Ramona and Her Mother
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Ramona Quimby is no longer seven, but not quite eight. She's "seven and a half right now," if you ask her! Not allowed to stay home alone, yet old enough to watch pesky Willa Jean, Ramona wonders when her mother will treat her like her older, more mature sister, Beezus.
But with her parents' unsettling quarrels and some spelling trouble at school, Ramona wonders if growing up is all it's cracked up to be. No matter what, she'll always be her mother's little girl…right? This warm-hearted story of a mother's love for her spirited young daughter is told beautifully by Newbery Medal winning author Beverly Cleary.
Supports the Common Core State Standards
few leaves to put in with them.” “Very useful,” said Mr. Quimby. The hint of sarcasm in his voice must have annoyed Mrs. Quimby because she said, “My grandmother didn’t have much money, but she had a sense of beauty.” The drop of water she flicked on the griddle refused to dance. “No matter how much my grandmother had to scrimp and pinch to make ends meet,” said Mr. Quimby, “she always managed to find money to buy paper for me to draw on.” Scrimp and pinch to make ends meet, thought Ramona,
shopping center and parked near Robert’s School of Hair Design, the three Quimbys splashed through the rain. Ramona, who had quickly recovered when the car stopped, found a certain grim pleasure in stomping in puddles with her boots. After the cold, the air inside the beauty school seemed too warm and too fragrant. Pee-you, thought Ramona as she listened to running water, snipping scissors, and the hushed roar of hair dryers. A man, probably Robert himself, asked, “What can I do to help you
asked the teacher. Ramona looked up into Mrs. Rudge’s brown eyes, then down at the floor, shook her head, and looked up at Mrs. Rudge once more. Her teacher seemed so kind, so soft and plump, that Ramona longed to lean against her and tell her all her troubles, how hot she was and how no one ever said she was her mother’s girl and how she wanted her mother to love her like a little rabbit and how somehow all these feelings had led to pretending to be a fireman. “I can keep a secret,” said Mrs.
Rudge. “I promise.” This encouragement was all Ramona needed. “I—I’m too warm,” she confessed. “I’ve got my pajamas on.” Please, please, Mrs. Rudge, don’t make me tell why, she prayed, because now that she had confessed she felt that wearing pajamas to school was a silly thing to do. A second grader pretending to be a fireman—it was the dumbest thing she had ever imagined. “Why, that’s no problem,” said Mrs. Rudge. “Just go to the girls’ bathroom and take off your pajamas.” She reached into a
way Beezus suggested.” “I won’t either get over it!” Nobody had to tell Ramona that life was full of disappointments. She already knew. She was disappointed almost every evening because she had to go to bed at eight-thirty and never got to see the end of the eight o’clock movie on television. She had seen many beginnings but no endings. And even though she had outgrown her tricycle, she was still disappointed because she never could find a tricycle license plate with her name printed on it.