For a minute, I’m not even sure what day it is. Then I remember.
I must have fallen asleep when I got home from seeing Mary Ann and Pamela and Crystal, and slept for the rest of the day.
Mom looks at me and smiles. “I’m glad to see the birthday girl is finally awake.”
“Remember? It wasn’t really my birthday,” I say.
Mom laughs. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a celebration.”
I frown. Even though I apologized to everyone and everyone accepted my apology, I’m ready to put my birthday behind me and start fresh.
Mom shakes her head like she can tell what I’m thinking and doesn’t agree with it. She gives me an
I’m-the-mom-and-what-I-say-goes
look. “Come to the kitchen. We’re going to have dinner in a few minutes and celebrate as a family. If it makes you feel better, we can say it is your
un-birthday
celebration.”
I know there’s no sense arguing with Mom. And the truth is . . . it sounds like fun to be the un-birthday girl. I sit up in bed. “I’ll be right there.”
Mom laughs. “Take all the time you need. Dinner can’t start without you.”
I smile and hop out of bed as Mom leaves. For the first time today, I’m starting to feel like celebrating.
I put a clip in my hair and scoop up Cheeseburger. “Time for my un-birthday dinner,” I say out loud.
Everyone smiles when I walk into the kitchen.
I go straight to my seat, pick up my knife, and tap it against the side of my water glass. “I have something I’d like to say.”
Max gives me an
I-hope-you’re-not-going-to-make-a-long-annoying-speech-because-I-really-want-to-eat-dinner
look. But I ignore him. What I have to say won’t take long, but it’s important.
“Mom, Dad, before we start my celebration, I have a few things I want to say.”
Mom and Dad sit down, like they’re ready to listen.
I take a deep breath. I want my words to come out right.
“I know you and Dad gave me a special privilege, and you trusted me to follow certain rules. But I listened to my friends when I should have listened to you and I didn’t stop them when they were doing the wrong thing. I’m really sorry about that.”
Mom and Dad nod like they appreciate the apology.
“Mallory, we’ve already gone over this,” says Dad.
“I know. But there’s something else I want to say.”
Max looks at his watch like it’s time to eat, not talk, but I ignore him.
“I also want to say that I was so focused on thinking about how I was going to celebrate turning ten that I didn’t really think about what it meant to be ten.”
I pause so they can think about what I just said. Then I raise my right hand like I’m making an official vow. “Now that I’m ten, I promise to act more grown up.”
Mom and Dad smile.
“I really do promise to try to be more grown up,” I tell Mom and Dad. “And I don’t think it will be all that hard. I already feel older.”
And I really do. Deep inside of me, I feel like I’m growing up by the minute.
“I’m really excited for a new decade,” I say to Mom and Dad. “I’m ten, and then I’ll be eleven, then twelve, and then I’ll be a teenager. Soon I’ll be wearing makeup and going to middle school and then high school and dating boys and driving a car and . . .”
Dad holds up his hand like it’s a stop sign. “Not so fast,” he says. “We want to spend some time enjoying ten-year-old Mallory.”
“And we’d like to do that with your favorite dinner,” says Mom. She places a big platter of spaghetti and meatballs on the table.
“It’s about time!” says Max.
Yum! Mom knows how much I love this dinner. I fill every inch of my plate with noodles and sauce and top it off with three big meatballs.
Max looks at my plate like he’s never seen so much pasta on one plate. “You’ll never eat all that,” says my brother.
I twirl a bunch of noodles around my fork and stick them in my mouth. “Now that I’m ten, I have a much bigger appetite,” I say when I’m done
I must have fallen asleep when I got home from seeing Mary Ann and Pamela and Crystal, and slept for the rest of the day.
Mom looks at me and smiles. “I’m glad to see the birthday girl is finally awake.”
“Remember? It wasn’t really my birthday,” I say.
Mom laughs. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a celebration.”
I frown. Even though I apologized to everyone and everyone accepted my apology, I’m ready to put my birthday behind me and start fresh.
Mom shakes her head like she can tell what I’m thinking and doesn’t agree with it. She gives me an
I’m-the-mom-and-what-I-say-goes
look. “Come to the kitchen. We’re going to have dinner in a few minutes and celebrate as a family. If it makes you feel better, we can say it is your
un-birthday
celebration.”
I know there’s no sense arguing with Mom. And the truth is . . . it sounds like fun to be the un-birthday girl. I sit up in bed. “I’ll be right there.”
Mom laughs. “Take all the time you need. Dinner can’t start without you.”
I smile and hop out of bed as Mom leaves. For the first time today, I’m starting to feel like celebrating.
I put a clip in my hair and scoop up Cheeseburger. “Time for my un-birthday dinner,” I say out loud.
Everyone smiles when I walk into the kitchen.
I go straight to my seat, pick up my knife, and tap it against the side of my water glass. “I have something I’d like to say.”
Max gives me an
I-hope-you’re-not-going-to-make-a-long-annoying-speech-because-I-really-want-to-eat-dinner
look. But I ignore him. What I have to say won’t take long, but it’s important.
“Mom, Dad, before we start my celebration, I have a few things I want to say.”
Mom and Dad sit down, like they’re ready to listen.
I take a deep breath. I want my words to come out right.
“I know you and Dad gave me a special privilege, and you trusted me to follow certain rules. But I listened to my friends when I should have listened to you and I didn’t stop them when they were doing the wrong thing. I’m really sorry about that.”
Mom and Dad nod like they appreciate the apology.
“Mallory, we’ve already gone over this,” says Dad.
“I know. But there’s something else I want to say.”
Max looks at his watch like it’s time to eat, not talk, but I ignore him.
“I also want to say that I was so focused on thinking about how I was going to celebrate turning ten that I didn’t really think about what it meant to be ten.”
I pause so they can think about what I just said. Then I raise my right hand like I’m making an official vow. “Now that I’m ten, I promise to act more grown up.”
Mom and Dad smile.
“I really do promise to try to be more grown up,” I tell Mom and Dad. “And I don’t think it will be all that hard. I already feel older.”
And I really do. Deep inside of me, I feel like I’m growing up by the minute.
“I’m really excited for a new decade,” I say to Mom and Dad. “I’m ten, and then I’ll be eleven, then twelve, and then I’ll be a teenager. Soon I’ll be wearing makeup and going to middle school and then high school and dating boys and driving a car and . . .”
Dad holds up his hand like it’s a stop sign. “Not so fast,” he says. “We want to spend some time enjoying ten-year-old Mallory.”
“And we’d like to do that with your favorite dinner,” says Mom. She places a big platter of spaghetti and meatballs on the table.
“It’s about time!” says Max.
Yum! Mom knows how much I love this dinner. I fill every inch of my plate with noodles and sauce and top it off with three big meatballs.
Max looks at my plate like he’s never seen so much pasta on one plate. “You’ll never eat all that,” says my brother.
I twirl a bunch of noodles around my fork and stick them in my mouth. “Now that I’m ten, I have a much bigger appetite,” I say when I’m done
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