Eliza set a happy tone for the day. She was so pleased with her work that she declared a most heartfelt Perfect after every letter she wrote. I sat next to her as she made her way through her seatwork, agreeing wholeheartedly with her frequent assessments. Yes, Eliza, that lower case 'e' is perfect. Oh, yes, that looks perfect. Perfect.
Interspersed between her perfects she would proclaim, I'm so educated!
Followed by, Can I have a chocolate?
Not now (Frances). Maybe later.
I just love phonics! (She reads fluently but some good old Plaid phonics is very helpful for her spelling.)
I think that's enough. Let's do page eight tomorrow, Eliza.
No. Let's do it now.
Because it's so fun!
Raspberry Dutch babies for breakfast and Freddy and the Ignormus with almond cakes for tea. Running out to the garden to pick a quart of cherry tomatoes for lunch and another one for supper. Snuggling on the couch to learn about Confession and big brothers to help with and chat about Latin. New pencils and old poems and a stockpile of fresh notebooks (I think Dad bought fifty-eight). And piles and stacks and precarious towers of books. Everywhere, books.
During dinner conversation Dad mentioned something he heard on NPR about a married couple who first met at a drive through window, and at least four people queried loudly in unison, Should Shop Assistants Marry? Naturally someone ran for the book so I could locate the source of this topsy turvy question, and thus the day ended with a spontaneous bit of our beloved Chesterton as I happily read the essay aloud. (One can only marvel at the thought of what Chesterton would write about the state of things were he alive today.)
For I realise that I have really come into a topsy-turvy country; I have come into the country where men do definitely believe that the waving of the trees makes the wind. That is to say, they believe that the material circumstances, however black and twisted, are more important than the spiritual realities, however powerful and pure. - GKC
And so it begins for another year. How was our first day?
Eliza always knows best. Perfect.