I Told the Bedtime Story Last Night   Leave a comment

My now fourteen year old daughter took over the stories some years ago, during the time we spend together before I tell her good night, and we’ve either read lots of Rick Riordan books, or she narrated portions of the novels that she’s working on.  It’s been fun.  But last night she was talked out with a cold following on performing in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella, and she didn’t have anything to say.

I burst out with, “Would you like me to tell you a story?” not thinking she would say yes.

I got a nod though.

Cast about in my mind for what on earth to say.  I’ve always been a story reader, not a story-teller.  My idea of a good day is one in which I read out loud to my family a minimum of twice, so….I didn’t feel like doing a fairy tale.  Or a variant of something I’d read that I thought she’d like–would take too much time to come up with.  Nor did I feel particularly creative.

So I started where many parents do–with something that really happened.

“Once upon a time, in a little house high up on a hill lived a mommy and a daddy and a little boy, and their three cats and one dog.”  That’s all true.  1998.

Went on from there to tell her all that was missing was a little girl to live in the house as well, the one the mommy had been wishing for for many years.

There were the elders visiting and praying for the mommy.  There was the helpful doctor who kept trying different ideas for why the mommy was not having a baby.  There was the surgery the mommy had (details omitted here) that took care of the problem.

And there was the story of the answer to the question the mommy asked herself a few weeks after surgery: “Am I pregnant?” which was answered immediately by an internal voice, with these words: “Yes, you are. And it’s a girl.”

My daughter really liked this story.  And so did I.

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Posted May 27, 2015 by swanatbagend in motherhood

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