Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (26 page)

Dear Diary,

We packed up, and while Mom and Dad made sure we had everything, Matt, Cecily, and I played Window Spy. Matt looked out the window and described what he saw down below, and Cecily and I both drew the boats and people and bicycles. It was fun and it did not feel like a competition.

We're now about to fly to London and then New York, and this time, trust me, I packed Hedgehog in my backpack. I also packed Melanie Martin's diary (you!) for writing and Anne Frank's diary for reading.

Anne is thinking about her old boyfriends and the older boy, Peter, who is stuck with her in the Secret Annex. She's also thinking about how she's growing inside and outside. She says growing up is “so wonderful.”

I think I am growing more inside than outside. But who knows? Maybe I'm growing everywhere.

At the airport, Mom bought matching T-shirts that say AMSTERDAM on them for Cecily and me. Now we can be twins! Then Mom and Dad gave us their leftover for
eign coins and said we could buy whatever we wanted. Matt spent his coins—and his tooth-fairy money—on candy. Dad said the tooth-fairy would approve because candy will help make Matt's other teeth fall out. But Dad bought Dutch candy too—black licorice that is way too salty.

Cecily and I spent our money on postcards and Droste chocolate and Dutch red and white and blue flags.

I also wanted to buy something for Mrs. Hausner. But what? I looked at tulip coasters and Delft tiles and bulb bags. Then I saw two little Dutch clogs. Matt said, “I wouldn't choose wooden shoes. Try it, Mel! It's a tongue twister!”

I said, “I wouldn't choose wooden shoes, I wouldn't choose wooden shoes, I wouldn't choose wooden shoes. It's not that hard.”

But I chose a pair anyway. They were made of china, not wood. They were white with blue windmills on them and they hang on a red string.

Mom said they were charming. “They look like they could be a Christmas ornament.”

Dad said that in Holland, Santa comes way early— on December 5, on the night before his birthday. “Instead of coming by reindeer from the North Pole, he comes by ship from Spain, then travels on his white horse. And instead of filling stockings, he and his faithful servant, Pete, fill shoes.” So kids put their shoes by the fireplace and put carrots and straw in them for the horse. Then, when Santa and Pete reach the rooftop, Pete slides down the chimney and replaces the shoe carrots with candy, chocolate letters, and little presents. Dad said that the name Santa Claus comes from the Dutch
Sinterklaas
(Sin Tear Class), which comes from Saint Nicholas, who was really a Turkish bishop who was nice to poor kids.

Personally, I feel kind of like Santa Claus myself— like Melanie the Grinch is becoming Melanie the Generous.

Dear Diary,

The flight to London was short and smooth, and now we're flying the rest of the way home. The airline people announced, “This is your final boarding opportunity,” which Dad said meant “Get on the plane N-O-W or we'll take off without you.” So we got on and sat down.

I like how planes can be like flying libraries. I've almost filled up this new diary, and guess what? Dad, who never buys me anything except on birthdays or Christmas, bought me a present. In Heathrow Airport, he bought me another diary. He said that he admires how I'm always writing (especially on trips) and that I can use it for my next adventure.

Dank u wel
, Dad!

In Anne Frank's diary, I'm up to the part where Anne is in love with Peter. One minute she's all upset and the next she's all happy. It depends on if she and Peter get to talk. “Who would ever think that so much can go on in the soul of a young girl?” Anne asks.

Answer: I would!

I mean, I've never had a boyfriend or anything, but even just talking—or not talking—to Cecily can make me feel up or down.

Speaking of ups and downs, planes have them too, and I'm glad we're going to land soon. But I'm doing a good job of staying calm (yay me!) even though there's nothing under us except wide open ocean.

Matt just said, “Why do seagulls fly over the sea?”

I said, “I give up. Why?”

Matt said, “Because if they flew over the bay, they'd be
bay
-gulls! Get it?”

Cecily and I laughed and we all agreed that we miss bagels.

Dear Diary,

I like being home.

Amsterdam the city is over 3,500 miles away.

Amsterdam
Avenue
is two blocks away.

Mom and Dad have been busy unpacking and doing laundry and reading e-mail and snail mail, so they are letting Matt and me watch a ton of TV. And we are. We are making up for lost time. The only problem is that the commercials keep talking about back-to-school sales.

Isn't that obnoxious? They're rubbing it in!

Sometimes I wish that along with summer vacation, we also had long long long fall, winter, and spring vacations.

Then I could get more and more stamps on my passport!

P.S. Cecily called and thanked my parents again and told us the good news that her mom is feeling much better.

Dear Diary,

Because of jet lag, we've been going to bed early and waking up early.

Well, yesterday, Mom was reading me Anne Frank's diary, and I asked if she ever reads my diary. She said no because that would be an invasion of privacy. Then she told me that a fun thing about art is that it lets you invade people's privacy. For instance, Vermeer (the guy who painted
The Milkmaid
) painted lots of ladies reading or writing love letters, which obviously was their personal business. But since the ladies are in paintings, not real life, you're
allowed
to peek all you want.

“The women think they're alone, but they're not,” Mom said. “They're being watched—by us! Vermeer invites us to snoop!” She even told me that the word “snoop” comes from Dutch.

Anyway, in Anne Frank's private diary, she is now fourteen, almost fifteen, and Peter, the boy in hiding with her, just kissed her! The first time he kissed her, it was sort of half on her ear and half on her cheek and right through
her hair. But later, he kisses her on the lips! And she kisses back!