Margaret has been writing, writing, writing, writing. And it’s all very exciting, and sometimes she makes real letters.
The other morning she came over and showed me her page, and I asked her to tell me about what she’d written, because the meaning was slightly opaque to me, and she looked at me as if she thought I was dumb, and said “Mommy, it’s an M. Margaret starts with M.”
And indeed, if you squint a little, you can see where she’s coming from.
Now she just needs to learn how to read so that I don’t have to read Green Eggs an Ham 3,294 times every day. That Sam-I-am, that Sam-I-am, I do not like that Sam-I-am indeed.
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