I built this playhouse 2 years ago. It was the best $10 I ever spent. Other than the front door (which I made red because our actual house has a red door - so I'm sad to see it gone...), it has taken the abuse of several children and still remains intact. Its walls have more "art" on them. Its roof has more dust on it. But it still retains its charm and ability to transport young minds to "The Land of Make Believe."
Since having a preschool in my home, this house has been a beehive, a coveted hide-and-go-seek hiding spot, a rocket ship, a really big car, a barn, and a smaller version of our classroom, complete with a teacher who can boss her friends around.
Most recently, the house has become an elevator. The preschool girls all pile in together, argue over which floor they're going to, push a button, and off they go. They never actually disembark the elevator, however. They just ride it up and down and decide on different floors. ("2!" "No, 3!" "No, I'm going to push the button!")
Today, during Rachelle's nap, Shaelyn wanted me to join her in the elevator for her "Mommy and Shaelyn" time. But this time, the elevator became Willy Wonka's glass elevator, transporting us to a world of sweets and make-believe.
We first got in the elevator and rode it to the 5th floor. This was the donut store. We got off the elevator, I was told to sit at the table and wait, and Shaelyn went to order us our donuts.
(I love this, as it involves Shaelyn saying both sides of the dialogue. "2 chocolate donuts please. With sprinkles." "Ok, here you are." "Thank you! Here's your money." "Thank you!" "Do you have napkins?" "Right here.")
She comes back with donuts, napkins, and, for some reason, spoons to eat the donuts with. Then she makes me wipe my mouth, because I have "chocolate all over it." She then proceeds to clear my plate and take my plate, napkin, and spoon over to the trash can. I can assure you that the amount of time she gave me to actually eat my donut was not sufficient, and that she threw more than half of it away.
After inhaling my 1/2 a donut as fast as I could, she asks if I want some "shake milk." Of course I do. So she goes back to the counter, has the same back-and-forth dialogue, and comes back bearing a "balina shake milk" for me. (Vanilla milkshake)
I only get one or two good sucks of that before it, too, is hauled away to the trash can.
I am then informed that we must get back on the elevator so that we can go to the bank. To get lollipops. Maybe there will be a chocolate river involved in one of our errands!
We get back in the elevator, and she tells me the bank is on the 3rd floor. Evidently, this really is the glass elevator and the ride from the 5th floor to the 3rd floor involves going sideways, diagonally, upside-down and all other ways, because she says to me, "Let's tell stories!" which I interpret to mean this is going to be one long elevator ride.
You should know that Shaelyn is currently obsessed with telling stories. They always start with "Once upon a time" and end with "the end!" Sometimes there is not much, or anything, between those two phrases. In fact, when I asked Shaelyn what she wanted me to write on Michael's birthday card for her, she said "Once upon a time. The end!"
So here we are on the never-ending elevator ride on our way to our next sweet-shop destination, and Shaelyn tells me a story. "Once upon a time, there was a doggie named plurple, and she wore ballet shoes. The end." Now it was my turn. I was about to tell a tale of equal ridiculousness, but then I remembered something a preschool mom told me. She said she tells her daughter stories of her life as they drive home. Sometimes they are stories of when Mommy was a little girl, sometimes stories about when Mommy met Daddy, but all are received with rapturous attention. I decide to try my hand at it.
"Once upon a time, before Mommy had Shaelyn, Mommy really wanted a baby. So she prayed and prayed that she would get pregnant." Oops, lost her on the pregnant. She has no idea what that word means. Just plow ahead. "And when she found out she had a baby inside her, she was so happy." "Mommy, are you done?" Wait, I haven't had my big reveal yet. This is supposed to be sentimental! "And she thanked Heavenly Father that she could have a baby. And that baby was Shaelyn." "Mommy, say 'the end'."
Ok, so my first attempt at Mommy-storytelling was not well received. Luckily I was not deterred. After hearing another Shaelyn-story, we got off the elevator and got our lollipops at the bank. Surprisingly, no money transactions occurred. But I did get a white lollipop. And back onto the elevator we went.
This time it was my turn to tell a story. So I decided on one that involves singing. That's sure to capture attention. "Once upon a time, when Mommy was a little girl, Paw Paw used to come home from work and sing me and Aunt Chan Chan a song. It went like this: 'My little baby's gonna bust her butt, gonna bust her butt, gonna bust her butt. My little baby's gonna bust her butt...' and we would run around and around and around the couch as fast as we could. Paw Paw would sing faster and faster and we would run faster and faster and then, when we couldn't run any faster, we would fall down giggling. And then Paw Paw would come over and tickle us! The end."
This story was well received. VERY well received. So well received in fact, that another story was requested. So I told stories about when Mommy and Daddy got married, when Mommy danced in a ballet recital when she was a little girl, when Mommy went to the hospital to have Shaelyn. Shaelyn listened to every word, eyes wide open.
Then she told me stories. Stories of when she came to the hospital to meet Rachelle for the first time. ("I held Rachelle. And I rocked her. And she was small. And soft. And then she cried. And she laid in her bed. And went to sleep. And the doctor came in and gave Mommy beautiful food.") And stories of some special Shaelyn-Mommy moments. And stories of when she was at Mommy and Daddy's wedding. (Before you panic, in our wedding video, Shaelyn thinks our little blonde niece is her.) And I got a little peek into her heart. Into her memories. Into the things that matter to her.
It was so sweet to hear her memories of Rachelle being born. She talked about staying with our friends while Mommy went to the hospital. And how she got to go to McDonald's. And how she got to eat food with Mommy while in the hospital. And how she missed Mommy when she had to go home.
I'm so glad I got on that crazy Willie-Wonka elevator this afternoon. Because even though the sweets were sweet, the stories were a whole lot sweeter.
