She taught herself how to read and write, unbeknownst to me last week. Her nightstand is now littered with books and her drawers filled with paper.  A new lamp attached to her bed's headboard provides her with ample light during the short November days.

Today I sequestered her there, for an un-disclosed period of time, because I was tired of banging my head against the wall arguing with someone who stubbornly thinks they are right.

There was a time though, not too long ago, when silence during solitary confinement meant trouble.

"I love you mommy and you are the gratist and you are the gratist evr."

I should have taught her how to read and write as a toddler.  It would have saved us a lot of money in wall plaster repair.