Shnuggleburts for Short and Shnuggleburts for Snoring
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
Shnuggleburts for Short and Shnuggleburts for Snoring, Carrie’s old stuffed penguin. No one really ever found out why she gave him such a name. But it was his full name, and whenever anyone (especially Carrie) referred to him, they gave his whole name – not just Shnuggleburts or Short or Snoring, but the full – Shnuggleburts for Short and Shnuggleburts for Snoring. Collette wondered what happened to poor Mr. Shnuggleburts for Short and Shnuggleburts for Snoring. He had been around for so long, was probably buried back in the basement with Carrie’s old Star Wars action figures (and Jordi from Star Trek), her rubber snakes, and Lisa Frank folders (liked only for the vivid colors). There was also Fiddler, the old stuffed hound dog puppy, which had taken a tear or two over the years. If Collette remembered correctly, he was the only pup Carrie had brought with her both times she visited the hospital for stitches on her chin and on the roof of her mouth. He had been around, had even made it to Arizona on a family vacation. Carrie had quite a legacy of stuffed things.
Back on the ranch, Wednesday morning, lessons with Rose were going as usual.
“Finish writing your flashcard on how sponges reproduce,” Collette instructed her, as they started the day with natural sciences.
“Yuck,” was Rose’s predictable response.
After Collette had made the boys eggs in a nest as a supplement to their cereal breakfast (because they were always hungry), Joe wondered why the bottom of the toast tasted funny.
“Probably because someone didn’t wash the pan out very well from yesterday,” Collette said.
“Right, you’re just trying to poison us,” Joe laughed.
Meanwhile, Rose had made herself six slices of cinnamon toast in the oven, and was stirring her miniature lemon sorbet maker. A typical healthy Rose breakfast. When Collette instructed her to continue writing her cards, Rose handed over the sorbet maker to Collette.
“Keep stirring it,” she said, “or it will disappoint my stomach.”
Rose drew a sketch of the sponge in her textbook.
“Wouldn’t you hate to have a pore this big?” She asked Collette, pointing to a sponge hole in her drawing.
“I don’t have to worry about that,” Collette said rather calmly. “I’m not a sponge.”
“Maybe you are,” Rose looked at her suspiciously for no reason whatsoever. “Joe, isn’t Collette a sponge? We’ll have to put you in the fish tank.”
Joe pretended not to hear.
Later, when her studies turned to other aquatic animals, Collette saw that Rose was not taking further notes.
“Haven’t you started yet?” She asked her.
“No! I hate jellyfish!”
Collette decided not to bother protesting such a statement. It was probably a good thing that Rose shortly later left for class for the afternoon. Collette sent her out the door with a grilled cheese and a bowl of vegetable beef soup. And Rose did not return until Joe had picked her up and they had swung by Wal-Mart and the library for The African Queen as a peace offering for Mom who had dealt with a fair share of ridiculousness throughout the day.
The day ended with Frances being shipped off to spend the evening with the Hobcoggins at the new Wednesday night program at church, Linnea to choir and then church kids choir, and Carrie talked about going to Uncle Sam’s with Elizabeth. Joe was off to get another signature for Eagle and fill out an application to work at the Green Lantern Car Wash. Rose was bummed about not having been hired at Best Buy. And Collette prepared for an upcoming stretch of two and a half weeks working the church office without Ivy to manage. Collette predicted that the rest of September would be long and tiring.