Telling stories

The other day I found myself driving with my toddler. It was a 20 minute ride in the late afternoon and although she is normally quite behaved in the car I was a bit afraid that it was late in the day and she would get irritable.

Or worse, angry. And when she’s angry she screams.
And I really wanted our outing to end on a pleasant note because it had been surprisingly pleasant thus far and so I started telling her stories.

I always thought I’d be the kind of mom that tells a lot of stories. I used to make up stories as a kid to tell other kids, so how hard could it be, right? And I started telling her stories of a whitch I’ve forgotten the name of when she was just about 4 months old.

But babies are surprisingly bad listeners. She’d lay there, fenching with her arms and giggle in all the wrong places.

Of course we read a lot of books. It’s fun to waltz through the topics that interest a toddler. And so reading to her got me side tracked and I stopped making things up for her… Mostly.

But a while ago I got a tip from someone that telling a kid a bed time story and including what happened to them during the day. It is a great way to keep them interested and put them to sleep. So I’ve done that when the mood hits us. And she loves it. Of course she usually corrects me if I start to spin and make things up. Toddlers are realists. Their choice of literature is autobiography.

But in that car I told her stories about trolls (she is fascinated with trolls) and a Pippi princess and her pet elephant, monkey and a bear. They had many great adventures. I managed to tell at least three stories during our car ride home.

And she loved it.
“One more” she kept saying.

She’s getting interested in the wondrous.
My baby is growing up. Fast.
But this is lovely. And it’s easier now than it was because now she is my inspiration for the stories. And there is always more to tell.

Always “one more”.

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