Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (31 page)

Dear Diary,

I can't believe school starts
. Getting up early is going to make me jet-lagged all over again. I can't believe school starts. Getting

I put out my new clothes and put my book report in my new backpack. Mom and I went on a shopping spree because I'd outgrown most of my old stuff.

Mom said I'm having a “growth spurt.” I don't like to think of it as a spurt. I like to think of it as growing up, inside and out.

A few minutes ago, when Mom tucked me in, I told her, “I like growing up.”

“I like watching you grow up,” she said.

“Do you like being already grown-up?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, you have Hedgehog, but I have you,” Mom said, and kissed me on the tip of my nose.

“I love Hedgehog!” I protested. “Don't you?”

“Yes. But I love you more.”

“But you
don't
love me more than Matt, and you never will, right?” I don't even know why I asked. It's like a bad habit.

“Right,” Mom said. “But I'll tell you a secret.”

“What?”

“I loved you first.
You
are the one who made me a mom.”

I must confess, I had never thought of it that way! It's true though. Before I came along, Mom was just a regular lady. I made Mom a Mom and Dad a Dad.

That makes me… Mighty Melanie!

Mom kissed me good night and I started thinking
about how many Melanies I have inside me. A mighty one and a chicken one. A sweet one and a selfish one. A good one and a bad one.

And here's what I've decided: Even though I could probably be a better person, I am a pretty good person. I may have had my me-first moments, but lately I've done some good deeds. Easy ones like helping out the tooth fairy and having a bake sale, and harder ones like delivering the Priscilla present and sharing my family when Cecily needed me to.

The not-nice part of me may not be a teeny speck, but it's not a humongous chunk either. Will it ever go away completely? I doubt it. But I bet I can keep it under control.

You know what else? I'm okay with having a smidgin of not-niceness in me. After all, nobody's perfect, and I'm not extremely imperfect.

Dad just came in and said to turn off the light N-O-W. I told him to be tolerant and to give me one more minute. He smiled and said, “Okay, but just one.”

What Dad doesn't understand is that turning off the light will be like admitting that it's the end of vacation.

Which, of course, it is.

Just like it's the end of this diary. Sigh.

Well, it definitely was not a bummer summer.

And now, watch out, fifth grade, here I come!

A great big DANK U WEL to everyone who read all or part of this book back when it was just a bunch of typed-up pages. Especially Emme, Elizabeth, and Rob Ackerman—who also bicycled around Amsterdam with me and had some Martin adventures (you'll have to guess which); my amazing and inspiring editor, Michelle Frey; Laura Peterson, Joan Slattery, and Tracy Gates; artists Sarah Hokanson and Marci Roth; Marybeth Weston Lobdell (a.k.a. my mom); my favorite childhood baby-sitter, Henriette te Hasseloo of Holland; my children's favorite baby-sitter, Matty Reategui; all the Squam Lake Cousins; Stephanie Bird, M.D.; Olivia Westbrook-Gold; Maureen and Arianna Davison; Stephanie Jenkins; Mark Weston; Ed Abrahams; Bonnie Beer; Katie Goldstein; Patty Dann; Lisa Lombardi; Vanessa Wilcox; Denver Butson; Nancy Alexander; Ann Hoy, Louisa Strauss, and the Trinity class of 2008; Maxwell Coll; Claire Sabel; Colleen Fellingham; Colleen Kinder, Daneille Tumminio, Kelly McGannon, James Rosenblum (boola boola); Nick Sander, Rik Wijsenbeek, Wouter Rietsema, and Cordula Bartha (who helped with complicated pronunciations). Finally, in memory of Eric Nooter, a most noble Dutchman.