BMFD

Betsy McGee Forester Day

A children's book written from the point of view of a little girl approaching four.

Betsey McGee Forester Day has a secret. This morning, while eating her cereal she was also experimenting with her eyelids. The day before she had learned how to blink. She knew that was the word because her Mother had said, “Betsey McGee Forester Day, why are you blinking like that?” Since then she had learned that her eyelids shut by themselves quite a lot, but now she could do it on purpose.  She liked being able to do things on purpose. Her Mother did not seem to think that “on purpose” was a good thing. “Betsey McGee Forester Day, are you splashing your bath water on purpose?” When she said, proudly yes (she had just learned how during her daily bath) her Mother said: “Well, stop that. You’re getting water on the floor.”

Today, while practicing blinking on purpose, she had discovered that when she blinked fast three times her mother’s face changed. It was almost like she was wearing a mask. She was on the phone with someone. Her outside face was smiling and her voice was smiling but the under-face was very irritated—it was even rolling its eyes.  But the outside face kept smiling. Betsey McGee Forester Day blinked again three times (on purpose) and the Under Face went away.  Blink three times and it came back.  Blink three times again and it went away. On Purpose.

Then she had a thought. She could see her face in the toaster—shiny silver, almost like a mirror.  She studied her own face, green eyes, snub nose, rosebud mouth, big forehead topped with a mop of wispy strawberry blonde curls. (Those were the words her Daddy used to describe her—they must be right.) She blinked three times at her own curious face and she saw . . . her own curious face. She didn’t have an inside face. She was momentarily sad but then . . . perhaps it didn’t work in toasters.

Betsey McGee Forester Day loved words. She knew that she “took after”  her mother who also loved words. Her mother had a Word a Day Calendar AND got a word a day App on her phone. Betsy was not sure what an App was. She intended to find out. Mother loved her phone but not as much as she loved Betsey McGee Forester Day. And she shared all of her new words every day with BMFD. Betsey was not so sure how she liked being called BMFD but she refused to respond to plain Betsy.  Betsy was a nice name but didn’t have as much music or all the pretty colors of Betsy McGee Forester Day. She even liked that more than Elizabeth McGee Forester Day which was her ‘ficial name. But BMFD had all the same colors as Betsy McGee Forester Day—just all squished together. Elizabeth tasted a little like bread pudding, especially when Mama used sultanas instead of regular raisins. The word “raisins” had a kind of tart grapey taste but saying “Sultanas” tasted like sunshine.  Or like the taste of the word “sunshine”. She always asked “Mama” (tasted like homemade bread) to make pudding with Sultanas and then she picked them out one at a time so she could just taste the sunshine.  “Mother” (tasted like cream cake) let her do it because it was the only time she “played with her food.” She did not know why her mother called it that but as long as it was all right . . .

Betsy McGee Forester Day and her mother had finished their morning chores. Together they had made the beds. Mama picked up newspapers and magazines while Betsy picked up her toys and put them in her Panda-shaped toy box. It was very interesting. It had three lids—one in the head, one in the lap, one on the knees. When they were all closed Betsy could sit in the lap, lean against the Panda’s chest and use the knees for a table. There wasn’t another one in the world like it because her mother had ‘magined it and her father had made it and her mother had painted it. It was Betsy McGee Forester Day’s best not-able-to-talk friend.

After that they had what Mother called “elevenses”. Mother had a second cup of tea (something lemony) and Betsy had milk with Cheerios and Sultanas. Her favorite elevenses.  Together they tasted to her like a rainbow. “As they finished their snacks her Mother said:  “It’s a very nice day. The warmest of the spring. Yesterday your Daddy checked over the bicycle and put something on it. How would you like to take a ride?”

Betsy McGee Forester Day loved the words “bicycle” and “ride”.  Together they made an unusual music. Betsy was quick to say yes. She waited for her mother to help her down from her booster chair. She didn’t think it was time to let her mother know that she was able to get down by herself. She had learned weeks ago how to slide forward until her toes reached the  floor but she knew that her mother might not think that was a good thing.  So . . .

Mother helped her put on her little jacket (shiny yellow with a duck over the heart—her favorite) and then she showed her a new box. It had a picture on it—of a hard hat like the one Mother wore when she was going for a ride on her bicycle. Betsy McGee Forester Day was not an envious girl but she could remember a long time ago (before the long cold) that she had watched her mother pedal away and she almost cried with wanting.  That would have been bad.  Mother did so many things for Betsy MFD and almost nothing just by herself.  She deserved this happiness but . . . Oh! . . . how long would it be before she could do that.  Her HotWheels were nice but . . . bicycles went like the wind—like flying sky. Was she going to get a hard hat? Was she going to sit on Mother’s lap? Were they going to take a bicycle ride (flying sky) together?

