Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, deep in the Ab and Anne Wood, there lived a beautiful…

“Princess Annie.”

That’s right. And she lived in a…

“Big, pink castle!”

Uh-huh. And one day…

This is how Annie Stories were born. When the sun goes to sleep and bedtime approaches (approximately 9:30PM or so), baths are conducted, teeth are brushed and pajamas are acquired (or, in the case of Annie, taken off immediately after we leave the room). Half a sippy cup of water is distributed to the children, and I sit down with a book of Shel Silverstein poems and save the best for last.

Annie Stories have, over time, incorporated her sister (Princess Abby), mom and dad (King Dad and Queen Mom), and every stuffed animal I could find. Over the past few weeks, as Annie has mired herself in old Disney classics, the topic has turned to the Mean Ole Witch who lives in the Ab and Anne Woods.

“That Mean Ole Witch is gonna get me!” Annie cries.

“No,” I tell her, “Spongebob and Patrick are going to save you!”

“But I want Sportacus to save me…”

“Okay then, Sportacus suddenly jumps down from his airship…”

And so it goes. These little pleasures and stories and times will not last, so I make it a point to be as elaborate yet economical as I can with Storytelling Time. As days and months pass, Abby will be featured in them more, as now she is a quiet observer. I suspect that will change as soon as she leaves the confines of the crib (Est Date: 2/19/06 – Her 2nd Birthday).

Annie, of course, loves the stories and I love to tell them, so it’s a match made in heaven. By the end of the tales she is saved (or her friends are—depending on my mood), and the Mean Ole Witch turns into the Nice Witch when Annie tells her not to be mean, to be nice, and to be her friend. If only everything were that simple.

I guess it’s a sign of success that she always asks for one more story, always wants one more adventure in Annie’s Big Pink Castle with all her friends, deep in the Ab and Anne Wood. While I know they’re not Shakespeare, and they’re not even worthy of condensing into a clever book like William Goldman and The Princess Bride. But my daughter loves them, I love to tell them, and they make us both happy. Can’t ask for much more than that.

Never mind there’s nothing I could do
Bet your life there’s something killing you