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4
This Morning at My House
    You’re probably wondering how I know so much about Super-Mega-Gonzo Glue.
    Well, it all started this morning. I was helping my mom pack my lunch.
    “Banana?” I asked her. “With no icky brown spots on it?”
    Mom looked in my lunch box.
    “Check,” she said.
    “Little fishy crackers?”
    “Check.”
    “Gigantic chocolate cupcake with tons of gooey frosting and those little sprinkle things?”
    Mom smiled her I’m-getting-tired-of-this smile.
    “Sorry,” she said. “We’re fresh out of gigantic chocolate cupcakes.”
    I sighed. “It was worth a try.”
    Mom grabbed a comb off the kitchen counter. “Hair time, buddy. You want to look extra handsome for the open house.”
    In the afternoon, all the parents were coming to visit our classroom.
    That’s called an open house.
    Even though it’s at school.
    We were going to sing a song about bees.And have desserts and juice and milk.
    I was especially excited about the dessert part.
    My mom was bringing her banana-avocado-raisin cream pie.
    I was not so excited about that.
    My mom is a great mom.
    But she is not a great cook.
    “You have to be extra nice to Ms. Diz,” I said.
    Ms. Diz is my first-grade teacher. She is brand-new.
    She loves teaching my class. Even though we get a little crazy sometimes.
    Ms. Diz says we are very high-spirited.
    “Of course we’ll be nice,” Mom said.
    “’Cause this is her first time showing us off. And also ’cause the principal will be there.”
    “I promise Dad and I will behave,” Mom said.
    “And be sure to clap after we do our bee song,” I added.
    “I promise,” Mom said.
    “And no laughing,” I added.
    “Why would we laugh, sweetheart?”
    “Because yesterday when we practiced it was kind of a mess,” I said. “The head bobbles kept coming off.”
    Mom frowned and asked, “What’s a head bobble?”
    “You know. The ten knees on a bee head?”
    I put my hands on my head and wiggled my pointer fingers to show her.
    “Oh.” Mom smiled. “You mean the antennae .”
    “I’m lucky. ’Cause I’m in the rhythmsection. We pound with sticks to keep the beat. And we get bobbles too.”
    “That’s a very important job.” Mom kissed the top of my head. “Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will go perfectly today.”
    Mom zipped up my lunch box. “Okay, kiddo. You’re good to go.”
    Just then I remembered something.
    “Wait!” I cried. “There is one more really important thing! I was supposed to bring art supplies yesterday. For the art cupboard. ’Member? You said we would bring them ’cause it’s easier than being a room mother?”
    “Oops. I almost forgot,” said Mom. She grinned. “Roscoe to the rescue!”
    My family likes to say that when I help out.
    My dad came in and poured a cup of coffee.
    He was wearing a business suit, a brown sock, and a bare foot.
    “Morning,” he said. “Roscoe, is your brother up yet?”
    “Yep,” I said. “But I had to use my Roscoe Riley Sneak Attack to wake him. Would you like to try it sometime?”
    “I’m listening,” Dad said.
    He made one eyebrow go up.
    It’s a trick a lot of dads can do.
    “Well, first you knock real polite on Max’s door. Then he growls and tells you to come back next year.”
    “And then?” asked Dad.
    “Then you jump on his bed like it’s a trampoline. And you scream, ‘RISE AND SHINE, YOU BUM!’ And if he still doesn’twake up, you squirt him with your juice box on his nose and toes.”

    “I see,” said Dad. “Crude, but effective.”
    It is always nice when your dad is proud of you.
    “Mom,” I said. “What about the art stuff?”
    Mom was using the toaster for a mirror. “I have bags under my eyes,” she said.
    I tugged on her sleeve.
    Sometimes that helps moms focus.
    “Mom,” I said. “We need goo sticks and scissors and paper.”
    “ Glue sticks,” Mom said. “The art supplies are in the junk drawer. Would you get them, Roscoe? I need to see if Max is ready for