I witnessed something amazing tonight. When you wait for something for a long time and it happens gradually, right under your nose, sometimes you don't expect to be hit smack in the face with the wonder of it.
After a busy day, with The Boy's last day of--gulp--kindergarten, an early morning run to Fred Meyer for emergency rubber chickens for Pat's Field Day, coffee/cocoa with Bitty Girl, end-of-school lunch at McDonald's (I know, don't judge me, it's what he chose), and the afternoon at Field Day, I did not have high hopes for the evening. Pat was gone at his staff party, and somehow I managed to get dinner on the table and The Boy showered.
The promise of stories in Mommy's bed found them both under the covers with their book choices. I wish I had a picture - it was beautiful.
The Boy picked up a book from my nightstand and... (wait for it)
started to read it out loud. It was Little Oink, a gift from Auntie Emmy, and he's heard it a few times before. And I knew he could read. He's been reading for months, in bits and pieces, various words on the page or little beginning reader books from his book bag at school.
But as I stood across the room watching him, so confidently reading the words, stopping only occasionally to spell one for me to help him, I could see it happening, the neurons and synapses firing with connections. He didn't give up like he often does, and this book has words like "savored" and "relished". His eyes lit up when he started to spell "because" and then realized he knew it!
HE CAN READ!
I have so many fantastic memories of reading and stories and being curled up with a book. And while this enthusiastic bundle of boy has so many of my characteristics, I often find myself "not getting him." So watching him read a book with delight filled me with joy and familiarity and such a grown-up sense of connection.
Way to go, my boy. You have so much ahead of you, and we are excited to be along for the ride.
And while it may be more "Captain Underpants" and Batman comic books than Little House on the Prairie or Boxcar Children, the light in your eyes is something I understand.
Except when you're laughing at the poop jokes. That part, only your father understands. Thank goodness you have each other.