Lions and Horses and Ghosts, Oh My

I picked up Rachel from preschool today. She decided it was "ghost story" time. I was hip. I mean, I can come up with a totally appropriate four-year-old type ghost story. And then I was told that I had the "mean" stories. Rachel, on the other hand, got the "nice" stories. Quite honestly, I couldn't tell the difference between the two, but Rachel could--and that's all that matters, right?

This bonding time continued after we got home. We were on the couch, cuddled under a blanket, and I was directed that the ghost stories were to continue. Who am I to argue?

It was a volleyball match or tennis match or any other sport where the play went back and forth, back and forth. My turn. Her turn. After a bagillion ghost stories, we got upgraded. To lion stories. Ooooh! And I somehow still had to tell the "mean" stories. Go figure.

Next came the zebra stories. My brains were mushy. My patience growing, well, a bit thin. I mean, why is it that children can't focus long enough to hear you tell them "hang up that coat" but they certainly can focus to infinity and beyond on something that an adult loses interest in in like, five seconds. I was actually very proud of myself for hanging in as long as I did.

My saving grace came when Joseph called for Rachel to take her bath. Sweet mother of pearl! I was saved!

The respite was short, however. As soon as Rach came down from her bath, she was back on the couch. "Ready for the horse stories, Mom?"

I must have answered not to her liking. Her face acquired her sad, puppy-dog look. Her voice got that "my life is ruined" tone. And she said, "But, Mommy, . . . . I thought we were having fun!"

Sigh.