Story time.

I can tell a decent story if I sit here and write it out.  But I cannot sit in front of you and tell you the same story straight from my head.  I forget important parts or I’ll stutter or I’ll have a complete lack of emotion when telling or the worst, I’ll have absolutely no point or punch line at the end.

This became very apparent after a few nights of Emma asking us to tell her a story before she goes to bed.  She doesn’t want us to read a book, she wants to hear about when Scott and I were little kids.

“Tell me a story when you were little,” is what she’ll say every night.

Scott is so good at this.  He is an exciting storyteller.  He made up a story about how he picked out Nana and Papa’s dog, Duke, when he was a little boy.  It was amazing. I could hear him from our room.  I can’t really remember the story now but it he spoke like he was a little boy again, all excited to get a brand new lab puppy.  Or the story about how he met his Princess, named Julie.  Prince Scott and Princess Julie got married in a beautiful castle.  Prince Scott got to kiss Princess Julie and take her away to a magical place with rainbows, waterfalls and flowers, called Hawaii.    He takes real stories from his life and adds some fabrication to make it exciting to a 3 year old.  Right on the spot, never plans out any of these stories in his head before hand.

This is incredibly hard to me.  I went in there thinking of a story of my childhood.  I thought of one that stood out in my mind.  One my siblings and I tell over and over.  It’s a funny story to us but I was not thinking in terms of how a 3 year old would interpret it.
This is how it comes out:

One day I was playing catch with Uncle Jon in the living room of our old house.  Aunt JJ was upstairs playing with my barbies and she wasn’t supposed to be.

Why wasn’t she supposed to be?

Uh, because she was in my room and she shouldn’t be in there.

Why can’t she play in your room?

Because she is always snooping and taking my stuff.  Uh, nevermind.  Anyway, Jon and I were playing catch in the living room with a toy.  I threw it really high and Jon went to catch it.  He landed on the fireplace and hurt his forehead.  (Now I’m thinking to myself…damnit, bad story, bad story. Change the story.  Too late.)

Did he get a boo-boo?

Uh, yes, Nina’s shirt was um, full of blood.

OH NO! Mommy!

But he was ok. They gave him stitches at the hospital.  (Damnit.)

What is stitches?

(CRAAAAP.) Um..wellll.  They took string and sewed his forehead back together.

MOMMY!  Noooo! I don’t like that story.

Nevermind, he’s ok now. He’s ok.  Uncle Jon is fine now.
Ok, here’s another one.
One day, Nina and Papa took me, Aunt JJ, Uncle Jon and Aunt Jenna to DisneyWorld!  And we saw Cinderella’s Castle.  And Cinderella said, “Hi Julie!” And we took a picture together.

Then what?

Um…the end.

I want daddy to tell me a story.

2 thoughts on “Story time.

  1. >haha, love it! Those sound like my stories! I am much the same way, I could write something out great, but not so great verbally, spur of the moment.

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  2. >My niece went through a looong phase of wanting stories told to her. Its hard. Don't feel bad I always told her about an old dog we had and she finally asked me to tell her about something else. Emma's too smart!

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