I worry about my second daughter. I worry about her weight. I worry about her social interactions with other kids. I worry about her inability to complete a task. I worry about how she will do on the big third grade writing project coming up next semester. She has never—I mean, never—written more than two sentences together. Here's a sample of a thank you "letter" to Grandma from my daughter:
Thank you for the gift. I like it.
My daughter was talking to me the other morning about a dream that she had. It was about Barbie and an evil queen and forest dwellers who had been transformed into butterflies. She thought that the story her mind had created while she slept would make a good Barbie movie. She wanted to direct this movie some day, but didn't know if she would still remember all the details by the time she's old enough to get it made. I suggested that she jot down some notes to help her remember. She disappeared. The next thing I know she's showing me this:
She'd taken several notecards and filled them with her ideas for her story! I was in shock. Those right there, folks, are SIX notecards covered in her writing. But it gets better . . .
She grabbed some notebook paper, spread her 3x5 cards across the table, and wrote out her story.
Three pages, single-spaced!
And an additional cover letter
to send along with her manuscript
to the people who make Barbie movies.
I guess I'll stop worrying about that big writing project next semester.
Dinner last night: parmesan chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn