What was I worrying about?
Going to do it all over again tomorrow.
Also the underlying thoughts brewing in my head about how I've totally scuppered my Leopard Boy's chances of reading really matured over the last couple of days. Spending time on A, B, C etc and vowels and sounds and pens and paper - 'building blocks' I thought ..... 'gently does it' I would comfort myself. Probably influenced by some rainbow-soaked Steiner-y illusion of 'the way to do it' - (ohh Fuck Off!) What is the point? It's really not relevant. It's not interesting. It's not fun. And it's completely repugnant.
My 3 year old Thuglet on the other hand - in front of whom I've deliberately never placed a written letter or number - recognizes these things and is constantly asking 'What's that say?'
I shall go back to the bosom of John Holt and my wonderful pile of home ed books filled with wise words of 'trust them' - all read with delight at the time but I forgot to trust myself.
My Cabinet of Educational Wonder can remain intact - and I can tidy it and rearrange the baskets and books as often as I like - and each time I do it I can apply the Alcoholics Anonymous 10 Step mantra thing to my reshuffle. It's purely therapy for me. Like compulsive hand-washing. I must keep reminding myself that I must not sip from the poison chalice of enforced 'teaching'. It's bogus. I must trust in that 'higher power' thing that always makes me wince - but it's like I must trust in TRUST.
It all seems so simple when it's just me and a screen and my zen-like tiredness. It's when my mother gives me another set of helpful fun Learn-to-Read with Flappo activity books I just want to tear down her anolglypta all the way to the dado rails.
Am I a bad person?