Hello lovely readers!
First, I want to say "thank you" to Jenny over at "Using My Power For Good", for nominating me for the Rockin’ Girl Blogger Award. Very fun indeedy!
I would like to pass on the warm fuzzies by nominating Alix North. I love her blog. If you haven’t checked it out…just click on her name and take a read! Besides being a fabulous friend, she is also a gifted writer.
The last few days, I have been working on a blog post about the stories that we tell ourselves. How we filter the world through these stories. So far it is an informative blog post…but not very funny. I have decided to shelf it and wait for some humor inspiration to jazz it up a bit.
Instead of writing about the stories we tell ourselves…I am gonna shift gears and talk about the stories that we tell our kids!
Ready?
Okie Dokie!
When my sons were young, I used to love reading stories to them. We would read books during the day and at night they would be tucked in to bed by stories as well. Not only did we read lots and lots of books…we also would make stories up. Sometimes the boys would make up stories and sometimes I would make up stories…and sometimes we would make stories up together.
Recently, my youngest son was reminding me of a story that I told him…many, many moons ago! I am embarrassed to say that he had carried this story in his young heart for years, wondering if it was true. Oops!
Here’s the story:
One day…I was walking in the forest. I heard a small cry. Behind a big and beautiful redwood tree, I found a basket with a baby in it. The baby had bright blue eyes, blonde hair and a dimpled chin.
I picked up the baby…it was a boy! It was a beautiful baby boy.
In the basket was a folded up piece of paper.
I opened it up.
It said that this baby was born to a family of Trolls. Because human babies are not allowed to live with Trolls…they were offering this baby to me.
I was over come with joy.
Of course I will raise this baby. I knew from the moment I looked at him that I would love him and be his mom.
According to my son, I had various additions to this story (I don’t remember that!). But, the story always ended with me being so happy to have this amazing little boy that I loved dearly.
Well, a part of him wondered if this story was true!
Really?
I thought he knew I was makin’ the story up!
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t as good of a mom as I thought!
Watch out watcha tell your kids:)
September 21st, 2007
Is it bad that this makes me feel a little bit better about the things my parents told me? 😛
September 21st, 2007
Hey, Lynne, thanks for mentioning my blog!
I don’t remember my parents telling me any stories except for the TRUE stories that I wish weren’t true. Like that one my blonde mother loved to repeat about how when I was born I looked so different (jaundiced, with black hair) that she said, “That’s not my baby!” and the doctor said, “I’m sorry, but it’s the only one I’ve got here!”
But, you know, it gave me the opportunity to make up the rest…like the part about being a Russian Princess who had to be raised by another family so that she would be safe. Um, why Russian? No clue.
Oh, and you know, there are people I told stories to as an adult where I SWORE they must have known I was being playful, but nope, they believed them! Oops. Whaddya gonna do?
September 21st, 2007
Ohhhhhh…I like the Russian Princess story. I am adopted…so maybe I am a blonde haired and blue eyed Russian Princess and we are sisters. Actually, I have never felt much like a princess…I am more of a ….hmmmmmmm…Princesses friend? I dunno!