Constantinople. It's fun to say. Just hard to read.

I mentally beat myself up on just about a daily basis when it comes to homeschooling.  Even though my tragic public school teaching days are far behind me, the fear of failure is never far from my thoughts.  I have fought this emotional battle for years.  I shared my fears with friend and fellow homeschooling momma Deanna a couple of years ago.  She commiserated with me and then shared one of the most inspiring and poignant pieces of advice when it comes to homeschooling:

Even on the worst of homeschooling days, never forget that it was YOU, and YOU ALONE, that taught your child to read.  The most important gift you can ever bestow upon your child is the gift of literacy.  A proficient reader can do anything they set their mind to - and YOU made that happen.

Well.  I just turned out my first reader.  I can't take credit for Jordan since he was in public school for kindergarten and first grade, but I will take credit for Rylan.  But it just feels wrong to say that.  Rylan did all the work.  She rarely complains (unless it is late in the afternoon and she is 'done' with schoolwork).  She worked through the workbooks, the readers, the phonics videos, and the best reading program in the world: Reading Eggs.  Things just started to click in the last several weeks, and lo' and behold we have a reader!

The sad thing is that I didn't even know she could do it.  I came into Rylan and Colin's room to change Colin into his pj's last night, and there was Rylan, reading Hop on Pop, out loud, to herself.  And she was really reading it.  No mistakes.  I think I have only read this book to her maybe...once?  And not in the past several months, either.  We have a bajillion books at home, and when you couple that with a bajillion library books, it is hard to read something more than once.

I was just absolutely astonished.  I didn't say a word.  I just kept listening to her read.  I was afraid to disturb her...it was sort of like spotting wildlife.  If you snap a twig they will run away.

I am so excited to phase in some new literacy stuff with her now.  First up: sounding out big words. 

Like Constantinople.  It's fun to say.  Just hard to read.

And now, by virtue of association (and because we are fans of TMBG around here) I offer this for your viewing and listening pleasure:

There's a badge for that...

Last night I attended a meeting for volunteer Unit Leaders at our area's Girl Scout day camp that is scheduled to start in about three weeks.  It was already at the end of a long, long day, and even though I had a coffee to pull me through, I was thoroughly irritated after spending just five minutes in this room of chatty ladies, waiting for the meeting to start.  Then my angst hit a new level when a 40-something Brownie-wanna-be sat next to me.  She was even dressed in brown and green.  Tacky.  She had a shoulder bag with her.  This bag was not just any bag, thankyouverymuch.  It was a patch-hoarders dream!!  And all of the near-by ladies hovered over her (I even had to scoot back so some other ladies could lean over), squealing with delight over her bragfest collection.  This lady even put Isabella, an extremely prodigious Fireside Girl, to shame.  There were so many patches that there was nary a spot of plain fabric to be seen.  There were even special patches from a unit in California.  Special.  Don't confuse my sarcasm with jealousy.  Nope.  It's just pure, unadulterated annoyance at anyone who feels like they need to advertise their scouting achievements to such a heightened degree, of... gaudiness?  embroidery overkill?  Is she really that in need of recognition?  Isn't scouts for (ahem) the girls?

I guess I am just annoyed with all things patches, record-keeping, scheduling, planning, and just Girl Scouting in general. 

Can you tell?