I said she could read, on her own, a chapter book. She chose the first book in a popular series she likes and I hate: The Rainbow Fairies: The Ruby fairy.
I told her that the way Madison had gotten going on the Boxcar Children series was that she was so determined to read them on her own that she picked up the first one and read it through, skipping any words she didn't know. And Ella could do the same thing? Yes. But you have to actually read the book, not skip all of the words and just look at the pictures. OK.
Sunday, the child got going. She read, she whined, she wept, but she wanted those doggy PJ's so badly that she kept going. (I wasn't making her do anything, of course, this was all up to her.)
By Sunday evening, she'd read 17 of 65 pages. And then yesterday, she finished it. By noon. She was so happy.
She was even happier when we went to Target and found a terrific pair of pajamas with a dog on it. Here she is with the book, wearing the cute PJs:
I still hate those books, though. No literary value whatsoever.
On a higher-quality literary note, though, we finished reading The Trumpet of the Swan out loud yesterday. God, I love that book. It is one of my favorite books of all time. There is so much from that that chokes me up. I have to swallow hard before I can read certain things, such as where Louis says to the Zoo director, "Safety is all well and good: I prefer freedom."
Madison had to read the last page for me because I just couldn't do it without my throat closing:
As Louis relaxed and prepared for sleep, all his thoughts were of how lucky he was to inhabit such a beautiful earth, how lucky he had been to solve his problems with music, and how pleasant it was to look forward to another night of sleep and another day tomorrow, and the fresh morning, and the light that returns with the day.
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