ETER WANTS ONLY MILK, Pp Lucy won't settle for anything ‘except pink lemonade, and Jack is stuck on applesauce. Each new addition to the Peters houschold brings anew demand for a special dish. ‘What's a mother to do? Even though ‘Mrs. Peters picks, peels, strains, scrapes, poaches, fries, and kneads, the requests for special foods keep coming. But it isnt until Mrs, Peters’ birthday arrives that a present from her children solves, the problem and surprises everyone. Cheerfully ignoring all notions of good nutrition, Mary Ann Hoberman has created a happy, affectionate ccclebration of family chaos and ‘cooperation for picky eaters of any age. Marla Frazee’ lively depiction of the hungry Peters brood and their hardworking parents will have even the fussiest readers laughing.SO. SF. PUBLIC LIBRARY GRAND AVENUEThe Seven Silly Eaters = Written-by MARY ANN HOBERMAN Illustrated by MARLA FRAZEE i 4 Sees Be De i NEW YORE LONDON "eS meee ae SO. S.F. PUBLIC LIBRARY a GRAND A\ VENUEFor Debbie, Jane, and Richard "When they were very young” MAH In celebration of my Sito, Fudgie Kallel, and the love so freely given through her daily work ME Mito cen © 97 by Nl Face Alois snd No pf hi pubeton maybe epee ot Tom by ny ey, co chal cing Phtocep rng ory infomation oe rere em thu pemn wtng an he pba eae or ermison ome ck of ny a of wo sel be ‘7 Se Ha De Ove Flo 3887-677 iby of Coa Coir Btn Dt Sumac Seen oy esd wy spe th mer 11 Fed aio Fon 3 Boe ad tron Store nsyme! Fae, Tle PZaa Heise 1097 (E}daw 95.16 te by Mal Fe Ft ein “Tearoom inh bk ve dea Peblan tampa vgs once paper a re “Thedoly ype warn kia” olson ih Ae, Lid, Signe ne nd tun by Tn Win Pree, Sige Thisook was pated on tly Soe Nl Hate A et Precon per by Stanly Red Devaney Kan Copel on Maa FaseNot so long ago, they say, A mother lived—just like today. Mrs. Peters was her name; Her little boy was named the same. Now Peter was a perfect son In every way—except for one.When Peter was just one year old, He did not like his milk served cold. He did not like his milk served hot. He liked it warm And he would not Drink it if he was not sure It was the proper temperature.But Mrs. Peters did not mind. She was a mother sweet and kind; And when his milk spilled on the floor, She patiently prepared some more She'd take the bottle from the shelf And chuckle softly to herself, "What a silly sort of eater Is my darling baby Peter.”When Peter had not yet turned two, Another baby sweet and new Was born—dear Lucy, small and fair, With big blue eyes and curly hair. But long before this child was grown, She had opinions of her own Of what she'd eat and what she'd not. She hated milk, both cold and hot, And warm was worst of all. Instead Whenever Lucy dear was fed, She bellowed for pink lemonade, Not from a can Oh, no.. Homemade.But Mrs. Peters did not mind. She squeezed each lemon to its rind While mopping milk up from the floor And patiently preparing more She'd take the lemons from the shelf And giggle softly to herself,“What a silly pair of eaters Are Lucy dear and Peter Peters.”Now Lucy grew and Peter grew Till he was three and she was two And who was one? Why, little Jack With eyes so brown and hair so black— A happy baby, never cross, But all hed eat was applesauce. Peeling apples by the pound, Mrs. Peters faintly frowned. She'd take the apples from the shelf And murmur weakly to herself, “What a silly bunch of eaters Are Lucy, Jack, and Peter Peters.”Ih ig 4 (| |B 1 :Peter, Lucy, and young Jack Had another brother, Mac Mac was charming, round and plump; But if his oatmeal had a lump, Mac would dump it on the cat. (Mrs. Peters hated that.)But since she loved her children four, She'd strain the oatmeal two times more, She'd take it from the pantry shelf And mumble sadly to herself, “What a foolish group of eaters Are all my precious little Peters.”Before another year was through, Who came along? Why, Mary Lou! She was a darling, sweet and bright, ‘And hada healthy appetite (That is, as long as she was fed Soft and squishy homemade bread.) Poor Mrs. Peters got no rest But still she did her very best. She'd take the flour from the shelf And mutter feebly to herself, "What a fussy bunch of eaters Are all my lovely little Peters.”A year rolled by. The children grew. “They really are a splendid crew,” Sighed Mrs, Peters, pinning pins And diapering her brand-new twins: Little sisters, quick and smart, Impossible to tell apart; But Flo liked poached eggs, Fran liked fried If she mixed them up, they cried. Tired to the very bone, Mrs. Peters groaned a groan She'd take the eggs down from the shelf And whisper weakly to herself, "What persnickety young eaters Are all