We try to give Kiera a lot of free reign with her imagination while at the same time, letting her know that when it comes time for reality or truth, that those are important. I have to admit though, her imagination and stories blow me out of the water.
This afternoon, I went to pick up Kiera from her grandparents’ house. I grabbed her dance clothes out of the truck and went in the house in search of her. I found her in one of the bedrooms playing with a baby doll.
I watched as she laid her baby down softly on the floor. She kneeled down in front of the baby and began to mimic changing her diaper. I waited patiently for her to finish. All of a sudden, she stood up and said, “Ewww!” She looked down at her baby while holding her hands out in front of her. “You got poop on me.” There was a long-suffering sigh and then, “Now I have to go wash my hands.”
Now, this is where I am amazed at the level of imagination at play. She stepped past me and climbed on the stool in front of the bathroom sink, turned the faucet on and proceeded to wash her hands!
I managed to get her dressed for dance class and we said our goodbyes and headed to the truck. I had not yet told her that her Daddy was still at work. As she climbed in to her car seat she looked to the empty front seat and said, “Daddy?”I opened my mouth to explain his missing presence but before I could utter a word, Kiera stood up and shouted, “Daddy got aten by a dragon!” (Yes, she said aten instead of eaten.)
I quietly laughed and asked, “He did?”
She sat in her seat with a sad and pitiful look. “Yes. Daddy got aten by a dragon. What will we do?”
I wish I could convey the level of drama that she managed to intone in her voice.
I glanced to the front seat, checking for a dragon. Don’t judge. If you saw, how serious she was, you would probably look too.
“Umm…honey, Daddy is at work. We can go see him before dance class though.” I said.
“Let’s go!” she yelled forgetting about the dragon and his possible victim.
I’m in awe of how fast she can switch from fantasy to real life.
She is also very good at directing the way she wants her stories or play to go. A few nights ago, she asked me to tell her a bedtime story.
“What story would you like me to tell you?” I asked, trying not to yawn.
“I want a lightning bug story! One that got lost!” she excitedly answered.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t know any lightning bug stories. This is our newest phase of story time though. She tells me a subject and I have to make a story that fits in her criteria.
I began to weave a story about a princess that lost her light in the forest and the lightning bugs led her home. I finished the story with the princess and the lightning bug family becoming friends and living “Happily Ever After.”
“You forgot the prince.” My little story critic stated.
“Oh. I didn’t know there was a prince.” I replied trying to hide my confusion.
I backed up a few lines in the story and added a prince and once again finished the story, ending it with “Happily Ever After.”
“What about the lightning bugs? They need rewards for helping the princess.” She stated.
I refrained from sighing. I quickly added into the story that the lightning bugs were rewarded beautiful homes at the palace and once again finished the story with, you guessed it, “Happily Ever After.”
I held my breath waiting. She laid there quietly for a moment and then said, “I love you, Mommy. Good night.” Whew. Bedtime story…check.
Tonight was Aaron’s night to put her to sleep. He came in and told me that she requested he tell her a story instead of reading a book. Her story request was something like this, “I want a story about a light that was a monkey and the monkey was mean and the girl was drawing a picture and the monkey took it and tore it up.”
I’m so thankful it was his night for bedtime!
Rowonna McNeely is a graphic artist for Willie’s T’s Screenprint & Embroidery. She is a mother of a four year old girl and step mother of two adult girls. Her crazy life includes a dog, Sloane and psychotic cat, Gracie. Both females. She is married to her prince, who is outnumbered by the opposite gender.
