My five-year-old frequently asks me how to spell words, which is nice, because then I know exactly what she's writing (if not how her brain arrived at that subject). It's both exhilarating and terrifying to think soon she'll be writing her own uncensored missives and possibly SENDING THEM TO OTHER PEOPLE.

When I first heard of this assignment, I thought, "Yes! I like letters." And that was about as far as I took it. As I sat down to write this post, it occurred to me that I'm a little scared about this new step for my daughter. Soon she will have the ability to write sentences I'll never see. She'll learn to type. She'll get an e-mail address.

Maybe she'll get a blog.

I probably put more stock in printed self-expression (whether it be letters, e-mails, stories or anything else) than the average bear because of what I do. My daughter learning to write might best compare to Charleton Heston's daughter learning to shoot:  Sure, you're proud, but you understand what you're putting in her hands.  I want her to respect the power of words to help or to hurt.

Right now, she signs cards. We send birthday cards mostly, but also holiday cards and the occasional note-for-no-reason. In the past, she's always written her own name and drawn a few pictures, but recently she's begun embossing the cards with flowery flourishes and a few additional words. It's only a matter of time before she starts writing letters to her grandparents.

I'll try not to hover, not to offer too many suggestions. It will be hard for me, someone who spends eight hours every weekday correcting, editing, rewriting, analyzing. (Watching, judging, LOOK AT THE BABY LOOK AT THE BABY.)

But write them she must. I have an entire postcard collection from my maternal grandmother, who sent hundreds. She's been gone since I was eighteen, and as my memories fade I can still cling to her handwriting. (Dearest Rita Jane, insert words, I love you, Gran) It doesn't even have to be handwritten. I keep e-mails from my parents and my sister, texts from my husband. I cherish those moments in time when my family lets me into their heads.

And when I think of getting an e-mail or letter from my own daughter? It blows my mind. It will happen soon enough. I hope I'm ready.