Speaking of stories, Ellie has a... slight... obsession with them. Her longest-standing obsession has been with the nativity story, which lasted about two years: enacting the story by stuffing balls down her shirt, calling Eric "Joseph" to the point where he would turn around if we said it. Maybe the story was so popular because it involved being very "tired" while pregnant and having to lie down for long periods of time. There was also usually the birth of a stuffed animal that required a lot of attentive care. I haven't had the heart yet to break it to Eric that he probably shouldn't be stuffing balls down his onesies and exclaiming, "going to have a baby!"
She's currently in a Peter Pan phase, instigated by her delight in getting to wear necklaces on her head in imitation of Tiger Lily's headband. Now she is Wendy. She made us call her Wendy all night, and call Eric John, and call Elijah Michael. Dave gets confused a lot ("no, Daddy, he's not Eric, he's JOHN!"). When we tucked them in, Eric said, goodnight Daddy-Captain-Hook.
For a while there I was making up bedtime stories, each night an installation in a saga that involved, by demand, sparkly princesses and rainbow horses, with the occasional injection of a moral story (persistence in reaching a goal, discovering inner beauty, befriending an outcast, learning to share). Unfortunately, her favorite plot development was pregnancy and birth, which led to an extremely convoluted family tree that she nevertheless kept eerily straight ("no mommy, Princess Violet's mother was Sparkly Rainbow and she gave birth to Little Violet!").
It really is marvelous, though, how expansive their imagination is. I could enact a story with rocks and they'd think it was amazing. I could tell them anything, paint any kind of picture with my words, and somewhere in their minds it is real. When we take a bath, they are mermaids, or fish at the aquarium at which I throw grapes which are really fish food. When we huddle under a blanket, we are a family of rabbits hiding out from a predator. When I drag them around the house on a blanket, they are the only survivors on a lifeboat in the ocean. It's probably one of my favorite things about this stage and one I'll surely miss when they grow up.
She's currently in a Peter Pan phase, instigated by her delight in getting to wear necklaces on her head in imitation of Tiger Lily's headband. Now she is Wendy. She made us call her Wendy all night, and call Eric John, and call Elijah Michael. Dave gets confused a lot ("no, Daddy, he's not Eric, he's JOHN!"). When we tucked them in, Eric said, goodnight Daddy-Captain-Hook.
For a while there I was making up bedtime stories, each night an installation in a saga that involved, by demand, sparkly princesses and rainbow horses, with the occasional injection of a moral story (persistence in reaching a goal, discovering inner beauty, befriending an outcast, learning to share). Unfortunately, her favorite plot development was pregnancy and birth, which led to an extremely convoluted family tree that she nevertheless kept eerily straight ("no mommy, Princess Violet's mother was Sparkly Rainbow and she gave birth to Little Violet!").
It really is marvelous, though, how expansive their imagination is. I could enact a story with rocks and they'd think it was amazing. I could tell them anything, paint any kind of picture with my words, and somewhere in their minds it is real. When we take a bath, they are mermaids, or fish at the aquarium at which I throw grapes which are really fish food. When we huddle under a blanket, we are a family of rabbits hiding out from a predator. When I drag them around the house on a blanket, they are the only survivors on a lifeboat in the ocean. It's probably one of my favorite things about this stage and one I'll surely miss when they grow up.
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