For a time we wondered if Isabella would ever talk. I can remember thinking how great it would be if only she could tell us what was going through her mind. Now we sometimes wonder if she’ll ever stop talking, though it’s still hard to get her to tell us what she’s really thinking about.

Because of the former fear, I try to remember to let her jump in while I’m reading her books or telling her stories, even though getting interrupted irks me, especially when it’s late and I’m extremely impatient to get started on my blog about the virtues of patience. So stories end up taking forever.

I tell stories every night, and I ran out of good ones years ago. So now I just start talking about something I see at the moment and then just make up the story on the fly. Occasionally I’ll get a little story arc going and tell a decent story. Example: “So… this pink stuffed animal is hanging out with the other stuffed animals in a big chair, and they start teasing him because he’s pink. He tells them it’s not nice to tease and … uh … they say sorry.” Pretty impressive, huh? Unlike this edge-of-your-spine seat-tingling story, however, most often the stories are about as good as a typical karaoke song sung at 2am.

The other night, as another example, Isabella was twisting and turning and writhing in her sheets. Why, I don’t know. She just does that, getting hopelessly tangled. So I started to tell a story about a pet dog who had a little doggie bed and a little doggie sheet that he got tangled in and –

“Why did he get in their bed?” Isabella cut in.
“He didn’t. He had his own little bed. And then he –“
“Was it a big dog or a little dog?”
“It was a big dog. So then –“
“Was it a big blanket or a little blanket?”
“It was a big blanket.” Pause, waiting. “The dog’s name –“
“We have a dog. Right?”
“Yes.”
“And a cat.”
“Yes. We have a dog and a –“
“So we have a dog and a cat. Right?”
“Uh huh.”
“That means ‘yes,’ right?”
“Yes.”
“Right?”
“Yes.”
“Right?”
“Yes! ‘Yes’ means –“
“Some people don’t have dogs.”
“You’re right. Some people don’t.”
“But we do.”

This went on for quite a while, but I forgot all the directions that it went. The tiny voice in the back of my head kept telling me that it was good for her to think through the story and express herself and that it would be bad to tell her to zip it and let me finish the darn story. If I wasn’t so tired I might have recognized how cute it all was. But sometimes – make that oftentimes – my good intentions get drop-kicked by my bad habits, namely impatience.

So I could have continued to encourage her to make more observations or deductions based on what we were discussing. Instead I say, “Yes, we do have a dog and the dog in the story got tangled and the Mommy and …”
“But…” she tries to cut in. But I keep going rapid-fire, determined to finish.
“…Daddy untangle the dog and the dog never wants the blanket again the end.”
“But the doggie still loves his bed.”
“Yes he does goodnight honey sweet dreams.”

Then my little angel drifts off to a peaceful sleep. As I watch her, so delicate and quiet in her silky pajamas under her pink sheets, I start to feel guilty and want to wake her up and tell her a real story. But it’s too late. I vow to tell a better one tomorrow.

I’ll do better tomorrow.