If you are not the Grandma of my kids, you may go on your merry way because I am just using my blog as my refrigerator door for those who live 1,700 miles away. Mom, if you were here, you would have this crammed in your face only minutes after your arrival. Of course, if you are not my Mom you can go ahead and read on anyways, as long as you can stand a wee bit of motherly pride.
I love poetry. I like reading it and I like writing it when I am so inspired. Yesterday the boys and I sat down and read a selection from The New Oxford Book of Children’s Verse. First, let me say that I had completely forgotten that The Highway Man included a suicide. Oops. Didn’t remember that at all. But I think the excitement of the Midnight Ride of Paul Revere maybe made up, in the minds of my children, for the nameless dead guy on the highway who made the very unfortunate wardrobe choice of lace at his throat. I hope so anyways. I think we’ll save anymore of Alfred Noyes for Jr. High Lit. ((shudder))
So my oldest son (7 1/2) was given the assignment of picking two of the poems out of our selection to copy and memorize. The first one he chose was Lone Dog by Irene McLeod.
I cannot help but post his copy work because this is the first time he’s copied something written in standard print, but copied it in cursive. Up until this point all of his cursive writing was copy work from something written in cursive. When your kid takes one of those “next level” type steps it does have the tendency to make you want to bust your buttons and all that rot. And I have to say, he puts me to shame because I don’t think my cursive is anywhere near as nice as his. Mine is an awful mix of cursive and printing and scribbles, something that I haven’t refined much at all since, oh… maybe 8th grade.