Ramona and Her Mother by Beverly Cleary Read Free Book Online Page B

was silent awhile. “They could have been joking,” she said. “Sort of.”
    â€œBut Mother hit Daddy,” Ramona pointed out. “On the seat of his pants with a pancake turner.”
    â€œI don’t think that’s the same as if she had hit him with something hard,” said Beezus. “After all, she didn’t really hurt him.”
    Ramona tried to find a bright side. “And he didn’t hit her back,” she said. “But if they loved us, they wouldn’t fight.” She silently said her prayers, ending with, “Please, please don’t let Mother and Daddy fight.”
    From the kitchen came a whiff of the stew that would simmer through the night for their supper the next evening. Soothed by the homey fragrance, the sisters fell asleep.
    In the morning, a few seconds after she awoke and found herself in her sister’s bed, a dull, unhappy feeling settled over Ramona. Her parents had quarreled. She dreaded facing them at breakfast. She did not know what to say to them. Beezus looked unhappy, too. Getting dressed took longer than usual, and when they finally went into the kitchen, they were surprised to see their parents sharing the morning paper as they ate breakfast together.
    â€œGood morning, girls,” said Mr. Quimby with his usual cheerfulness.
    â€œThere is oatmeal on the stove.” Mrs. Quimby smiled fondly at her daughters. “Did you sleep well?”
    Beezus was suddenly angry. “No, we didn’t!”
    â€œNo, we didn’t,” echoed Ramona, encouraged by her sister’s anger. How could her mother expect them to sleep well when they were so worried?
    Startled, both parents laid down the newspaper.
    â€œAnd it’s all your fault,” Beezus informed them.
    â€œWhat on earth are you talking about?” asked Mrs. Quimby.
    Beezus was near tears. “Your big fight, that’s what.”
    Ramona blinked back tears, too. “You wouldn’t even talk to each other. And you hit Daddy!”
    â€œOf course we were speaking,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Where did you get the idea we weren’t? We were just tired is all. We had one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong.”
    So did I, thought Ramona.
    â€œI went to bed and read,” continued Mrs. Quimby, “and your father watched television. That was all there was to it.”
    Ramona felt almost limp with relief. At the same time she was angry with her parents for causing so much worry. “Grown-ups aren’t supposed to fight,” she informed them.
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sake,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Why not?”
    Ramona was stern. “Grown-ups are supposed to be perfect.”
    Both her parents laughed. “Well, they are,” Ramona insisted, annoyed by their laughter.
    â€œName one perfect grown-up,” challenged Mr. Quimby. “You can’t do it.”
    â€œHaven’t you noticed grown-ups aren’t perfect?” asked Mrs. Quimby. “Especially when they’re tired.”
    â€œThen how come you expect us kids to be so perfect all the time?” demanded Ramona.
    â€œGood question,” said Mr. Quimby. “I’ll have to think of an answer.”
    â€œWe want you to be perfect so you won’t grow up to bicker about your grandmothers and their pancakes,” said Mrs. Quimby. Both parents thought her reply was funny.
    Ramona felt the way Picky-picky looked when someone rumpled his fur. Maybe grown-ups weren’t perfect, but they should be, her parents most of all. They should be cheerful, patient, loving, never sick and never tired. And fun, too.
    â€œYou kids fight,” said Mr. Quimby. “Why shouldn’t we?”
    â€œIt isn’t dignified,” said Beezus, giving Ramona another word to add to her list. “Especially when you hit someone with a pancake turner.”
    â€œOh, you silly little girls,” said Mrs. Quimby with amusement and