Funny and Terrible Campaign Song Videos

Despite the fact that we’re over a year away from the 2016 elections, things are already heating up. We’ve got former First Lady, former senator, and former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, current senator Bernie Sanders, and former Maryland governor Martin O’Malley on the Democratic side, along with a few other hopeful, but unlikely candidates that will probably throw their hats in the ring later. And on the Republican side, we have… a clusterfuck that includes more than a dozen declared and likely-but-undeclared candidates, each one more terrifying than the last.

So, the time between now and November 2016 promises to be a time of nail-biting anguish and heated Facebook debates. However, there is at least one thing we can all agree on — there will plenty of funny and terrible YouTube videos to come out of the journey to the White House. To kick off the parade of the absurd, here are two campaign song videos that struck me as absurd and hilarious.

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Nauglers and Duggars and Jacksons, Oh My!

what i do

So, one of the things that I did when I decided to homeschool (actually, before I decided to homeschool) was join homeschooling groups on facebook, follow blogs about homeschooling, and make friends who are homeschoolers. The idea was to get support and information from those who were more experienced than me, and it was generally a successful strategy. It had at least one unintended consequence that I didn’t think about at the time, though — whenever there’s a headline about homeschooling in the news, I see it over, and over, and over again, every time I turn on my computer.

Like when a homeschooling, homesteading family of 12 has ten children removed from their care in Kentucky, amid accusations of abuse and neglect. Or when a homeschooling family of reality television fame is revealed to have hidden, for a dozen years, the fact that their oldest son molested a number of girls, including his own younger sisters. Or when four brothers from a homeschooling family are convicted of molesting their sister, with more, related convictions likely to follow.

The Nauglers, the Duggars, and the Jacksons are taking up an inordinate amount of space on my newsfeed. And it’s embarrassing, frankly, because I know that non-homeschoolers are also reading these stories — or at least the headlines — and that’s informing their vision of what a homeschooling family looks like.

The truth is, these stories have little or nothing to do with homeschooling. The Naugler family isn’t even technically a homeschooling family, despite what they call themselves. Under Kentucky law, parents are supposed to report their homeschooling status to the state; Joe and Nicole Naugler failed to do so. Their school-aged children were truant, not homeschooled. The headlines about them could just as easily read something along the lines of “10 Children of Kentucky Homesteaders to Remain in State Custody” — it’s as true as the headline referencing homeschooling, and the living conditions, a result of the family’s efforts at homesteading, were really what prompted the investigation of the family to begin with.

Alternatively, news about all three families could refer to them as fundamentalist Christian families. Or unusually large families. But instead, it’s homeschooling that gets the focus. Why?

Well, we know why. The perception is that homeschooling was used to hide abuse. I’d be lying if I said that that wasn’t a possibilty — I think it’s entirely possible that all three of these families saw the lack of “outsiders” in the form of school officials as a good thing; a way to continue a lifestyle that they probably knew, on some level, as unhealthy. But to focus only on homeschooling obscures the fact that abuse also hides out in public and private schools, and in the homes of children who attend public and private school.

Child abuse and neglect is a larger problem than I can tackle in a casual blog post. I wish it weren’t, but it is. School children are bullied to the point of suicide by their peers. Teachers begin sexual relationships with students. Some parents send their abused kids to school, secure in the knowledge that either their children are too afraid to speak up, or their position in the community protects them from close scrutiny. It happens every day. In every city. In every state. And focusing on homeschoolers ignores the larger problem of children not being protected, respected, or taken seriously in our society.

Homeschooling for me is all about respecting, protecting, and meeting the needs of my children. I was tired of my daughter coming home from school calling herself stupid. I am tired of my older son being told to dumb himself down for the benefit of his classmates. I feared for my youngest, who hadn’t yet learned to hate school or hate himself at the time when I pulled him out — I didn’t want him to have the experiences that his older siblings did.

Here, we praise their progress at their own pace, instead of telling them they’re flawed if they can’t keep up with a group of other students. They know they’re achieving and they’re proud of themselves. Here, they aren’t held back from doing something that they’re interested in or good at just because someone else might not understand. Here, they’re safe from bullies and abusive teachers

I know many of my fellow homeschoolers are doing the same thing I’m doing. They simply want to foster their children’s strengths and talents, and give them room to improve their weak areas without shaming them. Others are trying to create a conducive environment for their disabled or profoundly gifted children to learn, after finding that their local schools cannot provide that environment. Still others are trying to escape the high pressure test environment that’s causing their children undue stress. The majority of parents, across the board, are not abusive. The majority of homeschool parents are no different — most want only the best for their children.

