Baby Einstein

This morning the girls were playing in Gross Motor Basement and I was doing laundry in the decidedly un-fun section of the basement. Gross Motor Basement thus far has been a moderate success. We're definitely spending more time down there and Duet (aka the climber, Sir Edmund Hillary, you get the idea) can't get enough of the new indoor climbing opportunities. Una shot a few hoops into our child-sized basketball stand and did remarkably well. She then quickly lost interest and (true to her personality and interests) found some pillows, barricaded herself in the tunnel with some books, started pretending it was her tent and spent the remainder of the day in there reading. Not what I had in mind when I originally conceived of Gross Motor Basement, but she was clearly enjoying it so I will (contrary to my personality and interests) resist the urge to complain.

While doing the laundry in the aforementioned un-fun section of the basement, Duet came running over to me with this letter in hand repeating A, A, A.
Usually when she says A, A, A, she's pointing at the stereo requesting that we play Vampire Weekend's "A-Punk." This time, however, there was no stereo to be seen so I assumed what any mother in my situation would: my baby is a genius.

After complimenting her on her brilliance she ran off and then returned a minute later carrying this letter and saying A, A, A, A.Maybe my genius assumption was a bit premature.

Has the core program been completed? Not yet, but the night is young. I'll report back to you on that tomorrow.