The Storyteller

I love toddlers! Sure, they are wild, and crazy, and volatile, and stubborn, and downright difficult at times, but that is all part of their charm and let me tell you, Leif is charming. I swear he has me cast under his spell because no matter how much I want to throttle him when he does something foolish like eat his brother's deodorant and then throw it up all over the floor or colour over every inch of my walls in brown crayon, in the next breath all I want to do is smother him in kisses and cast my own spell over him so that he will stay exactly like he is . . . right now . . . forever and ever and ever. Since I have been unsuccessful at tapping into my inner witch and, like the rest of my children, this tiny bundle of energy, mischief and curiosity is bound to grow up on me, I am left trying to bottle up the moments we share on the ol' blog.

So, here goes . . .

Tonight, as Leif and I sat on his tiny bed in the corner of my room reading stories, he decided to tell me his very own story, complete with actions.

Mom, what is this?

Leif flipped through the books beside his bed and pretended to pick something up. I could tell it was tiny.

It's a key! It fell from the sky.

I asked him what the key was for.

To that door . . .

As he pointed across the room.

What do you think is behind the door, Leif?

Fishes and oh, look a lion! The lion runs fast, mom. Oh, he jumped up to the sky! We need a ladder. 

Where is the ladder, Leif?

Oh, no! The monster has it. Wait! I see the monster's feet.

Are those his footprints, Leif?

Yes, they are his feet. And there's the giraffe's feet.

Where do they lead?

In there . . .

As he points to the bathroom.

What are the monster and the giraffe doing in the bathroom?

They are playing with a star.

Oh! Is it a bright star?

Yeah. Juice, mom?

Are you ready for your juice, Leif?

Yes.

And that was it; Leif's first story.

Perhaps he will be our writer.