It’s a shame that media outlets and bloggers choose to highlight homeschooling as if it were a cause of abuse. Abusive people are the cause of abuse, no matter what the environment they’re found in. The rest of us shouldn’t be stigmatized for homeschooling, any more than all teachers should be stigmatized because some are abusive or all public school parents should be stigmatized because some are abusive.

Parent teacher conference

Stephen King’s Revival: A Review


I’m sadly behind on my Stephen King, but I finally got around to reading Revival last night. I don’t want to reveal the plot, but I do want to reflect on some aspects of the book that might be spoilery, depending on your definition of a spoiler. So, if you haven’t read the book and you plan to, read on at your own risk (or go read the book first, then come back and feel free to discuss it. I’d love to talk Stephen King with somebody.)

In case that wasn’t clear enough:********************************PROCEED WITH CAUTION. RAMBLING THOUGHTS AHEAD, MAY CONTAIN SPOILERY MATERIAL!!!!!!!********************************************************************

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Don’t Feed the Animals


Today, I got sucked into a Facebook debate about Wisconsin’s bill banning shellfish for food stamp recipients. Of course, the bill doesn’t just ban shellfish — it also restricts “luxuries” like ketchup, potatoes, taco shells, and sharp cheddar cheese, to name just a few items. Anyway, as I think I’ve mentioned here, I tend to fall on the side of “feed the people, already”. I think that states can find better ways to spend their money than policing people’s food choices, and I also think that there are a zillion different situations out there, and food choices should be as broad as possible to cover all of those possible situations. And that’s what I was trying to express, when someone chimed in with the opinion that allowing people to choose their own food was”like feeding the animals — they become dependent and won’t fend for themselves.”

And that’s when I realized that I was making the wrong argument.

There’s absolutely no point in arguing that people who need food assistance should be able to make their own food choices and prioritize their own budgets when you’re dealing with the attitude that poor people aren’t people — they’re animals, begging for scraps. Later on in the conversation another commenter expressed that she felt that food stamp recipients should be “a little more desperate” than they currently have to be to qualify for food stamps, and also that, even though food stamp recipients get the same amount per month whether they buy steak or ramen noodles, so restricting their food choices doesn’t actually save anyone any money, she just “didn’t want to feel like she was paying for steak.” Not only do these types of people think the poor are animals, they aren’t even animal lovers. They want the animals to be closer to starving and get the bare minimum to keep alive.

Welcome to America, where corporations are people and hungry people are animals. Animals that aren’t desperate enough, no less. Maybe we should lobby to have food stamps declared a form of free speech.

How did this happen? Does it all go back to Ronald Reagan, with his (completely invented) “young buck buying T-bone steaks” and his (wildly exaggerated) “Cadillac-driving welfare queen”? Or is it deeper than that? Is it connected with the way we tend to demonize people of other races, ethnicities, and nationalities? Is it fear-based — perhaps related to the fact that most Americans are living one or two paychecks, or one medical emergency, or one natural disaster, away from poverty themselves? Do they think that if they convince themselves that people who need help are “the other”, then they can stop worrying that it will happen to them?

I don’t know. I wish I had the answers, but I don’t.

Here’s what I do know:

  • Poor people are still people. You can argue that a human being is a type of animal — and I’m on board with that — but a hungry person is not a different type of animal than a financially stable person. What’s more, from an evolutionary perspective, sharing is the smart strategy.
  • People deserve food, period. Whether or not a person works, no matter what you think of their life choices, there is no good justification for allowing a fellow human being to starve.
  • Poverty is not a moral failing. It’s simply the condition of not having enough money to meet basic needs.

Until people get on board with at least these three points, we’re probably going to keep seeing hateful petty bills intended to micromanage what the poor can have and do, and — not so coincidentally — make people who aren’t poor feel morally superior. Yay. And even getting everyone on board with those three points won’t totally fix it. I can think of a ton of other important points (such as “poor people aren’t automatically too stupid to budget their own grocery money”) that will need to be argued later. But none of them are even worth bringing up until the majority of society decides to agree that poor people are still people, that people deserve to eat, and that poverty is not a moral failing.

I don’t know how to bring anyone around to the idea that people who need help are people. Is it possible to infect people with empathy? Maybe I’ll make that my New Year’s Resolution. (I know it’s May, but I just had a birthday. It’s my New Year, dammit.) Figure out how to spread empathy. All I know is that people need food, and also a little respect and autonomy. And this “don’t feed the animals” attitude is what’s allowing politicians like the ones in Wisconsin to take food, respect, autonomy, and ultimately humanity away from their own fellow citizens and humans. It has to stop.


