Dinosaurs. We are all about dinosaurs at the moment. Rob and Linnea both know 67 times more than I do about them. I don’t think either of them would be terribly impressed by the cardboard pterodactyl costume in which I once incarcerated my sister.
And Linnea still swears up and down that she cannot read. Nope. Can’t. I don’t mind much since she has conceded that she can keep her underwear dry all day and all night. The whole reading thing is so emotionally loaded – it’s like I have a responsibility, as an early-reading bright parent, to have an early-reading and bright child; early reading is in fact often used as evidence of brightness, and its lack implies… Hmph.
I do realise that number two daughter is getting far less art input than number one daughter, presumably because I have less time to keep the house clear enough – hopefully the new wipe-clean flooring (replacing, of all things, acrylic-mix beige fitted carpet!) will help me allow them more messy art. Though I will never become reconciled to washable (hah!) markers.