Proud Mummy Moment

One of the biggest worries I think many of us who are educating our children other than in school have is reading. How old are they when they finally "get it", once they do get it do they have an appropriate "reading age", are they reading good quality fiction and. On fiction from a good range of genres. The list goes on. And even though I find myself telling my concerned colleagues that they shouldn't worry and that little Freddy will get it in his own time and then he'll fly, I still sometimes, just sometimes, allow that doubting fear to creep into my mind. 

E was a natural reader (and I was a smug parent lol). He seemed to learn to read by osmosis. By the time he was five he was reading simple chapter books and by seven devouring Harry Potter like a jam donut. He practically inhaled it. 

But B. Well. He was different. He IS different. He is nearly seven and finds it hard. He didn't seem to have the same innate desire to learn to read that his brother had. He manages life perfectly well without it, thank you very much. And I wonder if he'll ever "get it". 

Roll forward to bed time reading on Friday. Reader, he read! My heart wanted to burst as much as my cheeks were. He read almost entirely by himself a level 3 (because level is important, right?) Biff, Chip and Kipper book. My proud mummy moment was happening right there in that snuggly bunk bed. He was decidedly underwhelmed by my exclamation he was reading, of course. "I'm not reading Mum, I'm

just working out the sounds in my head and saying them out loud!"