I don't know what happened. I never got to the bottom of the problem . . . but that wasn't for lack of trying.
Little Miss A6 fell apart about 30 seconds into her "school."
She loves to read. She loves her books. She loves her spelling, copywork, games, and assignments. She smiles her little gap-toothed grin, grips her pencil in her pudgy fingers, and works her little heart out.
Today she cried, screamed, yelled, pouted, folded her arms, stamped her feet, and generally was a mess.
I tried sympathy and understanding first. When that didn't work, I simply closed her book and said, "School is for people who want to work. We don't do school when we're tantruming."
She ran down the hall to her room and let it all out . . . dramatically.
I kneaded bread dough and pondered.
In retrospect, I wish I'd prayed. I didn't do any damage, but perhaps I could have been a greater force for good had I prayed.
She came back with red-eyes and swollen face, "I'm ready for school now."
We did her assignments.
We played her favorite game: Sight-Word BINGO.
Then she won.
We both won.
She's been happy ever since.