Bedtime Stories

The kid’s developing a wonderful sense of imagination. I’d love to think this is coming from books, but I strongly suspect it’s coming from kids’ tv at her childminder (not that I’m implying she doesn’t watch tv with us. I’m not Amish.) Here’s just a snippet of tonight’s conversations:

“Monkeyface: I’m the gingerbread man

Me: You’re not a man, you’re a girl

MF: I’m not a girl, I’m an elf.”

There continued a loooong monologue on Elf dos and don’ts. Elves can’t fly because they don’t have wings, but they live in trees with windows. Elves have magic boots and we needed to put our elf hats on. I fished out The Elves and The Shoemaker which we read for the first time. I’m not really a fan of fairy-tales, but this is possibly my favourite: it’s gentle, no-one gets eaten or rescued by a prince, there are shoes and it’s a lovely tale of the help we all need to get by and repaying that help. The Monkey wasn’t convinced, this time, and we soon found ourselves re-reading The Gingerbread Man and Crazy Hair. At least Gaiman helped get her hair brushed before bed which usually ends in carnage and with me being hit in the face – there’s always an upside.

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