Letters To My Children on Mother’s Day 2015

To My Oldest Child:

You sometimes refer to yourself as my “crash test kid” and that’s as accurate a description of the situation as I could have come up with. You were the one who bore the brunt of my mistakes. You probably got the least consistent parenting, as I had to test things out to find out what worked for us and what didn’t. You grew up the fastest. From the time you became a big brother, you’ve had the responsibility of being a role model, protector, and teacher, in addition to just being yourself. Compared to your brother and sister, you were always the most mature for your age. On the other hand, you’ve always been the first – the first to get more freedom, the first to get more privileges, the first to learn something new and exciting. I was an oldest child too, so I know the benefits and drawbacks well.

You’ve responded beautifully to all of the challenges that go with being the oldest. At 15, I’m beginning to see a fairly clear picture of the type of man you’re going to be. As your mother, that picture is bittersweet for me to look at. On the one hand, I miss my bright-eyed baby boy that couldn’t go to sleep unless I sang “You are my Sunshine” first, and I’m sad that those moments of mommying you are getting further and further behind us. But on the other hand, the future I see in front of you makes me feel an incredible amount of pride. You’re on your way to some fantastic places, and you’re going to do some amazing things. And I can only be grateful to have had the opportunity to be the one who’s watched and helped you take the first steps on that path.

Never lose your unique way of looking at the world. You can see things that others don’t, because you’re willing to look at angles that others would never even know existed. That’s going to take you far in life. Keep thinking and learning and reading and questioning. One of our mutual favorite comedians and deep thinkers said, “Don’t just teach your children to read. Teach them to question what they read. Teach them to question everything.” (George Carlin) If I’ve succeeded in doing anything as your mother, I seem to have succeeded in doing that. Keep questioning. There are always more answers out there. I can’t wait to watch you go out into the world to find them.

It’s an honor to be your mother, and I couldn’t have asked for a better crash test kid.

With love and respect,



To My Middle Child:

No invisible middle child syndrome for you! You’re the only daughter in the family, and you’re a force to be reckoned with. Who knew that so much fearlessness, personality, and joie de vivre could be packed into a petite 8 year old’s body? Certainly not me. But there you are. Your current favorite song is Katy Perry’s “Firework”, and it’s easy to see why. If ever there was a human firework, it’s you. And I don’t mean a little sparkler. You light up the sky, you sparkle with enthusiasm, you have so much energy that I can feel it coming off of you in waves from across the room. You’re like the giant finale firework at the end of the Fourth of July show. It’s a little exhausting at times, but I wouldn’t have you any other way.

You may not fully understand this now, but soon enough, you’re going to have a more adult body and mind, and all kinds of people – myself included – are going to want to tell you what it means to be a woman. Before that happens, though, I want to tell you what you’ve taught me. Because you have taught me, more than you’ll ever probably know. You’ve taught me that there’s nothing inherent in being a girl that makes you shy or delicate or inhibited. I may have known that in my head, but you showed it to me, by being the incredibly willful and independent spirit that you are. By being the child who never backed down, who was never afraid to stand up for herself or for someone else, who never needed to rely on doting big brothers or parents when there was a way to do it yourself. You also showed me that a sense of bodily autonomy comes early, and is something to be celebrated and encouraged. When you cut your hair by yourself and then looked me right in the eye and said, “I want it short, and it’s my hair and my choice”, I was mad at you for using the scissors, because I didn’t want you to get hurt. But on the other hand, I was so proud of you for knowing already that if it’s part of your body, you should have the final say, and being so willing to fight for that right. I hope that got through when I took the scissors away and told you that you could have your hair as short as you liked, but you had to let mom or dad do the cutting until you got a little older.

Never let anyone tell you that you have to stop being you to fit some sort of feminine ideal. You can be as strong and powerful as you want to be, and doing so will only make you a more awesome woman, never a lesser one. Never let anyone convince you that you need to hide behind somebody else rather than standing up for yourself the way that you do now. You’re strong – use that strength as much as you need to. Hiding it will only make you unhappy. Never let anyone tell you that your body isn’t yours to do with as you please. It absolutely is, and you don’t owe any part of it to anyone other than yourself.

