My mind – which has benefited from three consecutive nights of unbroken sleep, thanks to the incredible success (knocking on wood or wood byproducts) of Operation Get Genevieve to Sleep Without Crying – is nonetheless utterly blown right now by three consecutive days of Julia-related accomplishments.
On Saturday, she picked up a random magazine I’d been reading and started sounding out the words, doing the halting one-letter-and-sound-at-a-time thing that leads, more or less slowly, to whole words. I was astounded, and told her so. “Oh,” she said, casually. “I do this when I read in my mind all the time.” I don’t know if she’s telling god’s honest truth here, but I am inclined to believe that she is indeed at least beginning to read – not just recite – to herself. Testing her at various points that day and on Sunday with things I knew she wouldn’t have had read to her (signs outside, for instance), she batted about .600, which is pretty good.
Sunday, we hit Northfield’s best park. I had to spend most of my energy helping Vivi, which meant that Julia had to either wait for me to get out of the way or find a way around me. As I helped Vivi up a ladder on one side of the play structure, who should pop up on the other side, having ascended a rather tricky and high climbing wall, but Julia. Totally easy for her. Last fall, she was reluctant to even have me help her get up this thing.
And then tonight, Shannon and I went to the information session on kindergarten at the school where Julia will go in the fall. Actually, on September 8, 2009. There’s an exact date now. And while the orientation itself was prosaic and perfectly pitched to the mass audience, I lost several neurons when the principal welcomed “the parents of the class of 2022.” I can already see “Seniors Rule! 2022!” soaped on the back window of my rusty 2014 Honda electric minivan.