Why I Believe in Stories

This. 

This is why I believe in the power of stories. 

J. K Rowling Found Out Her Books Saved This Baby's Life. Her Response Was Magic.

It will break your heart then repair it so you can feel even more hope, more joy.

Warning: have tissues handy.

The Power of Words (Part II)

I don't do a lot of "cursing" in the normal course of conversation. I might let certain words slip out but that tends to happen at home where my husband and the tortoises don't mind. I am very aware of the company I'm in and I do my best to not let even what my sister tells my niece and nephew are "potty words" out if I can help it.

I was doing so good, really I was...until my sister took out a toy she'd been saving for the kids. She thought it would be fun for Aunt Maddie to put it together and for all of us to play with it. To make a long story short, my sister was lucky I didn't throw the thing through her bay window. I could not get it to work. The car was supposed to go on the track and then go upside down and then...I'm getting frustrated just thinking about it.

So, what I wanted to say was "This thing is s***!" but I caught myself in time. Then, I started to say, "This thing is c**p!" but all I could think of was my nephew, B, asking what "c**p" meant. What I ended up with was "This thing is...poopy." (I know, I know.)

Now, keep in mind, I didn't know about the whole "potty words" thing then. Well, B and T looked at me, eyes wide WITH DELIGHT, mouths turned up in HAPPY GRINS. "Aunt Maddie said poopy! Aunt Maddie said poopy!"

And so, as you can imagine, I was a hit - with the kids, anyway - for the rest of the visit.

In my defense, I truly did have the best of intentions. But I think that fact was lost on everyone when, later in the day, my niece, T, said in her teeny, tiny voice, "Poopy," and then smiled at us all.

The Power of Words

I forget that I know a lot of words. I was reminded of this recently when I spent time with my nephew, B, and my niece, T. I lost track of how many times I used a word and B would ask me what it meant. (I would tell him and he would say "oh" and then it was as if I could actually see him storing it away in that little head of his, waiting for a day when he would use it himself.)

The thing is, I had to figure out the best way to explain whatever the word was to a four year old.

We were all playing with these magnetic/wooden/paper doll type things - there were super hero outfits and pirate costumes and all kinds of stuff. (It was so much fun that Aunt Maddie might need to get some for herself. The dolls, not the costumes.) B couldn't find the shoes that went with the super hero. All he could find were cowboy boots. This was very troubling to him, so I said something about how the doll could be a "rebel" and, of course, B asked, "What's a rebel?"

I had to think a minute before I said, "A rebel is someone who doesn't do what everyone else does."  

"Oh." He stopped for a minute, the cowboy boots in one hand, the doll in the other. He nodded as if deciding something. He put the cowboy boots on his super hero guy and said, "I'm going to make him a rebel."

Hmm, I wonder if more than one rebel was born that day.