Mother had the box open and . . .  mother said it was a “helmet”—just her size and yellow with a green stripe. Glory! Her mother helped her put it on (it felt funny but she didn’t mind) and together they went out to the garage where the bicycle lived. But something was different about it.  There was—was it?—a little seat on the back. Before she could even say “Yay!” her mother picked her up and put her in the little orange seat (comfy) and buckled a belt like the one she wore in the carseat. Then her mother got on and pulled up a little arm with her foot and walked (duck-walked) out of the garage. For a moment her mother looked back at her.  Betsy McGee Forester Day blinked three times and saw . . .Mother was frightened! Mother was never frightened! But in a wink and three blinks her mother turned around and put her foot on one of the pedals and then the other and with only a little wobble—they were flying. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster—down the driveway and into the street.  The houses and trees went by fast—not as fast as when they were in the car but much faster than when they went out of their daily walk. (Petey loved the music of “daily walk” even more than Betsy McGee did. But she didn’t think dogs could ride bicycles. This was something just for her and Mother.
____

They rode past the Distlers’ house and the Walshes and the Leibowitzes and were almost to  . . .  Mother was slowing down because a woman was waving to her.  “Good morning, Mrs. Dougal. Your daffodils are looking particularly lovely,” she said.  (The word daffodil always tickled Betsy’s nose.  Kind of like ginger ale. Or did ginger ale taste like “daffodil?”)

“I see you have your little girl with you. Don’t you think that contraption is rather dangerous?” Mrs. Dougal sounded angry. Betsy blinked three times and . . . there! She had an inside face and it didn’t look angry, it looked . . . lonely. Without thinking she said, “Good morning, Mrs. Doodle.  Don’t be sad.”

“Little girl, why on earth do you think I’m sad?  Don’t you know it’s rude to speak to grownups like that? And my name is Mrs. Dougal, not Mrs. Doodle.” But, even though her Outside Face was even angrier, her Inside Face now looked truly sad.

Mother said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Dougal. You haven’t been introduced. This is Betsy McGee Forester Day. She likes to be called by all her names. She is very particular about names.  She must have heard me mention you to my husband and misunderstood the pronunciation. She’s only three and three-quarters.”

“Well, that’s a very big name for such a little bit of a girl.  But I guess she’ll grow into it.”

Mother asked, “Grow into it?”

Mrs. Dougal smiled a very little with both her inside and her outside faces. “My own name was Eugenia Matilda Howard Montgomery. After I married I was happy to become Genia Dougal. But sometimes I look in the mirror and I see Eugenia Matilda Howard Montgomery finally looking out at me. I’ve grown into them and Dougal as well.”

“Oh, please,” said Betsey. Would you say your ‘ficial name again.  It makes such interesting music.”

“Really?!”, said Mrs. Dougal.  “Very well. Repeat after me:  Eugenia . . .”

“Yougenya . . .”

“Matilda . . .”, and Mrs. Dougal and Betsy said all the names together three times until Betsy could do it by herself.  “Yougenya Matilda Howard Montgomery Dougal!” 

Mrs. Dougal was now had only one face and it was smiling with pleasure. “You are indeed a very smart girl for three and three-quarters years old.”

“I like your name a lot but I still think that Mrs. Doodle is prettier.”

Mrs. Dougal’s face did not change: “Then you have my permission to call me that whenever you like.” She turned to Betsy’s Mother.  “Margaret, I’m sorry I interrupted your ride. I know you’re a very strong rider but I was just worried for a moment. We didn’t have little ride-behind seats like that when I was a girl . . . or even when I was a mother.”

“That’s quite all right Mrs. Dougal . . .”

“Call me Genia.”

“Genia.  To tell the truth I was more than a little nervous about trying this but it was such a nice day. I only intend to ride once or twice up and down the street. It’s so nice living on a cul-de-sac but it doesn’t feel quite as safe as a bike path would. I intend to get a bike rack so we can go to Thurber Park to ride often.”

“Until you do I hope you’ll keep riding up and down the street. Next time perhaps you can stop for lemonade and cookies.  I make very nice oatmeal cookies if I do say so myself.  But I rarely make them just for myself.”

“With Sultanas?”, asked Betsy.

Mrs. Dougal blinked with surprise (only twice.)  “I’ve never tried Sultanas. That’s a very good idea, Betsy... McGee Forester Day.”

“Can we come by tomorrow?”

“Betsy . . . ,” Mother started to protest but Mrs. Dougal laughed. (It sounded just a little like a rusty gate but nice.) “You certainly may,” she said. “If it’s a sunny day we can sit out back in my garden. I will enjoy your company.”

“Well, we’d better be going, and thanks for the invitation,” Mother said.

“Bye-bye Mrs. Yougenya Matilda Howard Montgomery Doodle!”

“Well,” Mother said as she pedaled them away. “You seem to have made a new friend.

“Yes,” said Betsy. “Like Daddy says, we need all the friends we can get. And I think she needs a friend, too.”

Betsy could hear the surprise in her Mother’s voice. “I think you are right, Betsy McGee Forester Day. I think you are right.”