I’m glad that we’re still years away from sending you out into the world on your own – I love every minute I get to spend with you, and I’m nowhere near ready to let go. But part of me is anxious to see what you’ll do when you’re old enough not to be held back. You have the power to change the world inside of you, and I’m excited to see how you’ll use it.

With Awe and Wonder,



To My Youngest Child:

You’re the baby of the family, and you’re going to stay that way – that’s not a bad spot to be in. Everyone, from me and your dad to your brother and sister, wants to dote on you and keep you little as long as possible, because we love having a baby of the family to cuddle and love. However, you’re growing up despite all of that. I see it in a thousand different ways. You’re beginning to read to me, instead of me reading to you. You’re becoming more independent – I’m getting fewer and fewer middle of the night visits, and you cuddle less, because you’re starting to have so many other places to go and people to see. And as much as I don’t want to rush you, I don’t want to slow you down either, so I’m happy to see you growing, even though I may miss the days when you were smaller.

Of all of you, I think that you’re the child most like me in temperament. You think deeply, speak slowly, and don’t like to rush into anything. I worry sometimes that a world that tends to rush everything will overwhelm you (as it sometimes does me!) but I can see that you’ve already found ways to adapt to quick transitions when you have to, and that you’re not afraid of asking for more time if you need it. That makes me smile, because I know that the ability to bend when you can and the willingness to ask for what you need when you can’t bend is a combination that will serve you well – you won’t be inflexible, but you won’t be walked on either.

When your sister or your brother is in trouble, you step right into the conversation to defend them, even if it has nothing to do with you. I hope you keep standing up for your siblings, and let them do the same for you. That bond is important, and I’m glad that you seem to already know that.

You’re the child that always stops to think before you speak – keep doing that. It’s a skill that many adults never manage to develop, and having it will put you ahead of the game. You’re the child that feels things deeply – don’t lose that. For every painful feeling, there’s a wonderful one coming around the corner that you’ll get to experience at full strength. You’re the child that makes connections further down the line than most children your age would think to look. Keep it up – being able to see the shapes that the pieces on the board are going to take several moves ahead will keep you out of trouble, and make you a great chess player, too.

For now, you’re still my little guy, but before either of us know it, you’ll probably be towering over me like your big brother. In the meantime, enjoy every minute of being “the baby” and I’ll do the same.

With Hugs and Kisses,


In Honor of Mother’s Day…

Let’s talk about the Mommy Wars! Why not? It never seems to go out of style.

Mommy Wars

I was thinking about it the other day, because I came across a meme in a Facebook group I belong to that sparked a lively conversation. I can’t find it now, but the gist of it was that stay at home moms work harder because there is no quitting time for moms, but are better because they’re not paying someone else to raise their kids. And while it’s easy enough to come back with another meme about how working moms also have no real quitting time, but get stuck doing all the mom stuff around their 40 hour work week, or make some disparaging comment about helicopter parents, I don’t really want to go there.

I always feel like I’m in no-man’s land on that particular Mommy War front. I’ve done it all: I’ve stayed at home and not worked. I’ve been a single mom working 2+ jobs and barely getting to see my kid. I’ve worked full time outside the home while my husband was a stay at home dad (you want my opinion, stay at home dads have it the worst in the martyr contest – they do all the work of a stay at home mom, but they’re excluded from mommy-and-me and playground meetup groups and outsiders call them lazy bums who won’t work. Poor daddies.) Now I work from home.

I have three children. One of them went into a daycare from an early age, and was also frequently babysat by family members and certain non-family members. He’s the kid that I barely saw while I was working my butt off to feed and house us. He’s been in public school for the past 10 years. My daughter is sort of in the middle. She never did go to daycare, though she entered preschool early through an early intervention program for a speech delay, then went from public preschool to public school, where she stayed for three and a half years. She rarely had babysitters, other than when grandma requested her for an overnight a few times. For a little more than half of her life, I worked full time outside the home, either trading shifts with my husband, or while he was a fulltime stay at home dad. She’s now being homeschooled. My youngest never went to daycare or preschool. He probably wouldn’t remember that I used to leave the house to work. I think he may have been babysat by my sister once (along with the older two) when my husband and I went out for our anniversary one year, but otherwise I don’t think he’s ever had a babysitter other than his big brother for short periods. He did start kindergarten this year, but was pulled out, along with my daughter, in January when we decided that homeschooling was a better fit for our family. He’s also the child that breastfed the longest, co-slept the longest, and was worn in a sling. (In fairness, I would have worn the other two in slings had I known about them – great invention, that. Only baby carrier that never hurt my back.) At any rate, he’s probably the most attached of the three.

