Storyteller

I have a little storyteller in my house. Acutally two of them. But tonight was the first night I had seen Liv pretend to read.

Actually, check that. Last night was the first time.

Granted, she's looked at the pages and pointed at the pictures, talking feverishly about them, for quite sometime now. When she sees an 'O', she says, "oooh! That's Olivia!" or an "A," "That's Aiden!" The big difference now? Now, she's making the literary connection and pretending to weave a tale from the written word. Preliteracy! I, in my very nerdly fashion, am very excited by this.

So last night, I made homemade quesadillas (which, if you refer to my blog entry on deception, will understand that I stuffed with butternut squash, navy beans, chicken and cheese--BTW: Bill gave a thumb's up, Camille wouldn't touch them). At any rate, I got out "the quesadilla sauce"---drumroll please----a bottle of ranch dressing. Liv of course launched into a one sided conversation about "what is that quesadilla sauce oh that looks good can I try some please put it right here." Then she stopped, pointed to the words "Hidden Valley Ranch" and said, "oooh! Look. It is quesadilla sauce. It says so right here." Needless to say, I didn't burst her bubble, and she was so feeling important that she was "reading". It was fabulous.

Tonight at story time, she grabbed off of my shelf, "Life's Little Instruction Book." In my cynicism, which was at an "I'm tired because it's Friday night" peak said inside my head, "Oh, that'll last long without any pictures." And....as always, my children proved me wrong. Liv asked me to read several entries and then said, "Here, give it to me. I read it." She tenderly opened the book and started her story weaving, "And then we go up to the mountain and ABCDEFGHIJ He's got the whole world in his hands and JOY JOY JOY JOY." And as she was 'reading,' she kept flipping the pages in a very adult-like seriousness.

My memory jumped back in time probably 27 years. Eeeek! I actually remember sitting on the couch in our living room, knowing that mom was picking up around the house and occasionally walking through, having the opportunity to see me. I had open on my lap a book of Disney's Favorite Tales, which had rather lengthy, small print stories inside. I actually though that if I ran my finger along the words and murmured the story to myself, she would think I had magically learned to read overnight. And I felt so grown-up. And I thought she believed me.

I bet that's how Liv felt, too. So Bill and I played up every moment.

Thanks, Mom, for giving me the love of literacy so young...because I somehow have managed to pass that along to both of my girls. Someday maybe the girls and I will sit in Barnes and Noble and chat about our favorite novels, just as you and I have.