Earlier, she'd asked me to charge up her iPod touch, and now she was appearing at the doorway every few minutes with a spelling query, so I'd already guessed she was emailing someone.
When she asked me how to spell 'operation', I twigged what she was up to.
It took her about half an hour. When she announced, loudly, that she had finished, I called her into the bathroom, where I was bathing her brother, dodging handfuls of soap bubbles and telling him that if he peed one more time in the bath it would actually have more wee than water in it.
She stood at the door, pushed her glasses up from the bottom of her nose, cleared her throat, and read this out.
It's an email to a friend of mine who told us recently that her son, George, might have to have the same spinal fusion operation that my girl had.
I love that she's put 'Operation' as the subject header.
I love that she's somehow managed to change the date to 1970.
I love that she's felt it necessary to point out that the operation made her wet the bed.
I love that she's told him she cried. The op was tough - she's not glossing over this.
I love that she simply cannot write this without referring to at least one mealtime.
I love that she remembers exactly what books I bought her.
I love that she's thought to tack on a bit about 'fill'ing better.
I love every phonetically and not-so-phonetically spelt word.
Most of all, I love that she wanted to send this in the first place.
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