So I’ve had a range of parenting experience, especially in relation to work and schooling choices, and my children have all had very different childhood experiences. Someone should study us.

Here’s the conclusion I’ve come to: there’s no right way to do any of this.

Now, that doesn’t mean there’s no right way for a particular, individual family to do things. As of today, I think that the way we do things now is the most comfortable fit for us. I’m unhappy and anxious when I’m not bringing in a paycheck – straight up stay at home mom-ing isn’t for me. It isn’t healthy for me, and it never felt right. Between the two, I preferred working outside the home to being a stay at home mom – but that had serious drawbacks, too. I cried in the car on the way to work every damn day for weeks and weeks after my third maternity leave was over. It was wrenching – perhaps more so than with the others because I knew that was my last baby. And baby number two? She wouldn’t drink from a bottle, at all, ever. My husband and I had to coordinate to the minute so that I could go home, or he could bring her to me on my breaks so I could feed her, then get back without taking any unapproved time off. This went on for months, until we finally found a cup she was willing to take. And my oldest? I had no choice, or I never would have chosen to be gone as much as I was. And since daycare isn’t cheap and I was broke, he wasn’t always in what I would consider top-notch care. I worried when I was away from him and I knew the alternative was even deeper poverty. It sucked.

But working at home – that suits me well. It doesn’t hurt that I’m doing something that I love, but I think it would be preferable – for me – even if I was doing something I didn’t much care for, if I could do it at home. I don’t have the anxiety that comes with not earning my own money, and I also don’t have the anxiety that comes with leaving my kids.


As should be obvious, things have shifted for me in a lot of different ways – I have no illusions that this will last forever. The day may come when I need to work outside the home again, or when I have no job and my husband supports us again. Or something else (I don’t know what else there is, but life has taught me to expect the unexpected.) And while that may not be ideal for me, the real question is, what’s ideal for the kids? That’s what’s at the crux of the whole Mommy Wars thing, after all – everyone is scared of getting it wrong and screwing up their kids for life, and that’s what I believe leads to the urge to attack other people’s choices and circumstances – because if there’s any chance they’re doing it right, that might mean that you’re doing it wrong. And that’s unacceptable. Better to cement it in your mind that they’re wrong, and you’re right.

But I don’t think it’s anything like that clear cut. That first child? The one who had his first babysitter at six weeks and has never really had the luxury of tons of uninterrupted time at home with mom and or dad? He’s 15 now, and he’s amazing. And yeah, I’m his mom, and I would say that of course. But I also get compliments from strangers about my bright, polite, helpful teen, so it’s not just me. He’s super smart – he wants to be an astrophysicist, and he’s already venturing in to math that I only dimly understand. He is also a fantastic writer (and does some freelancing of his own.) I keep waiting for that sullen/secretive/rebellious/disrespectful teenager phase that everyone says to expect to start, but it doesn’t seem to be coming. He comes home from school and plops down next to me to tell me what happened in school, what’s going on with his friends, what’s going on with him. He helps out tremendously around the house. He plays with his 8 year old sister and 6 year old brother, and by all appearances, he enjoys this, rather than just tolerating it. He and I share a love of Stephen King books and an interest in politics. He got me interested in Neil Degrasse Tyson. By all measures I can think of, he’s on his way to becoming an amazing man, despite my failure to practice attachment parenting with him.

My daughter is 8, and she’s the friendliest and most outgoing girl you’d ever want to meet. She is interested in learning foreign languages, because she’s met children who don’t speak English and wants to be able to talk to them in their language. She will talk to anyone. She will go out of her way to hug someone who looks sad, or bring them a favorite toy or stuffed animal to make them feel better. She’s a fantastic problem-solver – an ability that I believe originated due to her inability to communicate effectively when she was younger. Since she couldn’t find the words to ask for things, she got really good at figuring out how to get them herself. She’s a chatterbox now, but she retained that ability to go after what she wants. She’s fiercely independent, and she can stand her ground in a way that I can only admire – and somewhat envy. She got a working mom, a little bit of a stay at home mom, and a work at home mom, and despite that inconsistency, she’s a delightful, funny child with personality to spare.

