Last night, I told my girls a Febreze and Caliente bedtime story. It was a pretty big hit, so after they fell asleep I wrote it down and posted it. Today, my daughters were at home with my dad, thanks to a teacher institute day (I got to go to meetings all day, and they got to stay home and have fun.) When I came home, I saw that they had built a clubhouse (just like Febreze and Caliente did in the story:)
You may notice the sign on the top. It states: No parents club. Only Grandpas allowed. No parents allowed! I guess my dad made the cut.
The girls built a clubhouse, and Fiona created a list of rules in her notebook:
Ah, the power of story. Not bad for something I made up as I went along. The best part of the telling the story was that it got me out of my funk – I had dealt with nonsense at work yesterday, which had put me into a pretty crabby mood. The story, and the act of creating story, took that all away from me. My audience might be two little girls, but I’m reaching that audience, dammit!
They have wrangled a lot of candy out of your creativity.
They are clever little opportunists.
I am ridiculously jealous of Fiona’s legible handwriting