The Kid Can Read

This is a picture of the words that Jordan read the other day.

Frankly, watching him read is provoking a feeling of startled amazement in me. Is it possible? I mean, just yesterday he was this tiny little guy in terrycloth onesies, and today he's working on his silent E's. Then he writes the words. And that is really just too much.

I have Scott to thank for this reading revolution. Only he has the patience to sit with Jordan going endlessly over words. I confess my interest in teaching reading wanes remarkably quickly for such a dedicated reader. I can point out a handful of words, cover some quick phonics, and I'm done--but Scott, now, he can sit for an hour at the white board with Jordan, reviewing consonants. I don't know how he does it...but I'm glad.

I think. Because now, we must read every sign, every flyer, every label. There is no more skimming on the bedtime books; we must review "H" sounds and how to pronounce "ing". Pretty soon he's going to figure out just how liberal I get with the paragraph-trimming on the more tedious books, and then I'm really in trouble. Not that I often read the bedtime books these days.

I try to avoid labeling my kids; it seems to me that they'll try to live up to whatever they're told they are. But I have to admit this kid is a reader. I mean, come on: his first word was "book". And I have to admit that his reading-ness pleases me. I'm a reader, he's a reader; this place is going to be some kind of regular reading emporium. Even bitty little Maya's coming around, working on her letters.

So I'm delighted and discomfited all at once. I love that he's learning and growing...but that means he's growing up.

Like you read about.