When I was eight, I found a cherished friend in the pages of a book: Ramona Quimby. Through the ups and downs of school life, her playful spirit was my constant companion, a source of laughter and comfort amidst the ever-changing faces around me. With frequent moves during my childhood, Ramona’s antics were a delightful escape and a reminder that I wasn’t alone. I often envisioned her home on Klickitat Street, filled with mismatched furniture, cozy braided rugs, and a hint of chicken noodle soup wafting through the air. The warmth of the Quimby family enveloped me, and I felt lucky to be a part of their world.
The adventures of Ramona and her sister Beezus resonated deeply with me. Ramona’s curious nature and tendency to get into amusing predicaments mirrored my own childhood experiences. As the oldest of two brothers, I relished imagining what it might be like to be the little sister with a spunky pixie cut. I developed a fondness for the Quimbys, and even today, I smile whenever I spot Beverly Cleary’s books in my local bookstore, grateful for the vibrant universe she created for readers like me.
Fast forward to September 2005, when my daughter entered my life, filling an unexpected void in my heart. While many mothers might hesitate to admit they hoped for a specific gender, I can confess that hearing the ultrasound technician declare we were having a girl filled me with joy. Leading up to her arrival, I had even collected a set of Ramona books, eager to introduce her to that world when the time was right.
As the years passed, it dawned on me that I had been blessed with my very own Ramona. My daughter, petite and lively, sported a chin-length pixie cut as a toddler to highlight her expressive face. From an early age, she had strong opinions and an eclectic sense of style, often pairing rain boots with dresses and accessorizing her overalls with colorful necklaces. Her cheeks were frequently smudged with dirt after a day of playing outside, and her impractical party dresses often bore the marks of her adventurous spirit.
She mispronounced words in the most delightful ways and had an imagination that could rival Disney’s creativity. She crafted enchanting worlds with her stuffed animals and devised intricate games, reminiscent of Ramona and Howie’s “Brick Factory.” My daughter was a natural worrier, often blowing minor concerns out of proportion, much like Ramona’s fears of the hole in the wall. For instance, she avoided the basement at all costs, inventing excuses to stay away.
One memorable afternoon, when my daughter was three and supposed to be napping, I discovered her in the bathroom, excitedly showcasing her “artwork” created with a tube of toothpaste. I could barely contain my laughter as she explained, with her heart-shaped face, that “the toothpaste made her do it.” It reminded me of Mrs. Quimby finding Ramona in a similar situation. However, my amusement quickly turned to the reality of cleaning up the mess. Unlike Mrs. Quimby, I was not blessed with endless patience.
Raising my own Ramona has been a joyous journey, and I cherish every moment. Now ten, my daughter continues to bring laughter and delight into my life. It’s a pleasure to see her running across the yard in sunglasses and a cape, chasing her brother with unrestrained glee. I’m thrilled that she now shares my love for Klickitat Street and reads the Ramona books with the same wonder I once did. Just the other day, she reminded me to double-check that the crockpot was turned on before leaving for school, fearing our family might have “The Big Fight,” just like the Quimbys did when Mrs. Quimby forgot the crockpot. I reassured her that even if I had forgotten, it would have led to a tasty burger, just like Ramona’s adventure.
Becoming a parent can often leave you wondering if you’ll connect with your children, especially as they enter their tween years. However, Ramona and her world have become a bridge for us, creating a space where we can explore and share. When my daughter is feeling down, she often retreats into Ramona’s universe for comfort. “Ramona did that too!” she gleefully exclaims when she identifies with an experience from the books. And as we prepare to welcome a new puppy this summer, she’s already chosen the perfect name: Picky Picky.
Ramona Quimby is playing a vital role in guiding me as I raise my daughter, chapter by chapter. Thirty years later, she reminds me to embrace my own spunky spirit. Watching my daughter form a bond with Ramona fills me with excitement and happiness, because that’s what best friends do.
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In summary, my journey of raising my daughter has mirrored the adventures of Ramona Quimby. Through laughter, imagination, and shared experiences, we navigate life together, celebrating the unique bond we share.
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