I have always been fascinated by the power of stories. Stories are the medium through which I make sense of the world.
It thrills me to no end that Eliot loves for us to read and sing to him and that he's starting to "read" books to himself and his stuffed animals. He can sing the entire alphabet and recognizes most of the letters by sight. He's starting to learn that "Z" is for "Zayda" and "zipper," and that "R" is for "rainbow" and "Rachel."
So naturally, I was tickled this morning when he asked, "Can I tell you a story, Mommy?"
And so he begins: "One day...there was a deer...in the field."
I can tell he's making this up as he goes along by the long pauses in the middle of his sentences. And I'm already thinking I'm so proud of him for starting with "One day..." It's like he's setting up the story to have a setting and an actual narrative arc. He's only two! Smartest kid alive!
And then he continues: "And the deer had poop in his butt. And he pooped in the field. Oh, that was so gross!" And he erupts into a fit of giggling.
Yep. That's my son. *sigh* I'm so proud. ;)