Tell Me A Story About When You Were A Little Kid

This is a request I hear no less than 5 times a day.  Jason hears it, too.  After bedtime books and scriptures, Leah always pleads to hear the stories of our youth.  It's a constant topic of our dinner table, and to her, far more fascinating than anything a book could offer.

Jason and I have covered everything from the the sports we played as kids to our best toys to the reason why we don't color on other people's suits (Jason) or kick the door when fighting with our sister (me).  We've told her about trips to exotic places, visits from grandparents who make forts in the backyard, the many pets we've had, and countless stories about school and teachers.  There have been stories about friends made and lost, siblings fought with and forgiven, and parents who were human, just like her parents are.  We've told her about our baptisms, Jason's mission, when we were married in the temple and before she was born. 

I've even started telling stories about when she was a little kid- the time that she ate too many Halloween cookies and threw up all night long was real a hit this week.  

And she never tires of it.  She sits quietly, retains everything, and asks for more. 

Tonight she decided that we should act out the story "Stop That Pickle!" (something I loved to do with my brother and sister growing up, except we did stories like "The Giving Tree"). 

She selected her costume- it had to be all green and cast the roles of the pickle,

 the thick braided pretzel, 

 the 17 almonds, 

and the vanilla ice cream cone with sprinkles (behind the camera).

Then we chased each other around the house, pretending that we were trying to stop that pickle!

The point?  I just hope that our children always finds us so fascinating as Leah does today, and perhaps that along the way she'll remember that we, too, are just regular old humans who make mistakes and then try again.