My granddaughter Eve is 2 years 11 months old. As I’ve mentioned before, she is an avid “reader.” And listener. She loves books and stories. Last weekend, Donna and I were babysitting. Eve and I played kitchen (I pretended to eat – and be enthusiastic about – wooden food – oh that’s delicious – yum yum). And then we spent time building blocks (confusing for me as Eve has a unique perspective on how blocks should be arranged). Anyway, shortly before noon, Eve asked if I would read her some stories. Are you kidding? I’d love to!
So Eve grabbed a couple of favorites and we read. Then I thought I’ll tell a story. So I began telling the story of a little girl named “Eve.” And I simply retraced her entire day (awoke cheerfully at 5:00 a.m. saying “it’s morning!”; was led back to bed to “sleep a little more“; up again at 6:45 a.m.; bathroom; downstairs for breakfast; then off to school; and on and on). When I couldn’t “remember” the names of her friends at school – hmmm. . . what were their names – she chimed in with the details. Well Eve was mesmerized. She listened intently. Hands clasped behind her head. Enjoying immensely hearing “Popi” tell the story of her day (though nowhere near the enjoyment that I had from telling it). As Eve’s “day” wound to a close, I was paid a great compliment. She asked me to tell the story “again.”