Her delicate fingers
playing fast and loud and long.
It is Sunday, October 9. We are clustered on the top bunk, looking at our weekly schedule.
We’re five weeks into our school year and it’s time to make some revisions. Amabel says we haven’t spent enough time reading and writing. Are we doing enough math? Why do we spend so much time on history? And what about those science experiments we’ve been talking about? Where will we fit them in?
Amabel is my best critic. Having spent two years in public school learning with a wonderful teacher who held high expectations, she is pretty serious about her learning.
I actually have to remind her, and myself, that lots of “other” things count as learning even if they don’t look like “school.”
The kitchen is in quite a state because I’ve been mostly out for two days — at appointments and meetings, running errands. I ask Amabel if she will hold Wallace for a little while so I can clean up. She takes him on the couch with her, and he chatters for a few minutes but then gets wiggly and loud (he can be loud!). She takes him over to the piano and plays one handed, with her other arm wrapped around his warm tummy. He quiets down and reaches his dimpled fingers for the keys. Oh, I cannot resist this. I sneak around behind them and manage to snap a few photos before she says, “Mama, you said you were going to clean the kitchen!”
Oh yes. Back to that.