Diary of a Real Payne Book 3 Read online

  © 2014 by Barbour Publishing, Inc.

  Print ISBN 978-1-62836-864-2

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  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63058-576-1

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  Churches and other noncommercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Barbour Publishing, provided that the text does not exceed 500 words or 5 percent of the entire book, whichever is less, and that the text is not material quoted from another publisher. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “From Diary of a Real Payne: Oh Baby! published by Barbour Publishing, Inc. Used by permission.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible. New Living Translation copyright© 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration and design: Luke Flowers Creative

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  04701 0814 DP

  To Nate, my kid brother.

  For the first twenty years (or so), you were my very own Space Invader.

  But now I am so thankful to call you friend.

  Table of Contents

  Dear Diary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Dear Diary

  About the Author

  December 31

  Dear Diary,

  The past few months have been super busy in the Payne house. Mom, Dad, my little brother, Isaac, my dog, Bert, and I are no longer a family a five—we’re a family of six! (Well, maybe five and a half.) There’s a chubby, sweet, drooly, screaming, giggling, stinky, smiley, adorable reason why. Her name is Faith. She is my adopted baby sister who came to live with us soon after I got home from a week at church camp last summer. And she is crazy. And by crazy, I mean loony. Bonkers. Nutty. Cuckoo. Kooky. Insane-o in the brain-o. (You pick your favorite description.)

  You might think it’s not very nice of me to call a seven-month-old baby crazy, but it’s one reason why I love her. Here are three more….

  Fun Facts about Faith:

  1. Faith’s hair has a mind of its own. Seriously, Diary, you know how I describe my hair as “basically a tragedy”? Well, Faith’s is a complete tragedy. When she first came to us, she was just a few weeks old, and her mass of short, dark hair was a perfect baby mohawk. But baby hair grows, right? Except when it falls out. And that’s what Faith’s hair did. One day I picked her up after a nap, and there was a clump of mohawk left on the crib mattress where her tiny head had been lying. I panicked when I saw her big ol’ bald spot and had flashbacks to when I (accidentally) cut a bald spot on my brother’s head. I even thought I might be able to glue Faith’s hair back on. But Mom came into the nursery while I was in midplan, and she assured me that it was normal for babies to lose their first hair—and that new, permanent hair would come in. Turns out, Mom was right. Except Faith’s new hair might be even more tragic than the baby mohawk. The color is still pretty and dark, but the stuff will not lie down. It seems poor little Faith is doomed to have spiked hair that sticks out in every direction. Mom says she will be blessed with hair that’s full of bounce and body when it grows out—like the hair of a model in a shampoo commercial—but I’ll believe it when I see it.

  2. Faith is a flower child. When I found out I was getting a little sister, I had dreams of Faith following in my Converse sneaker–wearing footsteps. (I mean, how cute would itty-bitty All-Stars be with their little laces and canvassy goodness?) I hoped she would choose stars to be her signature shape and maybe even red as her favorite color—to be just like me, her cool big sis, EJ. But at the ripe old age of six months, Faith had already made up her mind: she wanted flower power. Faith likes big, loopy, multicolored flowers (Mom calls them “hippy flowers”) that are perfect on nursery walls, baby onesies, and wide headbands that help cover up her tragic hair. In fact, the one time I tried to dress her in adorable red corduroy overalls with a silver star on the front pocket, she screamed and screamed until I changed her clothes to a flower jumper. I tried not to take it personally.

  3. Faith has two superpowers that begin with the letter S: screaming and stinking. First, the super screams. The word loud doesn’t even begin to describe what her lungs are capable of. Shrill might be a better way to explain the sounds her lungs can produce, but even shrill doesn’t quite explain it. Dad said he didn’t realize the human ear was even able to hear such a high-pitched sound. For the first couple of weeks after Faith arrived, Bert took a “if you can’t beat her, join her” approach to Faith’s cries by howling along with her. But that got him put in his kennel in the laundry room real quick (“We don’t need two family members wailing,” Mom said), so Bert quickly learned to retreat to his dog bed in my room and bury his head in his favorite blanket. Second, the super stink. I pride myself in having a pretty strong stomach. I’ve always been able to take out the trash, clean up after Bert’s messes, and do other gross and smelly chores without too much trouble. But it is the absolute truth when I tell you that Faith is able to produce a smell that could cripple the evilest of bad guys. Her dirty diapers are my kryptonite! Mom says I have to learn how to change a dirty diaper without gagging before I can babysit, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get there! I’ve tried pinching my nose with a clothespin, but somehow I can still smell it!

  Faith started crawling on Christmas Day, and it’s added a whole new layer of chaos to the house. If something is within her reach, she’s going to find it. And immediately put it in her mouth. I actually caught her gnawing on the corner of my paperback copy of Prince Caspian—which, I admit, I accidentally left on the floor next to the couch. I’m not sure how long she’d been chewing on it when I snatched the book back from her, but I can tell you that it was good and drool-soaked, and now the top corners of all the pages are stuck together. It’s a good thing she only has three teeth, because if she had a whole mouth full of chompers, I think she would’ve actually eaten the entire Narnia story, which would give a whole new meaning to “devouring” a good book. (I know, I know, I’m sorry—that’s a corny joke only worthy of Isaac corniness.)

