Mother's Day

Believe it or not, Mothers' Day turned out really well this year, and it was thanks to--you'll never guess--Tark!  We are actually on speaking terms today.

The day before Mothers' Day, I was still in a dither about what to get Mom.  I only had two gold pieces saved up, but I wanted to get her something really nice.  Then Tark knocked on my bedroom door.

He looked red-faced and a little self-concious.  "Hey, ummmm, Fiona, what are you going to get Mom this year?"

"Oh, I don't know," I replied, "how about a new son--one who doesn't do stupid stuff that embarrasses his family?"

"Look!" Tark exploded, "I feel really bad about that, OK?  I admit, it was stupid."

I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.  Tark admitting he was wrong?  Was the world ending or something?

Tark mumbled something and held out a small bag.  "Here," he said, "add this to whatever you've got saved up.  I think it's enough to get Mom some of that new rose water they have at Mary's.  I'm still grounded and that rotten tattlebug follows me every time I leave the house, so you've got to go buy it."
 He looked at me with eyes that actually looked a little remorseful.  "Please, Fi?"

Dumbstruck, I looked into the little bag.  There were five whole gold pieces, and a couple of silver coins as well. "Where on earth did you get this much?" I asked.

"I've been saving up for a new Whongol bat, but..." his voice trailed off.

I gulped.  I knew how much he'd been wanting a new bat for the silly game, but I had no idea how long he must have been saving up.  And now he was offering it all to do something nice.  For Mom.

"OK," I joked, "who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Dork."  He mock-punched me in the arm.

Using the excuse that I wanted to go out for a quick fly-around, I took his money and mine over to Mary's Rose Boutique, one of the most exclusive shops in the forest, and bought a big gold-and-crystal bottle of Mary's Rose Water, her latest new fragrance.  After wrapping it carefully in leaves I stuffed it under my coat as I went into our house. 

Later I knocked on Tark's door, and actually went into his foul room to show off the purchase.  You would not believe the mess Tark's room is in, and even if we had dumped the entire bottle of perfume on the floor right there and then, it couldn't have covered up the reek of adolescent boy.  Still, none of that really seemed to matter as we gloated together over our secret.

Mothers' Day dawned bright and lovely.  We made Mom breakfast, which meant cleaning up the mess Tark made when he bumped into the table and spilled a basket of robin eggs all over the floor.  Then we presented Mom with our gifts.  Deirdre's gift was a smug little cookbook called Cooking Without Killing--Eating Right to Protect Our Animal Friends.  Mom sighed at this latest attempt to convert the family to a meatless diet and picked up the package from Tark and me.

The look in her eyes when she opened up the box was worth anything Tark and I could have bought for ourselves.  "We combined our savings," Tark explained, blushing furiously.  "Happy Mothers' Day, Mom!"

There was a slight suspicion of tears in Mom's eyes as she dabbed the perfume on her wrists and held them out for us to sniff.  The scent was wonderful, and I immediately made plans to borrow some for the Spring Dance!  Mom couldn't say no when I had helped buy it for her!

Dad took Mom out for a romantic--eeeewwwwwww--dinner with just the two of them and they stayed out really late.  I don't even want to think about what they could have been getting up to. 

On his way out, Dad actually smiled at Tark.  Maybe things in our home are on the way to getting better.  Then again, Mom promised to try a few of the awful-sounding recipes in Deirdre's book, so maybe not.

No more tattlebug!

The day after Mom’s meltdown, the tattlebug was kicked out of the house and a blessed peace settled over us.  Dad had finally backed down, and the tattlebug would now only be paid to escort Tark to and from school.  It’s nice not to hear constant updates on my brother’s disgusting personal habits, and of course I feel a little more secure sneaking out to visit Melissa.  I’ve figured out how to play some kind of bird game on her phone, and it’s really surprising how time flies when you’re playing.  I’ve hardly gotten any sleep the last couple of nights!  Fortunately, I’ve also discovered a treat she keeps in her room, that helps me stay awake—chocolate-covered coffee beans!   I figure she won’t miss one or two, and it takes a couple of days to finish one.  They keep me awake all day, if I break them apart and take pieces to school with me.

