It was no less spectacular for the last one than it was for the first. For nine children I watched the first signs of recognition, held my breath for the laborious sounding out of consonants, felt the cringing apology around capricious vowels who change as they fancy. 

 

We were passing a park when our firstborn shouted.

 

"It's a letter!" I scanned the equipment for signage. "It's X!" Ah, yes, the crossed legs of a picnic table. 

 

When it was his turn to figure reading out our second son's eyes grew big. 

"All of the letters in Max's name are in the alphabet!" Max was his best friend and the fact that he would be so completely included thrilled Micah. 

 

Chara stunned us all. On her fourth birthday the boy next door brought her a primer with colorful pictures. A sweet gesture, but wasted on her. Then she plunked herself on the couch and began to read it. My mouth fell open. Yesterday she was three. She still nursed. Isn't there a law forbidding those two activities from overlapping? This week I found a book from that same series at the thrift store. I bought it. Chara's sister is having her first baby in a few weeks, and before I turn around that little child will be sitting on the couch beside his mom with a stack of books beside them. 

 

The twins learned at a less surprising age, but what delighted me was how they snuggled side by side on the couch staring at the same book. When one finished the page, she waited until her sister was done too. For hours they cuddled under a quilt in silence, three hundred pages at a stretch. 

 

Words and their meaning are within the purview of each person who has made the effort to crack the code. Everyone else is clueless. 

 

John and I are part of two marriage groups each week. After check ins we invite each participant to articulate an area of thanks in their marriage. It turns out that appreciation is a skill, like reading. It takes practice to read the runes written all around us. The pink blossoms. The warm breezes. The cinnamony pie. The birds outside my window.

 

The prose of blessings God has inscribed all around us is a sweet read.