Folks, we have a reader!

Last night at an hour much too late for the young one who exits the house at 6:55 each morning, while snuggled together in the family bed partaking in the reading routine, (missing a one Mr. Duncan who was away in a foreign land). . . completely unprompted by me, she did it:

Dddd. . . . aaaaa. . . . . ddddd

dd. . . aa. . .dd

d.a.d

DAD!

{Whoa!  Where on this good green earth did you learn that little girl?  Who is teaching you this reading business without my knowledge? You, little baby girl punkin you, can sound out a word?  Why am I the last to know?}

After a celebratory Happy Dance and lots of High-Fiving and Hugs and Thatta-girls, she was ready to Par-tay; once I convinced her of the need for sleep. . .

“Remember Mean Moma who visited for a bit at 6:50 this morning when you carelessly spilled your yogurt drink on the brand spanking new million dollar hard-to-find perfect leather chair and first-ever Turkish rug, not to mention all over yourself and your new Halloween tights, because you were yapping and yapping and not paying attention?  Mean Moma is oh-so-tired, Baby Girl. Let’s not invite her back to our celebration.”

 . . . we drifted to sleep together as I clung to the edge of the oh-so-big family bed with my emergent reader’s head right in the small of my back, really missing Mr. Duncan.