I still can’t figure out what to get Mom for Mothers’ Day.  She’s been happier since the tattlebug was banned from the house, but I still think she’s upset about the whole thing with Tark.  I wish there were some way to make her feel better.  It must be hard to be the mother of a juvenile delinquent and a self-righteous plantist who tries to make everyone feel guilty about enjoying a few aphid fries.  I must be a genuine relief to her, hardly ever causing trouble and going a whole three days without detention!  Of course, there is that less-than-stellar grade I got in Ancient Lore, but honestly, who can concentrate with a boring teacher like Mr. S?

This might sound weird, but I think Tark might be genuinely sorry about the whole fermented honey debacle.   I heard him talking to Dad one night while I was cleaning cricket vomit (don’t ask!) out of a shoe I had carelessly left outside the shoe closet, right in Squeaker’s line of fire.

“Dad, I’m really sorry!  I shouldn’t have let Damien talk me into it!”

Dad snorted.  “Don’t blame this on your friends!  You are old enough to make your own decisions.”

“I know, but…”

“No buts!”  Dad’s voice actually shook.  “Do you realize what could have happened?  What if you had flown into a tree?  Or if a cat found you while you were incapacitated?  Do you know how often drunk fairies get caught by cats?  Do You?”

For the first time, I realized that my father had actually been afraid for Tark.  I had just assumed that he was embarrassed because of his position on the Honey Control Board.  I felt a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized that Tark could have been seriously hurt.  Or worse.  I mean, he is the worst brother who ever lived and is definitely the scum of the Earth.  Once he told everybody in school that I was in love with Feonn O’shea, and I got teased for months.  Months!!!  I never even liked Feonn, but after Tark’s stupid comments I blushed every time Feonn was near, so of course everybody thought I really was—Oh, never mind.

Still, the thought of Tark not being there anymore bothers me.  I wonder why.

Dinner

Mom was not happy about me getting detention.  “Isn’t it bad enough to have one of you in trouble,” she wailed at us as we tried to eat warmed-over worm burgers.  “Why can’t you just behave?  Be more like Deirdre?”  She pointed at Deirdre, who was eating her wormless grass salad so virtuously that I could have sworn she had a halo. 

“That reminds me,” I said casually, “somebody wrote Meat is Murder—Eat Nothing With a Face! on the wall in the girls’ bathroom.  I wonder who that could have been?”

“Somebody with a conscience,” was Deirdre’s smug reply. 

“Mrs. Brownwing, Tark is feeding his worm burger to the cricket!” shrilled the tattlebug.

Mom got up, went into the bedroom and slammed the door so hard the table shook.

“What is wrong with you?” demanded my father, looking at all three of us as if we were backstreet honey dealers.  Which in Tark’s case wouldn’t be too far from the truth.  He got up and followed Mom.  I could hear their voices raised in argument behind the door.

“What’s their problem,” grumbled Tark as he fed the rest of his burger to Squeaker, our pet cricket.

“Mrs. Brownwing!  Mrs. Brownwing!” the tattlebug continued, although nobody was paying attention. 

What a day.

Another Rant at School

We had to endure yet another tirade at school today. Encouraged by my brother and his unspeakable friends, kids have started painting all kinds of rude things on the school walls. “Bottoms’ up, Mr. Mayor!” is a favorite, of course, but some of them get a little more imaginative. The latest one was about Mrs. Elderberry and Mr. Swallowtail kissing, and now I can’t get the horrible image out of my head! Mrs. Elderberry was literally vibrating with rage as she lambasted the entire student body, accusing us all of being disrespectful hooligans and demanding that the guilty parties turn themselves in. She actually threatened to cancel the school dance!
“She can’t do that, can she?” Titania whispered in my ear. “Wouldn’t the whole school board have to vote on it?”
“If you were on the school board, would you dare vote against the Elderberry?”
“Do you think they really kissed?” We both dissolved into shuddering giggles.
“NO TALKING!” Mrs. Elderberry’s voice made us both jump about a foot. “This is just what I was talking about, you children have no respect, no sense of right or wrong, no—“
I won’t bore you with the rest, but there was a lot of it. Titania and I both got detentions, along with some others who caught our case of the giggles and two boys in the back row who were making kissing noises. All in all, it was more entertaining than most of our assemblies, even if about half of us landed in detention. I’m afraid Mrs. E. left feeling angrier than she had been at the start, though. It doesn’t bode well for the dance. Oh, well, nobody was going to ask me, anyway.

