tiny paragraphs

Hank spends lots of time pretending to read and write simple words, which is fantastic, but nearly every moment of his waking hours he is asking me what words are -- if a word is real / how to spell a word/ what a word says.
Please hold, I say, as I haul a giant load of laundry though the narrow hall, and then I can arrange magnetic letters with you. 
Wait a second I motion with one finger as I finish brushing my teeth.
I'll be with you as soon as finish this conversation, I whisper.
Can you go ask your brothers, please?

It's no wonder Hank is interested in books.

Sometimes I think I need to pinch myself. I have kids who like to read *and* write. Three growing boys who draw pictures and tell jokes and do the monkey bars, plus borrow books from the library and stay up past bedtime devouring them.
I know how I feel about their literacy is just a tiny paragraph in the giant book they are each writing of their own lives. And the constant barrage of How do you spells is kind of crazy-making. Still, I hope this chapter is long one.