Tell Me a Story

Gavin's nightly routine has been the same since he was only a few days old. Put on jammies, read books, sing songs, go to bed.

Reading with Daddy as a 15-month-old.

Almost four and a half years passed with that same routine, until vacation this year, when all of a sudden he grew out of songs and started asking for stories instead. At first, I thought he meant more books, but soon realized he wanted us to tell him a story. One that we'd made up. From scratch.

I mourned the loss of song in our routine only briefly because MY BOY LOVES STORIES! And, and, and...he's so going to be a word nerd like his Momma. I just know it. [squeals with delight]

He routinely gives us a subject now that we must follow, no matter how goofy it may be. The other day, he asked for "a story where monkeys fart" because of course he did.

Even with the goofiness, I'm loving indulging this new little fascination of his and I'm not-so-secretly hoping (obviously) that it sparks a lifetime love of storytelling.