Tattlebugs

Hoooo, boy, you would not believe how much trouble Tark is in!  Dad was so embarrassed by his behavior that he grounded Tark for six months!  And when a fairy is grounded, he is actually grounded.  Tark isn’t allowed to fly except for to and from school, and if he deviates even slightly from his prescribed flight plan a tattlebug will alert Mom and Dad.

What do you mean, you’ve never heard of a tattlebug?  Just because your scientists have never seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.  It just means it’s smart. 

A tattlebug is, not surprisingly, a bug that likes to tattle.  They look a little like houseflies, only their eyes are about twice as big—the better to spy on you with, my dear!  Most baby tattlebugs get shoved out of the nest before they’re even two hours old because their mothers get so sick of hearing them tattle on each other.  By the time they are full-grown, which only takes about a day, they will tell on themselves if they do something wrong!  They are incredibly annoying, but they are also quite useful for people who want to know what other people are doing.  If you get a tattlebug assigned to you, you can’t get away with anything!

While the thought of Tark having to live with a tattlebug for six months fills me with indescribable joy, it does mean I’ll have to be extra careful about sneaking out to use Melissa’s phone.  If Tark behaves himself, the tattlebug will get bored and start watching me.  I’m probably worrying about nothing, though—Tark can’t behave for two minutes!

Meanwhile, at school Tark and his friends are being called the “Crazy Eight,” because there were eight of them and well, their actions speak for themselves.  I can’t quite figure out if the name is supposed to be a compliment or an insult.  They were made to scrub off all of the rude things they painted on the school walls and nearby trees.  I guess it never occurred to them that paint made from orange pollen and tree sap would be really hard to remove once it set! They have to stay after school two hours a day to chip away at the sap until it’s all gone.  Other kids wander by, occasionally shouting “Bottoms’ up, Mr. Mayor!” and laughing their heads off.  Such fun.

Unfortunately, Tark’s unusual schedule and the constant natter of the tattlebug is putting Mom in a horrible mood.  I mean, you can only stand so much of a constant stream of things like “Mrs. Brownwing, Mrs. Brownwing, Tark’s picking his nose again!” before you go stark raving mad.  Mom’s trying to convince Dad to get rid of the tattlebug, but he’s still too mad.  All I can say is, Dad had better get Mom something pretty spectacular for Mothers’ Day this year!

Speaking of Mothers’ Day, I have absolutely no idea what to get her this year.  None at all.

Tark in Trouble

Well, it's been a while since I had the chance to use Melissa's phone for new posts, and it's all stupid Tark's fault.  Here's what happened:

Two days after the dreadful field trip to the Dwarf mines, my hair still reeked of burning dwarf poo.  I'd tried everything to get the smell out--washing it in spring water, rubbing it with rose petals, and even considering plastering it with pine sap.  Nothing worked.  It was like the smell had soaked in! I finally decided to sneak out and get a drop of human shampoo from Melissa's bathroom. Her hair always smells wonderful!

Just as I was tiptoeing out of my bedroom that night, our front door crashed open and Tark walked in.  I say walked, but it was more like staggered.  He was singing 'Where Art Thy Trousers, oh Mighty Oberon' at the top of his voice, and there was a huge bump on his forehead.  Once he figured out which side of the door he was on, he slammed it, turned around, and threw up all over Dad's overcoat that was hanging in the hallway.  Absolutely classic!

It turned out that one of Tark's dim-witted associates had gotten ahold of his father's secret stash of vintage fermented honey, and they'd all snuck out and had quite the party.  As I've said before, honey itself is intoxicating to fairies, and fermented honey is at least ten times stronger!  The older it is, the more potent it gets, too.  Tark and his pals had gotten completely drunk.

Dad went absolutely berserk.  I've never seen him so angry.  Of course, as an officer of the Honey Control Board, he was horrifically embarrassed!  It doesn't look good for one of their officers, especially the one who came up with their latest ad campaign, to have a son who's part of what was to become a very public underage drinking story!  He stormed all over the house, shouted at Tark (who was wayyyy past caring at the time) and blew the special whistle that summons messenger bats to rouse the other parents and alert them to the problem.

