While I’ve been holed up in the writing cave, my youngest has apparently learned how to write. On the back of this worksheet, which he coloured and filled out himself (you can see his Ws), he signed his name. Just because. Did I know he could sign his name? I did not. At least, not in clear easy-to-read lettering. He was a bit embarrassed by my praise. So he got to work dumping go-gos on the floor (those brightly coloured plastic figures you can see in the photo). Then he separated them into two piles, and counted them. Up to 27. Correctly. After which he separated and organized them by colour.
“I think your little brother is prettty smart,” I said to Fooey, who glanced at me in puzzlement. “Of course he is,” she said.
Meantime, she was holed up under the counter — reading.
Writing week. Can I sum it up? I cannot, not with precision. It’s been worthwhile, but not in the ways anticipated. I’m too superstitious (or realistic) to write in detail about the work done. But yes, work has been done. It’s been a good week. I’m looking forward to the next intensive, scheduled for May.