Son of a Pig Farmer

Every night (well, at least the good ones) the girls and I spread out on the floor each with our own books to read. Last night, we donned our individually borrowed copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows to witness Harry and Ginny’s kiss at the Burrow.

 For the most part, Isabella’s participation in this nightly ritual has been mostly ceremonial. She’s in kindergarten and is still learning to read. She keeps her finger where we she thinks we are. She turns the page when Jenna and I do. I was under the impression that she was just coming along for the ride– that is until last night.

As I was reading, I got distracted by some random thought and paused. About six or seven seconds later, Isabella piped up. “At,” Isabella interjected. I looked up at her quizzically. “The word is ‘At’, Daddy,” she continued.Jenna and I looked at each other and smiled. I do love these times together.