Story Time Revisited

There is a new little nightly ritual sweeping through my household. It isn't a "we can't do it because its too late" or "we'll do this before we get into bed", this new nightly ritual has to be (as mandated by the two year old Czar living in our house) when my son is laying in his crib. This new nightly ritual is, the night time story telling. It is not just any story, it is the story of The Three Little Pigs told by Mama exclusively. No book about The Three Little Pigs, no Dada telling it or song will do. My son ADORES and loves this story by Mama's words only. What can I say? To a two year old, I make a great story teller.

I am amused by my son's love of this story. Partly because I tell it the same way my Mom used to tell me the story. The three little pigs all have names. My son is obviously the little pig who builds his house with bricks and the two other pigs are typically his cousin (who he adores and can name) and another one of his little friends. When my Mom told me the story as a child, I was always the pig with the brick house and my sister and a cousin was always played the role of the other pigs. As I tell the story you can sense his anticipation about the Big Bad Wolf knocking on each of the pigs doors. When we come to the part of the story where the wolf "huffs, and he puffs and he blows the house down", I always pair it up with blowing out lots of air as if I was the wolf. My son smiles and does his little best to mimic the wolf as well by pretending to blow the houses down. I have memories of my Mom and I curled up in my small twin bed blowing air in each others faces. It sounds silly I know, but I remembered this being so hilarious and laughing so hard my Mom usually got some spit mixed in with that air because I couldn't contain the laughter and blowing at the same time (sorry Mom). Thankfully I have not yet been spit upon. By the end of the story my son is smiling a sweet tired smile and happy as he is the piggy that saves the day.

There is nothing more thrilling then passing down a piece of childhood that made me so happy as a kid. It is a simple memory, but a long lasting and happy one. I am sure my Mom never guessed I would remember her telling me that story so vividly, but it stuck with me. I am thankful for that. Perhaps someday when my son is a Dad and has kids of his own he may tell that same story in the way his Mom him and his Nagymama told her. That would be kind of special don't you think?