My two grandsons, currently four-almost-five and one-day-into-six, live in England, so I don’t get to see them nearly enough.
The boys and their mother came to visit for a couple of weeks, which is a rare and wonderful thing. We went pumpkin patch wandering, trick-or-treating, swimming and museum exploring. We played hide-and-seek in the woods, threw balls for the dogs, fed apples to Sophie the horse next door, and ate too many cupcakes.
And then they packed up to go home.
While Heather was scurrying around retrieving belongings that had migrated to every part of the house, I scooped up Isaac (four-almost-five) and tried to engage him in a “What was the most fun?” conversation. That went nowhere. Then because my computer is always at hand, asked if he wanted to write a story about his trip. His eyes lit up as he watched his words, his ideas, appear…
Isaac and Ethan went on a big plane at the museum. We watched the trains go that had buttons on the side. There were also buttons on the front in the cab. We played with the water lots and lots of times.
Thirty-six point font makes an impressively large story. Isaac showed it to his mother and read many of his own words to her. Then with a few sniffles, we heaved the overstuffed bags into the trunk, buckled everyone in, and I drove them to the airport.
The next day when we checked in via Facetime, I asked if Isaac had shown his story to his Daddy. Heather smiled and rolled her eyes. “Yeah…and to the airport security guards, our flight attendants, the immigration officer, and a couple of strangers, as well.”
The power of writing. Worlds open and a little boy has something important to tell many important people.
When I checked in this morning, just-turned-six-Ethan had no time to chat. He was on his mother’s laptop, pecking out words – writing a book to give Isaac for his birthday.