With the exceptions of reviews of movies we've been watching together, I haven't had a post about my daughter here for a while. So, let's change that.
We're a family of readers. Jen has always loved reading, and so have I. My mom used to punish me by making me go outside without a book. (And now my daughter begs me to play tag with her outside, so I suppose I'm never going to escape being forced outside against my will.)
I've written before that learning how to read was one of the last completely new things that she's going to learn and everything that comes after this is going to be a refinement or a new application of stuff she already knows.
She's a voracious reader. She reads the jokes on the milk cartons to her friends at school, because they can't read yet. She reads so well that I can't take her into Spencer's Gifts. Give her a book and she's content for a car ride and quiet enough that we'll forget she's there.
One day this week, when I was getting ready for my morning shower, Lily knocked on the bathroom door. I opened it and she looked so scared. I kneeled down to her level and asked, "What's wrong?"
She bit back her tears and said "I was reading the book from the library and I was trying to be very careful, but the bottom of the page ripped when I turned the page."
I gave her a big hug and said, "It's okay. It was an accident and you're being very brave in telling me. We'll write a note to the librarian and explain it was an accident. If the librarian is upset, you tell her to talk to mommy and daddy because we'll always stand up with you when you do the right thing."
And Lily is like me in that the absolute worst thing in the world is someone being mad at you. And she knew she could have gotten away with it if she didn't mention it. And she was really scared to tell me. But she did.
We knew we were raising a smart kid. I'm glad we're raising a brave one. And a good one.