It probably hasn’t escaped your attention that I’m not the world’s greatest speller. It’s been a life long plague that my mother kindly described as ‘creative spelling’ and that appears to have been passed on to my children.
One of the girls wrote a note to Elaine, her teacher in Grade 2, after continually being asked to be quiet. She pretended it was from me.
Der Elan, my dorta (and she managed to spell her own name correctly) is alowd to tork in clas.
Okay, it could have been me, but it wasn’t.
The situation isn’t helped by the fact my partner likes to constantly remind us all that he was the Grade 6 Spelling Bee Champion at his school. (Which I particularly like to remind him of when he sends me emails with glaring errors – there’s that MBA shining through!)
I can only hope that high school is going to be able to sort out my daughter’s spelling, but I’m also hoping you’re all being vaguely forgiving of mine….