Blip

Then comes Blip's favorite part. After he has hopped all the sounds, he takes a big slow breath and slides — he pushes the sounds together into one smooth slide, and out comes a whole word. /s/ /a/ /t/ … "sat!"

"Hop the sounds, then slide," Blip says, and he does a tiny happy wiggle. That is Blip's whole gentle way of reading. Hop each sound. Then slide them together. The hopping keeps the sounds apart so you can hear each one. The sliding brings them home into a word.

Blip likes to say it slowly, so you can feel it: hop, hop, hop… sliiide. Three little hops and one long slide, and a word appears like a lily flower opening.

Sometimes a friend at the pond hops too fast — hophophop — and the sounds get all tangled, and no word pops out. Sometimes a friend forgets a hop and skips a sound. Blip never says wrong. Blip never says too slow. Blip just smiles and says, "Let's hop again. One sound, one hop."

And they hop again, slower this time, together. /m/ — hop. /a/ — hop. /p/ — hop. Sliiide. "map!" There it is. A tangled try is not a mistake at the reading-pond. It is just a word that needs one more gentle slide.

A grown-up can hop along too! Blip loves it when a big person and a small person read a word side by side. The grown-up can point to each lily pad; the child can say each sound and hop; and then, together, they both take a breath and sliiide the sounds into a word. Reading at Blip's pond is for doing it together, never for racing.

Blip brings his pond-friends into every reading, too. When a word has two letters that make one sound, Shelby the snail is nearby. When a vowel needs to say its own name, Mavis the owl blinks her big eyes. When a whole line of words is ready to be read like a little song, Lark lifts her wings. But it always starts with Blip: hop the sounds, then slide.