Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Jaye’s arms fold contemplatively over her chest. “That could work. Henz is at the age where she’s taken an interest in writing versus just reading. It could be a fun learning moment for her, and we both know she loves to learn. Plus, Rainne has been dying for something to try to write in cursive ever since her and Mom started exploring that calligraphy kit Dad bought but quickly abandoned.”
His retirement has been a lot of playtime with the girls and quite a number of deserted hobbies.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes!” My wife gleefully exclaims. “Let’s do it!”
After moving the numerous shopping bags to her office – the one place the girls know better than to even try to go and that we keep locked – we grab a few sheets of paper, some colorful markers, and join them where they’ve already setup shop to color while waiting for dinner, which is a habit their mother started long before they were born.
I’d cook and she’d sit there reading or writing or illustrating. It kept us together even if no words were exchanged. I loved it. I still love it. And the fact our girls do it without having been prompted is something I absolutely love and adore too.
“Hey, angels,” I prompt at the same time I plop down on the stool beside Rainne. “Mom and I were talking and thought of something special we’d like to do with you before dinner.”
“What’s for dinner?” Henz innocently asks while using a single pink crayon to color everything on the page the one shade.
“Chili, bread, regular corn for Rainne, street corn for the rest of us.”
“Yum,” my youngest sings, bounces in her seat, and turns the page to spread the pink obsession further.
“What do you wanna do?” Rainne cautiously investigates, yellow glitter crayon she had been using for the sun now being held almost like a flashlight in a late-night speeding interrogation. “Is it a chore? It’s not chore day. Chore days are Sundays. Just like walks with Pop Pop.”
Again, don’t judge us. Everyone teaches their children how time works differently. Dane’s kids learned that shit based on co-parenting fails. Honestly, between you and me, if it weren’t for the woman he married, not sure those two would’ve ever smoothed out their custody issues like they – eventually – did.
“No chores,” Jaye sweetly informs from where she’s positioning herself beside our other daughter. “But maybe a little learning style activity?”
Henz’s face immediately darts up in interest.
Yeah. Don’t hate that she wants to learn about anything and everything. Except…social issues. Those are my least favorite to try to navigate through. Doesn’t help that as an adult, I don’t have the best answers myself. I still struggle to socially fit in more often than I would like.
“We’re all gonna write letters to Santa.” She announces and begins to pass out sheets of blank paper. “We’re all gonna share with each other what it is we want to get but also write it down. Then, we’ll put them in separate envelopes, address them with our address – testing your memory there – add a stamp, and drop them off at the mailbox tomorrow as part of our chores.”
“Writing?!” Henz squawks in excitement. “We get to write?!”
“We do,” I quickly reassure and toss my attention to Rainne. “And you can show Santa your fancy new cursive skills.”
Her green eyes – one of the only physical features she got from me – widen exponentially. “Think he’ll be able to read it?!”
“It’s Santa, angel. Of course, he can read it. He can read anything and speak anything, too.” My explanation is accompanied by a small ruffling to the top of her curl-filled head. “Part of his magic.”
Rainne peers up at me with a crooked grin. “Can I ask for that magic?”
Detective in the making or hustler?
“You can ask for anything you want,” Jaye casually states at the same time she adjusts Henz’s hold on the pink marker she’s chosen to write with, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get it.”
Both girls nod their understanding and begin working on their respective projects. While my wife focuses on assisting our overly enthusiastic and equally frustrated pre-k student, I keep a watchful eye on our oldest. Encourage her to keep swooping. To slow down and take her time. Not to forget to dot the letter i anytime she writes it.
Or what I think is it.
It’s so hard to fucking tell sometimes.
“Dad, aren’t you gonna write something?” Rainne thoughtfully ponders, momentarily pausing her letter to switch colors again.
“I’m…still thinkin’, angel.”
“How come?” Henz questions, attention shooting up and over to me.
“Because…,” the grin that grows in place is more bashful than I care to admit, “because honestly, I already have everything I could ever ask for.”
Jaye quietly swoons.
She’s offered a small wink that reddens her cheeks just the way I’ve always loved them.