Well, no way could I go with her for eight weeks-not that I was invited.Įventually, a bell rings and the crowd melts into the school. After years of paying the bills with bit parts in sitcoms and TV commercials, she finally landed an independent film. She’s not a star or anything like that, but this could be her big break. I’m a short-timer-I’m only in Greenwich for a couple of months while Mom is off in Utah shooting a movie. New girl who cares? Actually, the new girl doesn’t much care either. A few of them glance in my direction, but not many. So there I am in front of Greenwich Middle School, watching swarms of kids arriving for the first day of classes. When I first came from California to stay with Dad and Stepmonster, I thought they ate a lot of Italian food. I don’t even have the chance to make my usual Parmesan cheese joke-that’s what it smells like when Chauncey barfs. What can I do? I haul my backpack out of the SUV, and she zooms off around the circular drive. “I’ll run home, change him, and wipe down the car. That much baby puke must be hard to face. She looks frazzled, and I guess I don’t blame her. “They won’t let me register without an adult.” “You have to come in with me,” I protest. “Get out of the car!” Stepmonster orders frantically.
It goes in a teaspoon and comes out five gallons. Suddenly, there’s cereal on the ceiling and dripping down the windows.
But as we slalom up the driveway, swerving around parked parents dropping off their kids, and screech to a halt by the entrance, it turns out to be one motion too many. “Not Chauncey, that’s for sure,” I tell her. “Who’s a happy baby?” She coos over her shoulder into the back seat, where the rear-facing car seat is anchored. The louder he howls, the faster Stepmonster drives. There also seems to be a connection between his volume control and the gas pedal of the SUV. Basically, any day that ends in a y, Chauncey cries. He cries when he’s hungry he cries when he’s full he cries when he’s tired he cries when he wakes up after a long nap. But at seven months old, I don’t think he’s processed that yet. I’d cry too if I’d just figured out that Stepmonster is my mother. It’s no fun riding to school with Stepmonster-not with Chauncey screaming his lungs out in the back seat.ĭon’t get me wrong.
0 kommentar(er)
