Storytime

For the past 3 1/2 years, I have been telling bedtime stories to my son. sometimes they involve things he has seen during the day, sometimes people he knows, or sometimes just pure fantastical riffing.

with the extra time, sunday is the best day for stories, and last night was a pretty good one. the tale involved a family of fish -- a rotund dad, a squeaky mom, 20 babies, and a skinny relative fish from deep in new jersey -- in essence, my family to a tee.

these fish swam around and discovered an anchor and a boat captained by my 13 year old and 8 year old nephews, who love fishing and managed to land the dad and the jersey fish onboard and then didn't quite know what to do next. so the relative started talking (in only the way a new jersey relative can) and the nephews were so taken back by the sight of the fat and skinny talking fish noodling their way back in the water that they threw them back and powered back to shore.

at the end of such stories, my son usually has a drink of milk, closes his eyes while rubbing the label of his blankie against his face, and drifts off to sleep as Gorillaz "Demon Days Live" plays in the background.

but last night -- maybe it was the juice -- or maybe he's just growing up, last night he launched into a story of his own about a monkey in a bathing suit and then another about Crazy Frog taking off his helmet and playing in a football game. it was really wonderful to watch his little mind coming up with ideas, mimicking the way i told stories and adding his own little flairs that can only come from being a totally open, developing self.