although my quality of life would certainly improve if she didn't need me in order to experience endless consecutive re-readings of Just Shopping with Mom.

Oh yeah! I remember when Phoebe started reading independently; this, I realized, was the perfect age. Of course, she was five, so she had already mastered such things as toileting, dressing, and getting herself something to eat; reading was the last -X- for which I thought that life would be so much easier when she could -X- by herself.