Ramona Forever

Now we lay Picky-picky down to sleep. We pray thee, Lord, his soul to keep. Thy love stay with him through the night and wake him with the morning light.

We can't always do what we want in life," answered her father, "so we do the best we can.

Until this minute she had thought all adults were supposed to like all children. She understood by now misunderstandings were to be expected- she had had several with teachers - and often children and grown-ups did not agree, but things somehow worked out. For a grown-up to actually dislike a child and try to shame her, she was sure had to be wrong, very, very wrong.

Nothing in the world was worse than unhappy parents. Nothing. When parents were unhappy, the whole world seemed to go wrong.

It isn't fair, Ramona told herself, even though grown-ups were always telling her life was not fair. It wasn't fair that life was not fair.

Swell, just swell,” muttered Howie. “Twenty-nine kids laughing at me in girls’ socks carrying a stupid little pillow.

No,” said Ramona. “He’s the kind of grown-up who teases children and thinks he’s funny.

bags and boxes across the hot parking lot to the van. On the way back to the mall, Willa Jean, who spotted the ice-cream store that sold fifty-two flavors, told her uncle she needed an ice-cream cone. Uncle Hobart agreed that ice-cream cones were needed by all. Inside the busy shop, customers had to take numbers and wait turns. Ramona, responsible for Willa Jean, who could not read, was faced with the embarrassing task of reading aloud the list of fifty-two flavors while all the customers listened. “Strawberry, German chocolate, vanilla, ginger-peachy, red-white-and-blueberry, black walnut, Mississippi mud, green bubble gum, baseball nut.

Here comes the bride, Fair, fat, and wide. Here comes the groom, Skinny as a broom. Here comes the usher, The old toilet-flusher.

Mrs. Quimby pushed her chair farther from the table and glanced at her watch. All eyes were on her. “Shall I call the doctor?” asked Mr. Quimby. “Please,” said Mrs. Quimby as she rose from the table, hugged Algie, and breathed, “Oo-oo.

Mrs. Quimby nibbled at her salad and glanced at her watch.

Ramona did not know what to say. She did not feel words like darling or adorable fitted this baby.

There was nothing more to say. Her happy plan had come to nothing.

Mrs. Quimby had heard. “Ramona, do you want to go to your room?

Girls, I really don’t have time to play guessing games.

What will we bury him in?” she asked, struggling with another shovelful of wet dirt.

and we could see how it works out.

carpet tickling the bottoms of their feet and their nosegays