  I feel sort of bad for Isaac because Faith’s definitely stealing a bit of his spotlight. And she doesn’t seem to think he’s as funny as the rest of the world, either. At breakfast a couple of weeks ago, Faith was sitting in her high chair, shoving fistfuls of Cheerios into her mouth, and Isaac must’ve thought she looked like a captive audience for his favorite joke. You know the one, Diary….

  Isaac: [waves a plastic T-Rex toy in front of Faith’s face to get her attention] Faith. Hey, Faithy-kins. Over here!

>   Faith: [closes her eyes and continues to eat Cheerios, obviously ignoring Isaac]

  Isaac: Hey! Baby! [scoops up the Cheerios from the high chair tray and holds them out of Faith’s reach] Listen to me!

  Me: Uh, Isaac, I don’t think that’s a good id—

  Faith: SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

  Isaac: [yells over the terrible noises coming out of Faith’s mouth] Knock-knock!

  Faith: AIEEEEEEEYAHHHHH!

  Isaac: Faith! You’re supposed to say “who’s there?”

  Me: [covers my ears with my hands] Isaac, she doesn’t understand. Give her the Cheerios, or she won’t stop screaming!

  [Isaac drops the cereal on the high chair tray, and a few of them bounce onto the floor. The screaming stops as Faith’s chubby fist jams Cheerios in her face like she hasn’t eaten in weeks.]

  Isaac: Knock-knock.

  Isaac: [speaks in a high-pitched voice, pretending to be Faith] Who’s there?

  Me: Oh, brother.

  Isaac: [back to his own voice] Noah.

  Isaac-as-Faith: Noah who?

  Isaac: Noah good joke?

  Isaac-as-Faith: Hahaha! Oh, Isaac, you are hilarious! Good one! Hahaha!

  The Real Faith: [blows soggy, Cheerio’ed raspberries at Isaac]

  Isaac: Ew, Faith! [gags] A slimy Cheerio flew in my mouth! You are disgusting!

  It seems to me that Isaac’s just getting what he deserves. Finally he has a little sibling to annoy him like he annoys me. It’s kind of perfect, actually.

  Otherwise, Diary, things are generally great. For Christmas this year, Mom and Dad surprised me with a ukulele (with a star-shaped hole under the strings!). It’s pretty much the best instrument ever, and I’m going to start taking lessons soon. One of the reasons I was so surprised to get the uke for Christmas was because the truth is that my music track record isn’t stellar. I took piano lessons when I was seven, but my teacher, Mrs. Preston, gave up teaching just six months after I started. (I’ve always assumed she quit because I was really bad, which is kind of embarrassing, but if I’m going to be bad at something, I should at least be the worst ever.) Mrs. Preston told me it was unfortunate I didn’t “have an ear” for the piano (which I assume means that I really stunk at playing), but reality check, Diary: there are eighty-eight keys on a piano, and I only have ten fingers. The ukulele only has four strings, so that means I’ve got six fingers to spare. I like those odds much better.

  Since ukuleles are traditionally a Hawaiian instrument, learning to play one might actually help me get through another frigid Wisconsin winter. This year I have a terrible case of cabin fever because right outside the kitchen window I can see our big, beautiful tree house—all closed up for the winter, so lonely and abandoned. But tomorrow is the start of a new year, Diary, and a new year means new possibilities, dreams, and hope. (Like the hope that Faith will actually start sleeping through the night before she starts school in four and a half years.)

  EJ

  Chapter 1

  THE DINNER DARE

  January 10

  Dear Diary,

  The rhinovirus has invaded the Payne house.

  You’d think that a fascinating word like rhinovirus would mean something great, like getting a new pet rhinoceros. But it’s not at all great. In fact, it’s sneezy and snotty and coughy and throat-hurty and generally terrible. The rhinovirus is what causes the common cold—and all five of us human Paynes have rhinoviruses stampeding through our bloodstreams.

  I’ve been blowing my nose so much that my nostrils got red and raw. So Mom started putting Vaseline on the red part, which made it feel better until I forgot it was there and wiped my nose with the back of my hand while I was sitting on the couch watching Mary Poppins and trying not to think about how much my throat hurt.

  Right now I can hear Dad in his study, practicing his sermon for tomorrow, except every couple of minutes or so he stops to sneeze (fun fact: Dad is a marathon sneezer, and his current record is seven in a row). Isaac is next door in time-out in his room, practicing covering his mouth when he coughs (why this is such a hard thing for him to learn, I don’t know). Mom is in the nursery with Faith, trying to squeak out a lullaby from her scratchy throat to get Faith to fall asleep for her afternoon nap.

