To give you a glimpse, yesterday the Blue-eyed Boy was up in the play structure when snack time came around. So I put his rice cake with apple butter on a wooden plate, poured his drink and went outside to give it to him. I said, 'Here's your drive-through order', and held it to the gap. His face lit up immediately. 'That'll be two dollars and fifty cents,' I told him. He handed over the money and I gave him the change.
Here's the drive-through 'window':
Now, I have to say that imagination was not a tool I made much use of when my own children were small. Grandad and Dad were the two who told stories, not me. That I only learned a few years ago when I took a course with the wonderful Nancy Mellon. Her book, 'Storytelling with Children' is available from Amazon.
So it was only after I turned 35 that I began to develop my imagination. For me, water colour painting and creative writing formed the key.
A while ago the Blue-eyed Boy brought some behaviour back from elsewhere. 'I am a robot', he chanted in a weird voice, and accompanied this with a stiff marching walk, hands thrust forward from his elbows. Nana is not big on robots for one simple reason: they're mechanical. So what I did to transform the situation was chant and stamp low to the ground 'I am a dwarf', and then, on tip-toes, 'I am a butterfly'. He got swept up in the imitation of stamping, fluttering like a butterfly, stinging like... no, not that!
This reminds me of a story a dear friend told me. Her son came to her one day, arms straight by his side, walking and standing stiffly. 'What's the matter with you?' she asked. The reply came, 'I'm bored stiff!'
When your children say profound and amusing things, do your very best to write them down. You promise yourself you'll remember, and maybe you will... one or two. But many will be lost. I only managed to keep a good record with Ben. When he turned 21 we had a dinner party for his coming-of-age, and I read a selection out to him. He nearly fell off his char laughing.
