I picked Katie up at school the other day, and she had a picture she had colored that she was so proud of. It was a butterfly, and she had scribbled black all over it. She thought it was a great joke that she had made a butterfly that was not pretty at all. But I was too distracted by the upper right had corner to really notice it all that much. Because, in the upper right hand corner, there was this:
She did it all by herself, and has repeated it many times since then. When we were out for dinner for Maggie’s birthday, she even wrote Daddy on the table, although she needed some help with the spelling and some reminders about what a D looks like. But she is writing. It is hard to believe that true literacy for both my girls, while still somewhat far away, is no longer something that exists solely in the hazy, distant and faraway future. It can feel that it will be here before I know it. And probably before I am ready for it.
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