Monday, March 24, 2014

Junie B.

Tonight on our way home from a day trip to the beach, I was worried that my son would fall asleep (meaning that he'd be up until midnight) in the car, but instead, he was kept awake for over an hour by my daughter reading a Junie B. Jones book to him.  She's working towards gaining minutes for a spring break reading challenge in her class, so while the moment was sweet, it also had another purpose for my competitive daughter.

I have realized lately how proud I feel of my kids a lot of times, like on the way home with the reading in the car.  They also read through the children's book by President Obama, my son reading most of it with my daughter helping with tougher words.  I also feel proud of them in moments when they express genuine joy at stopping by a Subway on the way home and then not asking me outright for soda or chips (just a general, "Oh look mom there's those chips you like" but nothing makes me want to buy them chips). 

I feel proud by how both of them look out for a friend's three-year-old daughter, holding her hand when she needs guidance and smiling at me quietly when she's melting down a little here and there, the way three-year-olds do, as if they never did such things (they did). 

Now my spouse is home from class and talking, and this is my writing career. 

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