It turned out that there had been eight kids at the party, and they had all gotten drunker than gnomes on holiday.  Several of them were still in the clearing where they'd met, completely passed out.  Two of them had decided it would be a good idea to put their underwear on their heads and knock on Mayor Clearwater's door shouting "Bottoms' Up, Mr. Mayor!"  The mayor was not amused.  After writing some rude things about our school principal on the trees around the clearing, Tark had decided to fly home.  He ran into several trees on the way.  He was covered with bumps and bruises, but it could have been a lot worse.  Drunk fairies often snap their necks flying into trees, or get caught by cats.

All eight boys (girls have much more sense) are now grounded for, like, EVER!  They woke up with some truly magnificent hangovers, too.  The whole thing would have been hysterically funny if it hadn't put my parents on such high alert.  There was just no chance of sneaking out for ages!  My hair is actually smelling normal now, without having to take any of Melissa's shampoo.  I might try some anyway.

Field Trip, Part Two

Just when you think a school field trip can’t get any worse than going to the aphid hatchery yet again, the Powers That Be outdo themselves.  Our trip to the Olympic Range Dwarf Mines was truly the most awful idea they have had to date, and I suspect Mrs. Elderberry of being the evil mastermind behind it all.

I’ll admit when we first learned that we were going there, I was a little excited.  I was visualizing piles of gold, sparkling gemstones, and maybe a little gift shop where I could maybe buy myself a teensy, inexpensive little tiara to wear to the school dance.  Dad squashed that idea out of the gate by refusing to even consider giving me an advance on my allowance, stating that I “already have drawers full of jewelry that she never wears”  and would “be wanting more money the next week, anyway.”  Honestly.  Parents!

In the end it wouldn’t have mattered if he had given me a little spare change, because there was no gift shop.  Nor were there any piles of gold.  No sparkling gemstones either.  Instead, after we all nearly froze to death riding on the stupid cranes for an hour and a half, we got to tour a big, dark, smelly cave.  Seriously.  A cave!!!

We walked for what must have been miles through the dank shafts, lit only by the occasional torch, seeing the important work that the Dwarves do chipping through mounds and mounds of dirt.  Very exciting, I don’t think!

We listened to endless lectures by an ancient Dwarf called Toadfoot, who droned on and on and ON about such fascinating topics as Olympic geology and rock stratums.  Or was it strata?  I don’t know, I was too numb with cold and boredom to care.  We saw a few lumpy things that Toadfoot claimed were diamonds, but they looked just like boring old rocks to me! 

The only mildly interesting thing that happened was when Goober Flitwing, one of my dimmer classmates, tripped over his own feet and fell into an underground lake and had to be hauled out with ropes.  At least he got to go sit in the front office for the rest of the trip!  The rest of us had to soldier on, and I personally had gotten wet all the way through from all of Goober’s thrashing around in the water.  Next time I see him, I‘m going to give him a good kick in the shins!

The most utterly appalling thing about the mines was the smell.  Old Toadfoot took great pride in explaining the inner working of the Mine’s furnace, which is used to refine any gold they happen to find while they’re endlessly digging in the dirt.  He explained, in quite unnecessary detail, the various types of dung that are used to produce various levels of heat for different types of metals.  You heard that right, folks!  Fairy gold is produced by burning dung.  Dung from horses, dung from cattle, and even, I am sorry to say, from the Dwarves themselves!  Toadfoot actually seemed proud of this last bit, stating that Dwarf dung burns hotter than any other type on the planet.  Lovely.

He could have spared himself a lot of trouble by not telling us this, because there was no doubt in anybody’s mind about what the furnace was burning.  The ungodly stench of superheated Dwarf dung filled every tunnel, every cavern, every nook and every crevice.  It permeated our skin, hair, and clothing, and by the time we were allowed out of our underground prison we all reeked of the sweet, sweet aroma of burning poo.  Even the cranes seemed to wrinkle their noses when we climbed back aboard.

Back at home, I scrubbed and scrubbed trying to get the filthy smell off, but so far nothing seems to be working.  When I snuck into Melissa’s house to write this, BoBo the cat didn’t even try to catch me—he just slunk off and buried his nose in his cat bed. 

I just can’t wait for tomorrows’ classes.  Some of the older students didn’t have to go, including my older brother and a few of his cronies.  They aren’t going to smell like the rest of us, and I’m sure they are going to have a great deal of fun at our expense!  Oh, noooo, I just had a horrible thought--what if I run into Vik smelling like this?  I can only hope we don’t cross paths until the smell wears off.  Stupid field trips!!!!