My daughters and I have a healthy commute to school and work. To pass the time, I often tell them stories (the older one listens, the baby sleeps).
I’ve recently started a “series” for Ellie called, The Governors Court Detectives with she, her little sis, two neighborhood buddies, and Elsa and Anna, because of course. The detectives spend their days searching for clues, jotting in their detective notebooks, and generally saving the day.
But, the procrastinating writer that I am, I often need to be cajoled to produce the next story.
“Mom, c’you tell me a story?”
“Not yet. I’m still eating my breakfast.”
“Mom, now c’you tell me a story?”
“No, there’s too much traffic right now.”
“Mom, c’you tell me a story now?”
“How about we listen to a book? We just got a bunch from the li-”
“No, Mom. I just want you to tell it.”
“Ok. A true story or a detectives story?”
“I want the detectives story where Belinda goes on vacation and the girls take care of the cats and they lose the key. But, this time I want the key to be somewhere else and I want Elsa to have a flu and Anna to unfreeze the cheese for Mr. Mouse.”
I used to think of Ellie as some kind of hard driving publisher prodding her reluctant writer on a deadline. But, I’m starting to think that maybe she’s the writer and I’m just the word processor.