my seven little Peters.”Now time went by as time will do, And as it passed, the children grew. The problem was that as they grew, Their appetites kept growing, too! But not their choice of what to eat Each child continued to repeat ‘They wanted what they'd had before—The trouble was They wanted more!Creamy oatmeal, pots of it! Homemade bread and lots of it! Peeling apples by the peck : Mrs. Peters was a wreck.She wiped her brow and heaved a sigh; Another year was passing by. In fact, she realized with sorrow, Her birthday would arrive tomorrow! Drearily she shook her head ‘And wearily went up to bed.She thought the children had forgot Her special day—but they had not! At crack of dawn they all began To carry out their secret plan. Mrs. Peters would be fed A birthday breakfast in her bed! A breakfast made of all the foods That kept them in such happy moodsSo while their weary mother slept, Down the stairs the children crept; And from the cupboards and the shelves Happily they helped themselves.Cheerfully they chopped and stirred, Preparing what they each preferred But despite the pains they took, Since nobody knew how to cook To measure things or make them hot— The more they tried, the worse it got!First Mac’ oatmeal turned out lumpy Which made poor Mac turn grim and grumpy. In fact, the lumps got him so cross, He dumped them in Jack’ applesauce. This bothered Jack so much he threw It in the dough of Mary Lou Who tossed the mishmash that that made Straight into Lucy's lemonade;And that put herin such a huff She poured the icky sticky stuff Into the double frying pan That held the eggs of Flo and Fran Who flung the hodgepodge on the spot Into the milk in Peter's pot!But when they saw what they had done, ‘They wished they never had begun ‘They'd hardly slept a wink that night And still things hadn't turned out right. And even though they'd tried their best, It hadn't worked They were depressed, They'd be in trouble, too, unless They found someplace to hide the mess. The oven seemed the perfect spot. (They all forgot it still was hot.) They stuck the pot inside and then They all went back to bed again.The clock struck six but on they slept. Meanwhile their mother softly stepped Down to the kitchen, smelled a smell. What could it be? She could not tell. It smelled so good. She sniffed some more And opened up the oven door. She woke the children with her cries. ‘They all came running in surprise, And in the kitchen what they found Was Mrs. Peters dancing round! And in the oven, no mistake, A pink and plump and perfect cake!And as their mother danced with glee, She cried, “A birthday cake for me? A birthday cake still piping hot? To think | thought that you forgot! Now tell me please, how did you make This pink and plump and perfect cake, So high and light and smooth as silk?“Its smooth as silk from all my milk," Said Peter. Lucy said, “It's pink From all my lemonade, | think.” “And from my apples,” added Jack. “My oatmeal made it soft," said Mac. "My bread dough, too,” said Mary Lou. Said Fran and Flo, “As for its size, It was our eggs that made it rise.” Then everybody sniffed some more, And danced around the kitchen floor!They put the cake upon a dish And lit the candles, “Make a wish,” The children cried, "before you blow!” And Mrs, Peters did just so. And what is more, her wish came true, As birthday wishes always doAnd from that day to this, 'tis said, The Peters family all is fed A single simple meal—just one— ‘A meal that’s good for everyone, A meal on which they all agree, Made from their secret recipe. They all take turns in mixing it. They all take turns in fixing it Its thick to beat and quick to bake— Its fine to eat and fun to make—Its Mrs. Peters’ birthday cake!South San Francisco Public Library MARY ANN HOBERMAN has published more than twenty books for children, including the popular A House Isa House for Me, illustrated by Betty Fraser, which won an ‘American Book Award. Hler most recent book for Browndeer Press is The Cozy Book (1995), also illustrated by Betty Fraser. She and her husband, Norman, live in Greenwich, Connecticut, and are the parents of four grown children MARLA FRAZEE was born in Los Angeles and ‘graduated from Art Center College of Design : in Pasadena, California, where she now teaches. She has created art for toys, games, and educational projects and isthe illustrator of That Kookoory! by Margaret Walden Froehlich (Browndeer Press, 1995), which was an ALA Notable Book. Ms. Frazee lives with her husband and three young sons in Pasadena. Rerorerd vade ning Jacke itr omyight © 1997 by Maa FaceRiis oir Lita Gut seo, chen san ting oak fortoys ir Go)