After nine long months, our family has emerged unscathed from the kindergarten experience. Well, I shouldn’t say unscathed because one bad thing has happened. Bridget learned how to read. I know that is not a bad thing on its face. It’s a great thing, actually. We’re very happy with her teachers and how far she has come since September.

But we have to be careful now.

We can’t spell things out. This is a devastating development in our house.

I know we’re far from the first family to hit this point, but it hurts nonetheless. I worry that we might have to develop some sort of sophisticated code in order to gossip at the dinner table.

The spelling goes way beyond casual conversation, however. We have had to make serious adjustments to household decorations.

On one side of the fridge, Maria has the coolest postcard. There is a picture of a June Cleaver-ish looking woman in front of a 50s-style house. She has a smile on her face with four words next to her head.

“My garden kicks ….” Let’s just say the next word is a synonym for donkey.

My wife doesn’t have a potty mouth. That’s my job in the family. But the postcard just fits so perfectly.

Maria is very proud of her garden. Maria has a very innocent look, just like the woman on the postcard. And Maria can surprise you sometimes with her sass.

With a reader in the house, however, we have had to cover up the last word on the postcard with a magnet. This kid is bringing us down.

I refuse to give in. I will use this as an opportunity to take advantage of my child’s newfound skill.

If she’s going to go out and learn how to read, she’s ready to start changing the channel on her own.

I know all about Summer Reading Club and the local playground activities. She’s already signed up for those things. But changing the channel is serious business.

For five years or so now, Maria and I have lived by the half hour. PBS to Disney Channel to Noggin. We’ve memorized schedules and watched far too many musical interludes.

The time has come for us to enjoy our coffee in the other room for as long as we want.

Sure, we may have to sit in the living room to keep Bridget company while she watches her favorite show, but when it’s time to switch from “Little Einsteins” to current favorite “Max and Ruby,” she can reach for the remote all by herself.

I don’t know why I waited until after she started reading to give this a try. The remote only has numbers, not letters, after all. If she remembers every detail of the shows, she can certainly remember the channel numbers.

I haven’t looked at the summer work Bridget’s kindergarten teacher sent home on the last day of school, but I bet memorization exercises will help her in first grade somehow.

I just hope they get cable at the school.