  One weird thing I’ve learned about babies is that they can’t blow their noses. Or at least Faith hasn’t mastered that skill yet. And what’s even more disturbing is the fact that she doesn’t seem to care if green snot streams down her face or erupts out of her nose in giant bubbles. (I wish I were making that last part up, Diary, but I’m not. She even grossed out the king of nasty, Isaac, with a snot bubble the size of a softball.) So instead of blowing her nose, Mom uses this entirely crazy thing called a nasal aspirator that sort of looks like a mini version of a turkey baster—you know, one of those things that has a plastic ball on the end that you squeeze to pick up turkey broth to squirt on the bird while it cooks? Except a nasal aspirator is like a baby baster. And instead of broth, Mom uses it to get snot and boogies out of Faith’s nose.

  Diary, I literally do not have the right words to explain how disgusting the nasal aspirator is.

  But as disgusting as Faith generally is, she’s otherwise turning out to be a pretty fun kid. There’s nothing better than hearing her sweet little giggle and seeing pure joy in her eyes as she claps for fun. And now she’s trying new foods all the time, and she makes some of the very funniest faces I’ve ever seen in my life.

  EJ

  “Everybody have their hands washed?” Mom set a stack of paper napkins on the kitchen table. “We’ve almost gotten rid of this cold bug, so let’s not reinfect ourselves.”

  As if on cue, Dad sneezed into his elbow as he walked into the kitchen for the evening meal.

  “My hands are washed and sanitized,” EJ said, squirting a handful of bubblegum-scented hand sanitizer and rubbing both hands together furiously. EJ grinned as Faith’s chubby fingers reached toward the pocket-size bottle of pink gel on the table, but it was just an inch too far from her seat in the high chair. EJ slipped the bottle in her pocket and handed Faith a set of toy car keys instead.

  “Excellent job, EJ.” Mom smiled at her oldest daughter and took her seat next to the high chair. “How about you, buddy? Hands washed?”

  “Yep. I washed mine when I took a bath last night,” Isaac said, tucking a paper napkin in his T-shirt collar like a bib. “So I’m good.”

  “Gross! Isaac!” EJ scrunched her nose in disgust. “I know for a fact you’ve gone to the bathroom since then—and you didn’t wash your hands afterward?”

  “Umm, I don’t know.” Isaac scratched his head and appeared to think hard. “Ever since I turned six, my memory is bad.”

  “Boys are basically a walking science experiment for germs,” Dad said as he picked up Isaac and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Let’s exterminate our man cooties at the kitchen sink.”

  EJ leaned toward Faith and whispered, “Did you hear that? I told you boys have cooties! Dad just confirmed it!”

  Faith squealed excitedly and threw the toy keys into a bowl of spaghetti sauce on the table in front of her.

  Mom gingerly picked out the keys and wiped them clean with a napkin. “I guess if we’re all sharing germs, at least they’re Payne germs.”

  “Oh yeah, Payne germs!” Isaac said as he ran from the sink to his seat at the table. “The very best kind!”

  “EJ, would you please say the prayer for our meal?” Dad took his seat at the table.

  “Dear God, thank You for things like cold medicine and Kleenex and hot chicken soup and moms and dads who take care of us and help us feel better when we’re sick. Thank You for always taking care of us. And thank You for this delicious”—EJ squinted to peek through her closed eyelids at the food on the table—“or at least nutritious meal that Mom made. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Mom echoed. “Wait a second. EJ, you don’t think dinner will be delicious?” She looked shocked that her daughter
could say such a thing, but EJ saw the twinkle in Mom’s eyes and knew she was mostly joking.

  Faith had started eating solid food when she turned six months old, and Mom decided that was the perfect time to “broaden the Payne family’s food palate.” Which, to EJ and Isaac, meant that they would be forced to try a lot of new (mostly disgusting) foods. The only thing that made trying new kinds of food not completely terrible was that Faith made the funniest, most ridiculous faces with almost every new food that she tried.

  “It might be delicious,” EJ conceded. “But I’ll let you know after dinner is over.”

  Along with the spaghetti sauce (delicious, according to EJ), on the table was a basket of toasted whole wheat bread with garlic butter (EJ wasn’t sure about the whole wheat part of this—what happened to the Texas toast that she loved so much?); salad (a necessary evil—Mom liked to have something green on the table at every meal); and a giant bowl of what looked like spaghetti. Except vegetabley. And not at all like the pasta noodles she was used to. EJ was very suspicious that Mom was trying to pull a fast one on them.

  “Marmalade, what is that?” Isaac used his babyish nickname for Mom and pointed at the plant-spaghetti hybrid. “It looks weeeeeird.”

  “Oh, it’s super weird and fascinating,” Mom said, using a pair of tongs to put a good-sized pile of the mystery food on Isaac’s plate. “It’s called spaghetti squash. I have no idea why God made the inside of that vegetable look like spaghetti, but at least we get to eat marinara sauce on top of it!”

  Isaac held up a strand and let it dangle like a worm between his thumb and pointer finger. “Squish? Never heard of it.”

  “Not squish. Squash,” EJ said. “Mom, I don’t think I’ll like it. May I please make a peanut butter sandwich instead?”