Eaten By a Bear!
Thank God you have your mother. Otherwise, you would sit around most days while I make you do the Mexican hat dance, and the chicken dance over and over on my lap. Really. I can’t seem to remember any stories or songs from my childhood, and the ones I do remember, I don’t remember how they go well enough to make them compelling or long enough to make you fall asleep. I’m the Cliff’s notes of a very select number of nursery rhymes. Your mother, though, is the queen of telling children’s stories and singing songs – a mix of traditional ones, ones made up completely, and some hilarious mixes in between. One of your favorite songs involves us making up different ways that you would be killed in a forest. No, really. Sorry in advance for all of the therapy you’ll need in the future.
It’s a learning experience for the both of us, really. I get just as sleepy and content overhearing her tell you about the three little pigs. It’s an overwhelming love to watch you fall asleep in her arms somewhere in between huffs and puffs and blowing the house down. I can hold my own with a book in front of me, but there’s something incredibly impressive about watching your mama tell you stories at length from her own memory and imagination. I’m not sure who is more lucky, you or me.