Tell Me a Story

When I was pregnant with the Very Small Boy, I decided it was important to start talking to the Small Girl about her own arrival in the world. I wanted her to understand that all this planning, preparation and excitement had happened for her, too (that her arrival had, in fact, been even more precious, as she was our first baby). It backfired on me somewhat, instilling in her as it did a love of improvised storytelling; her demands of “you tell me the story of when I was born!” eventually began to drive me to distraction.

We have since built up a complex set of the tales that make up our family history: the time we moved to India; the time the Very Small Boy was born; the time Mummy broke her arm ice-skating; the time Daddy was a naughty little schoolboy stealing ripe fruit from the neighbour’s plum tree. And I’ve grown to love these story-times with the Small Girl, DH and I tying together the threads of our lives, from our own childhoods to theirs.

I’m pleased to say that, where the Small Girl is concerned, the line between reality and fantasy is as fluid as ever, and these days, her story-telling demands are becoming increasingly imaginative and bizarre. While I was helping her with her colouring-in recently, she turned thoughtfully to me and insisted “Mummy, you tell me the story of when the dinosaurs died!”. After which followed a long and complicated tale (involving meteors, dust clouds and archaeologists) of the kind I couldn’t possibly have imagined ever having with a three year old.

“Mummy!” came the familiar demand yesterday at bathtime (the Very Small Boy was busily dashing in and out of his bedroom with a collection of toys, books and clothes to be flung vigorously into the bathwater).
“Yes, darling?” I replied, fishing a sodden hardback out and setting it out of reach to dry on a towel.
“You tell me the story of when your head fell off!”

“Aha!” I laughed, and began the story: ”it was bathtime on a Monday evening in Newbridge and Mummy had spent a long and tiring day chasing after Small People and telling endless imaginary stories…”