tell me a story.

it's no secret that i love listening to stories from my parents.  from clint's parents.  and grandparents.  there's just something great about hearing the past.  brought back to life.  watching someone light up when they tell you about something funny.  or moving.  or memorable.

up to this point, i've felt like pratt was probably too young to really comprehend any stories about him as a baby.  or other things i can't wait to tell him one day.

this means that our stories are usually from real books.  his favorite stories before bedtime are usually the "if you give" books.  if you give a mouse a cookie.  if you give a cat a cupcake.  etc, etc.  i'm not a school teacher like my mother or sister, but i have to imagine that these are good books.  very cause/effect.  very much "what's gonna happen next".  stuff like that that i know must stretch their minds.

well, last night was the first night that we didn't read a book.  it was the first night that i actually told him a story.  a fictional story, none the less.  about thomas.  yes, thomas the train.

you see, i was trying to get pratt off my bed and into his.  i was standing by the laundry room watching him jump on my bed.  he was refusing to get off the bed.  "one more olivia, mommy! just one more!!!"  so i told him that if he wanted to read a book, he needed to come now.  NOW!  he was moving at a snail's pace which totally and completely hacked me off.

it was that "i'm moving but i'm moving so slow that i'm gonna touch everything within a 5 foot radius before i get all the way to you so that it takes me FOREVER to get over to you but you can't be mad at me because after all, I AM COMING and i am moving" kind of movement.

do you know that one?  we know it well here.  little mr. obstinate.  he gets that from his aunt.  sugar.  she has been that way all her life.  i'm just waiting on when it becomes a good thing.  and he starts standing up for himself.  and not budging.  because people have walked all over me from day 1.  not spencer.  no way. she's scary.

anyway.  it was taking him forever.  he was lolly gagging around.  and i was done.  i did the whole, "counting to 3" thing.  which usually makes him run like the wind.  not last night.  on three he had maybe moved 1/2 foot.

so i said, "well, that's your decision.  no book.  fine by me!" (in my best ross gellar voice).

he flips.  starts crying.  cries all the way into his room.  by this time he's moving more quickly.  flailing his arms.  mad at me.

he crawls into his bed.  begs me for a book.  he has these huge crocodile tears falling down.  dripping onto his pillow.  and all i want to do at this point is read him a stinkin' book.  but i can hear clint's voice in my head.  "be consistent.  say what you mean.  stand up to him.  always tell the truth.  keep your promises."

and so i know that the easy thing would be to give in.  but i know better.  so i don't.

instead i offer him a story.  that mommy will tell.  mommy is the author.  (because sometimes we go over the title page and talk about title and author.  spencer told me to do this.  are you proud, spencer?)

he's up for a mommy story.  he wants it to be about thomas.  he's holding his thomas at this point.  yes, the wooden choo choo.  and so i have my prop.  and i begin my story.

he loved it.  it was a huge hit.  i even paused at times for him to give me his best guess on what came next.  laura numeroff would be so proud of me.

so tonight i put him in bed.  we say our prayers.  and before i can even begin to walk out, he asks for a story.  again, wants it about thomas.  so i told him one.  he loved it.

but the best part came next...

pratt told mommy a story.  about thomas.  and as best i could tell, about the museum of discovery.  and cupcakes.  and grasshoppers and snakes and worms.  and butterflies.  and coleman and carter.  and about a squirrel.

i nodded along and smiled and asked questions.  he was so proud of what he had done.  when he finished, he clapped for himself.

times like these make me feel like we're doing something right around here.  he's a happy little boy.  and that, above everything else, makes life worth living.  i have struggled for years with being happy.  and i can just see my mother saying that all she wanted was for me to be truly happy.

now i get that.  i know what it's like to just want your baby to be happy.

so, mom...i'm happy.  and pratt is happy too.  such wonderful news, i know.

happy (early) tuesday!