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Description.

Ever J

 

EVER Jeremiah

                                                  

 

Written by Nana, Debbie Wheeland

2913 words                                                                                      

 

Hi, my name is Ever and I am l8 months old. I don’t say much but I understand a lot! My very favorite word is Ya. 

 

Mommy was surprised when she found out I was going to come into the world. All the other kids were planned and they are all around two years apart. I decided to make my arrival and they couldn’t be happier. I have 2 older brothers and one older sister, Ellie is the oldest she is l0. Next is Ezra who is 8, and then there’s Emory, he is 5. They all take good care of me and are old enough to play with me. My brothers and sister kiss me frequently in fact they do it so much my cheeks are often bright pink from all their kisses. They walk by me and pat my head or talk to me or offer to play with me; I am never ignored!  I am so excited to be the baby of the family. I get lots of attention, and I love it! 

 

I watch everything that is going on around me. I love all the excitement and chaos from having so many siblings. They all love me and find ways to keep me amused. They make funny faces and I copy them. Sometimes they wave their arms and kick out their feet at the same time, I can do that too. My sister likes to play dress up and picks out different outfits for me. She puts ribbons, bows and hats on my head. Of course, I quickly rip them off after the pictures are taken. I also like trying on my sibling’s shoes and walking around in them, but it can be quite a challenge! 

 

They love to watch me act silly and they always want me to repeat things. I hear them yelling, “Mommy, Daddy, come look at what Ever just did!” I usually repeat my silly actions because I know they love watching me perform. I will do anything as long as it gets me a good laugh, a clap, a hug, a smile, a kind word and lots of tickles and kisses! 

 

When I want to be picked up I go to Ellie she always picks me up. Often times when I’m tired I will nestle my head against her neck and shove my two fingers in my mouth. She makes me feel safe. I’m very content!

 

All my siblings love to play with me, most of the time they drop whatever they are doing and pick me up, sing to me, bounce me on their knee, try and dance with me, hand me Legos so I can help them build something, read to me or wrestle with me. I really enjoy it when they chase me in the house. We go around and around in a circle, from the living room through the office past the dining room and back into the living room.

My Sister Was a Badass First Grader

My Sister Was a Badass First Grader by Jesseca P. Timmons

On the first day of first grade, my mom waited at the end of the driveway with my twin sister and me, took pictures, and waved us off with a very big smile on her face when the bus came (she already had her tennis skirt on). My sister and I climbed onto the bus and sat together. There was no one else on the bus, as we were the first stop. A mile or so down the road, some older girls—third graders!—got on, and immediately started to make fun of us for sitting together! Apparently, this was not cool. We had just doomed our entire bus experience! Unbeknownst to us, firs- time bus riders, siblings were not supposed to acknowledge each other on the bus, unless by throwing things—let alone sit together.

To our great shock and horror, our very first bus ride turned into 45 minutes of hair pulling, poking, pinching, and insults to our choice of lunch boxes —“Holly Hobbie stinks!” —and, despite the fact that we were huddled miserably in the seat just trying to be invisible, and not exhibiting any signs of an inflated ego—we got hit with the ultimate insult among grade school girls: “You guys think you’re so great!” We had never even met these girls before! We were terrified! We definitely did not think we were great!

All that week, my twin and I stood dejectedly at the bus stop, dreading the daily 45-minute barrage of harassment. The torture showed no signs of slowing: sitting apart didn’t help; we were already pegged as fair game abuse (“Oh, now they’re trying to sit apart!”). After that first morning, our mom did not even walk up the driveway with us—she had no idea we how much we hated the bus. This was the 70’s: if we told Mom we hated the bus, we knew what she would say: “Don’t be silly, girls. You’ll be just fine!”

After several weeks of increasingly horrible bus rides—one time, Mom had to cut gum out of my hair, which I vaguely explained away —my sister said, “We could walk to school.”

It was less than a mile, all downhill.

I said, “We can’t. Mom would be mad.”

My sister said, “We can. Mom won’t find out.”

I considered, looking away down the road toward the center of town. The tree limbs seemed to part, sun shining through, birds and squirrels frolicking. Walk to school, the forest seemed to say! Set yourselves free!

“What about the bus?” I said. “They’ll see us and she’ll stop and make us get on.”

“We’ll hide,” my sister said.

It was decided. Giddy with relief, we glanced over our shoulders—no sign of Mom!—picked up our hand-sewn book bags and our Holly Hobbie lunch boxes, and headed down the road toward the school. When the yellow bus came roaring up the hill a few minutes later, we dove into the woods and hid behind a stone wall until the coast was clear.