And my youngest son? The one who got coddled (some would say) and has rarely spent any time away from his parents? Well, he’s six, and while I think it’s a bit early to make any definitive pronouncements about his development, I see signs that he’s coming along nicely. He’s quieter and more contemplative than his older siblings, most of the time – he’s the one who has to stop and think before he speaks. (This is not to say that he’s always quiet and calm. He can roar and wrestle with the best of them.) He’s less outgoing, but once he warms up, he’ll happily share his encyclopedic knowledge of Lego Star Wars with you. He’s shaping up to be something of a deep thinker, I believe – he worries more than the others seemed to at that age, and he makes connections that surprise me. He definitely prefers to spend his time in the company of myself, my husband, and his siblings, but he’s more than capable of handling a playdate or activity without one of us looking over his shoulder (in fact, we’re increasingly likely to hear something along the lines of, “you don’t need to walk me in mom, cousin A wants to play with me, not you.”) All of the “helicoptering” this child received doesn’t seem to be inhibiting him.

So, in my admittedly unscientific and biased analysis of a sample of three, I’ve come to this conclusion: the kids are all right. This parenting gig isn’t easy, no matter how you choose to structure it (or how circumstances force you to structure it) but if you are doing your best and loving your kids, they’ll come out OK. There’s no need to “win” at the Mommy Wars by attacking another parent, or playing yourself up to be the best mom with the hardest job. You’re winning by taking care of your kids, plain and simple, however that happens to look in your house. I don’t know if there are really more than one ways to skin a cat (because ew, gross, who wants to skin cats?) but there is definitely more than one right way to raise a child.

Have a happy Mother’s Day, and this year, reach out and encourage another mommy. Tell someone who’s doing it differently from the way you’re doing it that their way is great too, and that they’re doing a good job. Let’s all be winners this year.

Peace, Love, Mommys

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

So this cool thing happened the other day, and I have no really good place to talk about it. Since this blog is a big mish-mashed mess, I’m going to just put it here.

The first thing that you have to know is that my 8 year old daughter generally doesn’t like to read. She isn’t technically bad at reading; she recognizes the words just fine, and she can sound out what she doesn’t know. But there’s a big difference between being able to read a string of words on a page and being able to read a story  on a page. The former, she could do. The latter… hasn’t been happening. One of the myriad of reasons that my children are now learning at home instead of in school is the fact that my daughter has been behind in things like this for years, despite entering the public school system around the age of two thanks to early intervention programs. I figured that I couldn’t possibly be doing worse than they’ve been doing.

I’ve been trying a few different things to get her to be more engaged while reading. Most recently, I’ve come to the conclusion that her reading selections are all too boring. When she had to read at school, it was the pointless school-like stuff they post on ditto sheets. When I let her choose her own reading material, she opted for the easy route, picking books that were way under reading level. They may have been easier, but they were boring. I figured that if I could find a story she could sink her teeth into, maybe we would start getting somewhere. So I told her we were going to start reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Not an abridged or Disneyfied version; I went to Project Gutenberg so that we could read the original. I picked it because my daughter liked the 2010 movie with Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter, and because Alice reminds me a little bit of my daughter (if you met her, you’d know exactly what I mean.)

I didn’t ask for much at first. She looked at the chapter list and all of the text with no pictures and objected profusely — which I expected — so I asked her for five minutes. That was it. And we took turns reading — she will read a sentence and then I’ll read a sentence. She thinks I’m giving her a break by doing that, but what I’m really trying to do is model what reading aloud sounds like when you’re understanding what you’re reading while you’re reading it. I think that’s hard for kids to get, sometimes. In class, teachers start reading to them when they can read the words themselves, not when they can read the story inside the words themselves. It’s a different thing. It’s why when you listen to early readers, they stop at the end of the line as if it had a period when it doesn’t, or they don’t pause at commas — it sounds weird, but it’s because they can read the words, but they aren’t seeing or hearing the story in their heads. And if all they are hearing is themselves and other kids who are doing the same thing… anyway, I wanted her to read, but I also wanted her to hear the story. So we started switching off sentences and reading Alice in 5-minute increments.

And then, the 5-minute increments started to get a little longer. We started reading for 6 minutes, then 7 minutes. Then a few days ago, we doubled the goal time that we’d set together before we started reading, because my daughter couldn’t bear to leave Alice in the predicament that she was in at the time when we’d planned to stop. Then, to top it off, the other day — a day that we were scheduled off from school work — she demanded to read some more Alice. She wanted to know what happened next. Despite not being required to do any reading that day, we finished the chapter we were on.

And that was when it hit me that she really was finally seeing the story, not just the words on the screen. It’s pretty amazing to watch. My older son was basically born reading, and my younger son is 6 and learning, but he’s picking it up much more organically and easily than his younger sister. So this is my first real view of one of my children slowly but surely becoming a reader. And it’s an amazing thing.