Greeny Greenleaf Says, “The Best Gift Ever Is in My Bathtub.”

Pamela Blackmore Collins

Description

This book for young readers follows Greeny who asks for an unusual gift to celebrate his ninth birthday, and he receives an unexpected miracle.
Greeny is halfway to being an adult, celebrating his ninth birthday soon, and he just doesn’t want to grow up. But he doesn’t want to be a baby anymore, so he asks his parents for a birthday gift of walking home from school alone.
His mom and dad told him he needed to be ten for that privilege, but Greeny convinces them he can handle it. This unusual gift becomes much more than Greeny ever expected and it changes his mind about everything.
This book for young readers shares a funny, joyful story of a young boy’s journey to growing up and finding God by experiencing a miracle along the way.

Sujets

• 6-12 ans
• Toute la fiction jeunesse
• Religion
• Christianisme
• Early Readers
• Religious
• Juvenile Nonfiction
• Philosophie et théologie
• God
• Christian

Informations

• Publié par: WestBow Press
• Date de parution: 19 février 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781664292260
• Langue: English

Extrait

Greeny Greenleaf Says, “The Best Gift Ever is in My Bathtub.”






Pamela Blackmore Collins










Copyright © 2023 Pamela Blackmore Collins.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.



WestBow Press
A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.westbowpress.com
844-714-3454

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-9225-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6642-9226-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023902871



WestBow Press rev. date: 02/15/2023



Contents
Chapter 1 A Pickle of a Mess!
Chapter 2 Half a Kid
Chapter 3 No Surprise Birthday Gift, Please!
Chapter 4 D-Day!
Chapter 5 Piece of Cake
Chapter 6 Big Trouble on Day Six
Chapter 7 Best Laid Plans
Chapter 8 Is God in on This?
Chapter 9 Goodbye Slick
Chapter 10 Best Surprise Birthday Gift Ever
Chapter 11 Growing Up Isn’t Too Bad

About the Author






CHAPTER 1
A Pickle of a Mess!
I pushed it over, and it did a belly flop in my bathtub full of water. It was splashing wildly, getting me and the floor soaking wet. I think that means it loves it. Silly thought—of course it loves water.
“How did you get here?” I asked.
Did I really expect it to answer me? Maybe. It appeared out of nowhere, so why wouldn’t it talk? How could this have happened to me? How did I end up in this pickle of a mess? Well, here’s how it all started.
I was excited about my birthday coming up, but I didn’t need any reminders that I was getting older. You see, I didn’t want to be a grown-up, simple as that. My teacher, Mrs. Thornton, loved the you’re-getting-older stuff. She made us pick two traits to describe ourselves off a list she gave us. These assignments were unnecessary. We were only in the third grade, and we didn’t think about traits. Trains we thought about. Traits? No thoughts. Nada.
She meant well, but it was the last assignment before recess.
I lived for recess. It was like when I smelled my mom cooking a dinner I loved (spaghetti was my favorite) and I got so hungry I couldn’t think of anything else. The clock was my smell for recess. I had to give her something, so I looked at my cheat sheet and blurted out that I was trustworthy and reliable. Lucky for me, the bell rang and class was over. No having to explain my answers—yay.
I couldn’t wait to see Lucas, my best friend and fellow Secret Recess Club member. We were the only two members, and that’s how we liked it. No snoopy kids getting mad or tattling or acting goofy. Definitely no girls.
We also didn’t let bullies like Nate, who was in my class, in our club. He was my never-in-a-million-years friend. No one liked him, except for the other bullies. Today was about the most important topic: my birthday. Things got worse when Lucas got me all worked up about my birthday.
I spotted Lucas over in Mrs. Grant’s class line. Lucas had a big head. Not in the conceited bighead kind of way. He really had a gigantic head. He was easy to spot in the recess waiting area because his big head bobbed way above the others. Lucas was tall like his father, who I thought might be a giant.
“It’s in the jeans,” my father told me.
How could what he wears have anything to do with it? Weird.
“He takes after his father.”
Ah, now I understand—sorta.
I gave Lucas our usual Secret Recess Club signal: eye contact and an ear tug. Clever, huh? The wave of the teacher’s hand, like the gate opening at the horse races, and we were off. We ran like wild horses, trying not to crash into anyone, especially the recess teachers, until we got to the gym bars. Knocking over a recess teacher would get you sent to the principal’s office. Really bad. We swung our legs over the bar and hung upside down. This was how we started our meetings.
I waited until Lucas turned pink and told him, “I turn nine on Sunday.”
Lucas had red hair and freckles and what my mother called a “ruddy” skin color, so I knew when he turned pink the blood had rushed to his head. They say letting the blood rush to your head is good for your brain. It makes you think better. That’s a fact, I believe.
“That’s half-way to being a grown-up.” Lucas snickered.
Half-way to grown up ? “What does that mean?”
“Nine plus nine makes eighteen.” Lucas flipped off the gym bar with a huff and a thud and fell on his knees. We were face-to-face, upside down, right side up. “My sister turned eighteen last week, and my mom and dad told her she was grown now and to start acting like an adult. She was in trouble.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. I don’t remember when I was a tiny kid so those years don’t count!”
I was madder than a wet hen. My grandma always said that when she was mad. I asked her once—after she calmed down, of course—what being mad as a wet hen meant. I saw her searching her brain with her finger on her jaw and a lopsided mouth.
She’d said, “Oh, wonderful story. In the old days, farmers used to dunk their hens in a tub of cold water so they wouldn’t sit on their eggs. The hens got furious because they couldn’t stand getting wet.”
She told me this like it was an exciting story, with a screechy voice and waving hands. Yawn. The old days seemed pretty boring in the nowadays. My grandma was from the old days, so no wonder she thought it was interesting.
I flipped off the bar like a gymnast at the gymnastics show, landed smack dab on my feet, and raised my arms.