Lately, C has added "Tell me a story" to his plethora of stalling techniques used before going to bed. Honestly, this part doesn't bother me too much because quite frankly, storytelling is one of my favorite things to do. Usually, he'll want to hear a story about "When you were a little goyl" so I'll tell him random things about my childhood, and try to embellish them just enough so they reach the five minute mark.
As bland and boring as these stories are, he always wants to hear more-- which is kind of wearing me out a little. (My childhood was great but producing story after story about adventures on 3rd Ave East is getting tougher.) So the other night, I suggested that we create a story together. Brilliant. He was stoked.
We whipped up a little story about a bunny (he has a stuffed bunny) who ventures over to his friend's house (the home of Puppy--another stuffed animal). On the way, Bunny sniffed out a hungry fox and high-tailed it home to the safety of his brambly burrow hidden away from the hungry fox. Neat, tidy, all wrapped up and time for bed.
Except it wasn't. And by now, you would think that I know my child well enough to expect a bazillion questions about the story we had just made. But being the slow learner that I am, it didn't even dawn on me that now he had a whole new stall tactic up his sleeve. It went something like this:
"Good Night Charlie."
(I tiptoe out of the room.... I make it almost as far as the living room-- approximately twelve feet away.) I hear the following:
"Mommy? Can you come in here?" (So I go in there. Bad move.)
"What's up Buddy?"
"Mommy, how could the bunny smell the fox?"
"Well sweetie, bunnies have pretty good noses. Goodnight Buddy."
"Mommy? Do bunnies have a big nose?"
"Maybe some. I think they're usually pretty little though. Goodnight Buddy."
"Was Bunny's nose a little pink nose?"
"Not sure. Goodnight." (I'm creeping out the door again.)
"Mommy? Where was the bunny when he smelled the fox?"
(deep calming cleansing breath) "Not sure. Probably on the trail. Night night Charlie."
"Was he walking?"
"Mommy? Did the fox go to look for Puppy?"
"You know what? I don't know. I think the fox was just out minding his own business and smelled a bunny. Or maybe he didn't even smell the bunny because he was probably so tired and just wanted to go back to his den and go to sleep. Which is what you should do. Goodnight."
"How did Bunny run fast to his burrow?"
"Cuz he's a bunny Charlie. They're quick."
"Was Bunny's mommy in the burrow?"
"She was probably sleeping. Or maybe drinking bunny wine. Probably doing shots."
"Could the hungry fox get into Puppy's house? Did the puppy live in a doghouse?"
At that point, I told Charlie that I'm not really sure what all happened to Puppy and Bunny but that I'm sure he could dream all about it. He wasn't sold on that answer but I somehow managed to slip out the bedroom... this time I made it all the way to the kitchen before I heard:
"Mommy? I'm firsty. Do you think the Bunny got firsty when he ran away from the hungry fox?"
Sigh. Pour wine. Take a deep breath. Write down these stories because someday, they'll provide me with nothing but humorous nostalgia, and all hints of frustration will be long forgotten.