After a week of “starting” (reading, blogging, dieting…) the old spectre of overwork has loomed and Fat club probably no longer know I exist, the blog’s haphazard (and random, I’m told. My husband suggests I layoff what happens in South London phone boxes) and I’m definitely not going on my book club double-date with Jonathan Franzen (although I have read 50 pages of Freedom and am thoroughly enjoying the morsels I get to titbit on).
And my daughter has had little read to her, beyond a few Usborne counting books.
But just as life continues apace whilst we cease living during crises (for years at a time, sometimes) so my daughter develops without intervention from me. It’s nature’s way as they say on Tinga Tinga tales… Last night she began playing with Spot’s Noisy Car, Eric Hill actually turning the pages and ‘reading’ to herself…. Bless her little, perfect heart.
She does also know an alarming number of CBeebies theme tunes…. But that’s another blog.