Hello Dad!

I'm writing this while we're waiting at the airport. We still have half an hour until our flight starts boarding. I'm sorry that you're home alone. At least, you have Astrid for company. I wish you were with us. I'll keep you posted on our adventures!

Your Daughter,

Shanny

Three weeks after the sad news about Cousin Saskia, we were on our way to Amsterdam. Mom and Dad spent most of the prior weeks arguing about Verbruggenhuis (in Dutch, that means "Verbruggen house"). Actually, Mom and Dad fight a lot anyway, but the house issue amplified it. Dad wants to sell the house and put the money away for our college educations. Mom wants to keep the house. The Verbruggens are the only family that has ever lived in it. Mom says selling would be a betrayal to her ancestors. There's a lot of history and memories tied up in that house. Dad doesn't seem to realize that. All he can see is the expense of a second home. Not just any home, but one in another country.

I'm trying to remain neutral. Mom has a point, but so does Dad. Our family may be well-off financially, but we're not made of money. If we decide not to rent the house out, then someone would have to periodically check on it. Plus, we don't know the current condition of the house. Saskia never married or had children and her parents died years ago. She was alone for a long time. The house might need repairs, or even renovations.

That's why we're taking the trip to Amsterdam - to assess the condition of the house. Also, so Mom can say a final goodbye to Saskia. Mom took two weeks off from work (she works three mornings a week at a store downtown). Dad refused to take the time off. He's a very important and successful lawyer. He wouldn't even leave work for a few days. Mom and Dad fought over that, too. How can Dad make an informed decision about the house if he never sees it?

My sisters and I don't have to worry about missing school since it's the middle of summer vacation. And, guess what? We won't be traveling alone. That is, it's not just the Kilbourne family going to Amsterdam. Mom said we could each invite a friend. Of course, I invited my long-time best friend, Greer Carson (the fast stats of Greer: gorgeous, dramatic, outspoken, and extremely fashion conscious). Mrs. Carson decided to make the trip, too. (She and Mom are close friends). Maria brought along Amanda Delaney, who's also eight. The Delaney family lived next door to us for years, but recently moved to Baltimore. Amanda is known for being spoiled and bossy, but she and Maria get along great (most of the time). I think it helps that Maria's so easy-going. She and Amanda balance each other out. Tiffany declined to invite a friend. I'm sorry to say this, but Tiffany's sort of the black sheep of the family. She doesn't do well in school or excel at sports or make friends easily. Mostly, she wants to be left alone in her garden.

So, that sounds like a diverse group, right? But wait, here's where it gets kind of crazy. Last week, Kristy Thomas (president of the Baby-Sitters Club, remember?) was hanging out at my house. We were baking peanut butter cookies when Mom came home from work. She told Kristy all about Amsterdam - the canals, the museums, the shops - and Kristy thought it sounded terrific. So, Mom invited her along! Not only that, Mom said the entire BSC could come!

That's seven girls - Kristy, Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, Mary Anne Spier, Abby Stevenson, Mallory Pike, and Jessi Ramsey. Plus, Mary Anne's stepsister, Dawn Schafer, who is visiting from California. Plus, Abby's twin sister, Anna (it didn't seem right to leave her out). All their parents finally said yes. Mary Anne and Jessi's parents held out the longest. Mary Anne's because her dad is creepily overprotective. Jessi's because she's only eleven (and she's black).

There's a rumor going around that Mallory Pike's parents sold one of the triplets to pay for her plane ticket. At first, I laughed it off as absurd, but I swear I only saw two of the triplets when we picked Mallory up for the airport. The Pikes must really want Mallory out of the country.

We had to take three cars to the airport. Since we left on a Saturday, Kristy's parents and Stacey's mom offered to drive us. (Dad went out of town on business. Another thing for my parents to fight about). We had to drive into New York to catch our flight with Dam Airways. I rode in Mrs. Brewer's station wagon with Tiffany, Maria, Greer, and Dawn. That was a mistake.

First, Dawn lectured us on airline safety and protocol. Apparently, she's an expert since she flies back and forth between Connecticut and California so often. In the middle of Dawn's instructions on the best time to use that airplane's restrooms, I noticed Greer's eyes starting to glaze over. Finally, Dawn concluded her speech with a sigh. "My life is so complicated," she said. "Sometimes, it feels like I live on an airplane. Consider yourselves lucky, girls, that your lives aren't as stressful as mine."

Greer rolled her eyes at me. I almost pointed out to Dawn that she wouldn't fly so much if she'd decide once and for all what state to live in. But then, I don't know her too well and thought it best not to upset her. I actually didn't have a chance to say anything anyway. At that moment, Dawn spotted Greer's brown leather backpack and became hysterical.

"Murderer!" shrieked Dawn.

"Huh?" replied Greer.

"That," Dawn pointed at the backpack, "was a living, breathing, beautiful creature."

I decided not to get involved. Very cowardly, I know. Instead, I looked out the window, pretending to be fascinated by the passing cars.

"How does it feel to have dried animal skin strapped to your back?" demanded Dawn.

"Quite smooth and light, actually," Greer said, coolly, refusing to look at Dawn.

"You're disgusting,"

"You're obnoxious,"

"Cow killer!"

"Cow lover!"

"Girls!" Mrs. Brewer shouted. "Don't make me pull over and separate you!"

Greer, Dawn, and I blushed bright pink. How embarrassing! We're supposed to be mature, responsible baby-sitters. Instead, we were acting like rude, rotten children. Or, at least Dawn and Greer were. I did nothing to stop them though. It was as much my fault as theirs. In the front seat, Tiffany and Maria giggled. Greer and Dawn folded their arms and pouted the rest of the way.

Maybe I should have told Dawn the backpack's pleather.