I tweeted this the other day:
I knew full well when I typed that I might find myself regretting it later — one can only listen to B-I-N-G-O so many times before taking to one’s bed bedecked with noise-canceling headphones, after all. What I did NOT expect was for this observation to be completely incorrect.
Last night, as we sat down to a dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers, Vio had something very important to tell us.
“After dinner, we’re gonna read a book!”
I gave her a sidelong glance and remarked, “Oh, we are, are we? What book are we going to read?”
“Oh, Mommy. *I* am going to read YOU GUYS the book.”
“So what book will YOU be reading us, then?” I asked.
“It’s not a BOOK, Mommy. I’m going to just read it to you!”
At this point it finally clicked for me that she had made up a story she wanted to tell us. When her dad tried to ask her what it was about, she gave him a stern look and explained that it was a SURPRISE, silly.
After dinner, we all snuggled on the couches so she could tell us her story:
“ONCE UPON A TIME, there were some … flowers. And after that, some ducks came. They came in our yard and took all the flowers! And after THAT, a SHEEP came!”
The whole time she was telling the story, her little face was lit up with complete excitement. Even when she told us SIX more stories, our ears stayed open and our smiles stayed wide.
So, I do take back what I said — singing songs all day, while cute, is not the best age. The best age is being 28, taking all this in.