted a career first. Then later, much later, she vowed as she crawled under the table and scooped up handfuls of soggy cereal, once her career was established, she could focus on finding a husband. One better than good, old-fashioned, take-care-of-the-little-woman Raymond she’d nearly married eight years ago. A guy who did his share of the cooking and cleaning and child-rearing, and who wouldn’t feel threatened by her job. Nontraditional all the way.
Hey, lady, you want fries with that load of bull?
How was she ever going to attract Mr. Terrific if she couldn’t even get a guy to smile at her? While she might not want to snag a man now, she needed to at least know how.
Hence the value of her dreams.
Experience was the best teacher, and Ronnie intended to gain a little experience.
A half hour later, she trekked across campus to the library and spent much of the next eight hours in the P section shelving leftovers from a freshman English assignment on Edgar Allen Poe, and planning her strategy.
She’d been nervous last night, scared after the soap incident, and so her dream man had stayed away. Maybe in order to duplicate the dream, she needed to duplicate the circumstances leading up to the dream.
Her plan decided, she stopped on the way home from the library, picked up a double pepperoni with extra cheese, a six-pack of diet soda, and a pint of Decadent Fudge Dream for good measure.
Instead of inspiring dreams, however, her feast resulted in an endless night of tossing and turning, heartburn, and a major caffeine headache.
“What’s wrong with you?” Danny asked her bright and early Monday
“Now, now, Randy. That’s not nice. Be a good boy and eat your cereal.”
“I want Cocoa Pebbles.”
“Me, too,” declared Brandy. Following her brother’s lead, she slammed her spoon into her bowl of cereal. Milk flew, cereal went splat , and Ronnie reached for the Tylenol.
“But last week—” Ronnie started, only to snap her mouth shut when the kids pounded their chubby fists on her kitchen table and screamed for Cocoa Pebbles.
She spent the next hour trying to convince them the chocolate milk she poured over the Fruity Pebbles technically made them Cocoa Pebbles.
Sort of.
“I hope they weren’t any trouble,” Suzanne said when she arrived a few hours later to find Ronnie clearing dishes and wiping up puddles of milk. Randy and Brandy stood in front of the television waving their hands in the air in a perfect imitation of the huge purple dinosaur on the screen, an activity that had only recently consumed them.
“Come on, angels,” Suzanne said. “Give Ronnie a kiss and let’s go.”
The angels, complete with sticky hands and a few cereal crispies in their hair, rushed at Ronnie. Four chubby arms wrapped around her neck and, despite the hectic morning, Ronnie smiled.
And then she frowned.
She was doing this for the money, she told herself for the umpteenth time as she pocketed the five bucks Suzanne handed her. Forget hugs and adoring smiles. She was interested in cold, hard dinero .
Yeah, right . A whole five bucks. You’re really raking it in .
Bite the bullet, old girl, and admit the truth .
Okay, five bucks wasn’t much, but it was all Suzanne—a single mother with two growing kids—could afford. And though Ronnie’s father might call Suzanne a poor example of motherhood and a ripple in the earthquake currently cracking the foundation of the traditional American family, Ronnie couldn’t help but feel for the woman. Root for her. Suzanne loved her kids, and that’s what made a good parent.
She closed the door and turned back to the chaos that had once been her apartment. While she might root for her neighbor, she couldn’t help but be extremely grateful that the twins were Suzanne’s little bundles of joy and not her own. There was definitely something to be said for birth control.
Not that Ronnie didn’t like kids. She loved them, but she wanted a career first. Then later, much later, she vowed as she crawled under the table and scooped up handfuls of soggy cereal, once her career was established, she could focus on finding a husband. One better than good, old-fashioned, take-care-of-the-little-woman Raymond she’d nearly married eight years ago. A guy who did his share of the cooking and cleaning and child-rearing, and who wouldn’t feel threatened by her job. Nontraditional all the way.
Hey, lady, you want fries with that load of bull?
How was she ever going to attract Mr. Terrific if she couldn’t even get a guy to smile at her? While she might not want to snag a man now, she needed to at least know how.
Hence the value of her dreams.
Experience was the best teacher, and Ronnie intended to gain a little experience.
A half hour later, she trekked across campus to the library and spent much of the next eight hours in the P section shelving leftovers from a freshman English assignment on Edgar Allen Poe, and planning her strategy.
She’d been nervous last night, scared after the soap incident, and so her dream man had stayed away. Maybe in order to duplicate the dream, she needed to duplicate the circumstances leading up to the dream.
Her plan decided, she stopped on the way home from the library, picked up a double pepperoni with extra cheese, a six-pack of diet soda, and a pint of Decadent Fudge Dream for good measure.
Instead of inspiring dreams, however, her feast resulted in an endless night of tossing and turning, heartburn, and a major caffeine headache.
“What’s wrong with you?” Danny asked her bright and early Monday
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