Stories are my favourite

Only yesterday I was considering the current seesaw of life with a toddler: the impossibilities of maintaining plans that are thrown up in the air by teething, and how managing the teething with medicine produces side effects that impede potty training. Each disruption is a distraction from other things, such as reading. When focus shifts to something else (finding a new role, travelling, teething, potty training) how easy it is to let other rituals slide. As children get older though, I’m starting to realise that they pick up the ritual for you, when you forget.

Last night, when I finally got the Monkey-face to scramble into bed, she was clutching four slim books of nursery tales. It won’t surprise anyone to read that one was The Enormous Turnip.

As she huddled down into her bedding, before I started to read with her, I was filled with joy when she proclaimed “Stories are my favourite.” Mine, too.

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