A short story
MY NAME IS SIMON. I am eight years old, almost nine. I had the worst first day of school ever.
My two best friends are Jonah Jason and Arthur. (Jonah Jason is actually his first name, not his first and last name, by the way.) Our Grade 3 . . .
A holiday story
Fuzzy Bunny was very excited to open his gifts on Christmas morning. Every day in December, he counted how many days were left until the BIG day. He wished very hard for an iPod, so he could play all his favourite games without having to share with his brother, Fuzzy Hoppy.
It was Christmas Eve. Fuzzy Dad worried about paying the . . .
It takes a child to make the man
land on our noses.
Slide down the hill,
check out our poses!
Wiping out in the mud,
Ribbon Bear laughs
at J's mouthful of slop
and S's tumbling flop.
Let's do it again!
all three of them yell,
it's obvious to tell
laughter and friendship
are innate and true
and watching these
. . .
The critters are unsightly, but not a health hazard
Our family dealt with head lice for the first time, back in March. Lice are unsightly but don't carry disease. Other than a bit of scratching, they're harmless and don't pose a health hazard. But there is a stigma attached to them.
When we found the critters in our sons' hair, I admittedly was digusted.
I did a lot of . . .
How a bunny learned to like apples more than carrots
Fuzzy Bunny was not a bear.
He was a rabbit. He did have hair.
He did not like carrots as much as you'd think.
Oh, sure he liked them, but what he loved, were Winter Apples.
His friend, S, led Fuzzy out to the yard. They came across an apple tree. Not just any apple tree, but a crabapple tree.
"Do you want to try a . . .
Ode to a stuffed animal
When my kids were in kindergarten, students took turns bringing home a stuffed animal from class. Parents contributed to a journal, detailing activities their families would participate in with the "stuffy." Below is a poem from that journal.
Ribbon Bear's Excellent Kindergarten Adventure
There is a bear
who . . .
A story by youngest, as told to Dad
"Hey," I told youngest, aged 6 at the time, "we haven't written a story in a while."
"I know," he replied.
"Do you want to?"
"Aw, come on—it'll be fun. I'll write the first paragraph and you can finish."
"Okay," he mumbled, humouring me.
"Alright, let's do this!" I said, and began the . . .
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