Libellus

The family notice board A new Board tab, there as soon as anybody else is in the circle — a child counts, and everybody in it can pin, take down and tick off. Four shapes: a sticky note to remember, a speech bubble for something said, a thought bubble for an idea offered and not demanded, and a notice everybody must read. The shape is the decision — it is what makes the board readable from across the room — and any of them can carry a picture or a file. "Important" holds a pin at the top for a fortnight and then lets it stop shouting. A pin can be for one person, and "put it on their to-do list" makes it a job on their own, with who asked and who ticked it off. It goes both ways with your book, and it is not a chat, on purpose: nobody waits for a reply, and you read it on the way past. Your week is your own again A child's ordinary school day no longer writes itself across your calendar. It is there when it is out of the ordinary — a trip, a day off, a week on its own timetable, something for the bag — and quiet otherwise. Their own week still holds every lesson. The shopping list, to somebody who hasn't got Libellus Send the list as plain words, by message or mail or anything else that carries text. Only what is still to buy, in the order you walk the shop, and who it is from — for the neighbour who offered, or a grandparent going past anyway. One way, on purpose: a reply is a message, not a tick. School words only where there is school A tab for private things offered to add a "subject". It offers a section now, and says section everywhere else too. And having children no longer makes your own errands homework: a task on that list has no child on it, so your own tabs decide what it is called. The question that gives a page the formula book, tables, curves and circuits is asked in every tab now, as "Calculation tools" outside school. A section called Calculations gets what a maths lesson gets. Find anything, not just your notes Search read your pages and your homework and called it everything. Now it finds the thing itself: the party in the calendar, the milk on the list, a course on a wish list, a child, a subject, a holiday, a tab. Each in its own group, soonest first. A locked tab stays out. The week, on the Home Screen A new calendar widget. Seven days across, today circled, a dot for each thing on. School holidays are blue and your own amber, and a day that is both is drawn half and half — never red and green, so it reads for eyes that cannot tell those apart. And the shopping widget has a microphone: one tap and you are dictating. Ask somebody to an event, and see who is coming Tap an event and there is a guest list on it: who was asked and what they answered — coming, maybe, can't, still to answer — with the count out on the line in the day. "Ask somebody to come" opens your own calendar's invitation sheet, so it reaches people whether or not they have Libellus. You are told when they answer, and if they change their mind. Apple's Calendar says nothing when a reply lands; this reads it. Settings, in eight rooms Twelve sections in one scroll are now eight named rooms: the book, family and children, reading, reminders, language, Apple Intelligence, Pro, about. Everything about the family sits inside one of them — the circle, who is in it, who was invited and never answered, each child and whose phone they are on, what is shared, and the board's switch — instead of spread across Settings, the shopping list and a tab of its own. And the sample of a handwriting sits directly under the picker that chooses it, not four rows below. Calmer along the top