photo by meggie

Welcome to the first Storytelling Day at Simple Kids.  Earlier this week, I introduced you to Robin, and today she’ll be sharing her first story with us.  May today’s storytelling inspire fresh, new, and imaginative stories to tell in your own home!

Jack and Jill
Went up a hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down
And broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling after

Up Jack got
And home did trot
As fast as he could caper
To Old Dame Dob
Who patched his knob
With vinegar and brown paper

There once was a lovely little boy Jack, and his best friend was a kind-hearted girl named Jill. Jack lived with his family in a small house in the village, and Jill lived with her family in a small house filled with big windows at the top of a hill. And every day that their mommies said they could play together, Jack would run out of his house and to the end of his street and up the winding path up the hill to see his friend Jill. And Jill would wait at the windows, and call his name.

Sometimes she threw flowers down on his head as he climbed, so he’d arrive in a rainbowed rain of petals. Sometimes she sang songs on the breeze, so the wings of music lifted him to her. And sometimes, because they were good friends who loved each other very much, she’d make surprises for him and he would love every surprise. Sometimes she’d hide behind a door and jump out at him. Because he loved her so much, he’d pretend to be frightened. Sometimes she’d bake him cookies so smells of warmth and yumminess helped him climb. And even if he’d just had breakfast, he’d pretend to be hungry.

One day, on a bright sunny morning, Jill was waiting for her friend Jack to arrive. Jill was gathering the last of the season’s snow from the pale grass. She was building a pile of snowballs for them to play with later. But two important things happened that day. First, the sun was just a little warmer than it had been the day before. And second, Jack was just a little later than when he usually began his climb. (His mommy had asked him to clean up his toys before he left.) So as Jill waited for her friend and the sun climbed higher in the sky, a small trickle of snowmelt began running down the hill.

Jack was almost up to Jill’s house when the snowmelt met the grass under his feet. And he slipped! Jack went tumbling back down the hill. Jill heard his cries and threw herself after him, somersaulting down until they found themselves at the bottom, out of breath and muddy. [Note: this is not unlike the scene in The Princess Bride when Buttercup pushes the Dread Pirate Roberts down the embankment, hears his cry: “aaaaaaaaas youuuuuuuu wiiiiiiiiiish,” and realizes that he is in fact her beloved Westley. In an act of true love she throws himself after him in a heap.]

At the bottom, Jill realized that Jack had a bad boo-boo on his forehead. So she helped him to the front porch of the nearest house, which just happened to belong to Old Dame Dob, the very best boo-boo kisser and bandage-maker in town. She had a secret recipe. She made all of her bandages with vinegar and brown paper and then she decorated them so all the kids could always choose their favorite designs. Jill and Old Dame Dob helped Jack pick a nice Spiderman bandage for his forehead, and just for that day only, they decided it would be best to play at Jack’s house instead of Jill’s.

But it wasn’t long before the best friends longed to play together at the top of the hill. For spring was coming, and the most perfect place for spotting the first signs of spring is always at the top of a hill, looking down into the empty valleys below. The trees and plants reveal their first colors. And so together Jack and Jill returned to the top of the hill, seeking first fruits and gathering flowers and welcoming the birds who returned after winter.

One day after the birds had all built nests and the valleys had filled with green, Jill called to her friend Jack. “Jack! Do you know the best part about living in a house at the top of a hill at the beginning of summer? The valleys all around you fill with fireflies.” And that was just was Jill wanted to watch. So she invited her dear friend Jack up to her house at the top of the hill so they could watch the twinkling evening.

And every night that their mommies said they could play together Jack and Jill would meet at the top of the hill to watch the valleys fill with the magical light of fireflies. They loved the summer of fireflies but one day they realized that evenings were coming faster and the fireflies were almost gone. Jack was heartbroken. But Jill hugged her friend Jack and asked him: “Do you know the best part about living in a house at the top of a hill when fall starts? You can watch all the leaves change to beautiful colors.” Together, the best friends explored on nature walks and collected the most vivid autumn leaves.

But the day came, as you knew it would, when the last leaves were fallen and a icy wind scraped at the air. Ever cheerful, Jill turned to Jack and asked, “do you know what’s the best part about living in a house at the top of the hill when winter comes? The sledding!” As soon as the first snows fell, Jill invited her friend Jack to come play on the top of the hill. And together they would slide down-down-down, and climb up-up-up. And slide down-down-down, and climb up-up-up.

And when they climbed, they always, always held hands. And in that way the two best friends took great care of each other, and nobody ever tumbled down again.

Robin blogs about satisfying the curiosities of her inquisitive family at Not-Ever-Still Life with Girls.

photo by Bindaas Madhavi

There is a facet of creative living that goes back to the beginning of the spoken word – the art of storytelling.

Those of us who take up the adventure of life with children each day know the importance of the story in day-to-day living.  Story comes to us in many incarnations – family lore, local legend, cultural classics, and timeless nursery rhymes and fairy tales.  For some, the gift of spinning a spectacular story comes easily; for others, a little practice is needed to oil the storytelling joints that have long since rusted over.

I’ve invited Robin to share with us each month an example of what creative storytelling looks like in her home.  I think you’ll find, as I have, that her charming play with well-known stories are delightful inspiration to loose our own imaginations in pursuit of the story.

I have two daughters. The younger is one-and-a-half and is just learning to talk. The elder is three-and-a-half and sometimes needs to be encouraged to stop talking. And so we talk. We talk and we talk and the younger pipes in with exclamations and squeals and the elder pipes in with questions.

Anyone who has ever spent five minutes near an awake three-year-old knows that that age group asks a lot of questions. Why?, certainly, but also how? and but what about…? and my favorite, but WHY? The question isn’t ever the whole question. The question is the introduction to an epic Treatise on Questioning.  And woe unto you if you dare speak the phrase, “I just don’t know, love.” For she will utter: think of something.

Dozens of times a day I am so instructed. And it is in this manner that I find myself testing the pliability of my imagination in directions I haven’t stretched since my own childhood. But it’s fitting, because I find myself revisiting the creative side of the first subject I ever passionately studied academically.

Before I had this beautiful family and before I worked in the field that now defines my daytime career I was one of those ubiquitous English majors.  My focus was the American short story. The short story form always held my fascination because the text must be distilled to a narrative free of impurities or distractions. Every word counts. Every sentence must tease the reader’s desires for the next one. It’s something I thought about every day for years, and then none at all for several more years. And now look: I’ve become the story teller.

My elder daughter recites a nursery rhyme she learned in daycare for my applause and then she asks a question like, but Mama, why did Jack fall down the hill? And why did Jill fall down, too? “It’s just an old story,” I tell her. But think of something.

Thusly I’ve been tasked. First I concocted The True Story of Jack and Jill. Then I was begged to clarify the meaning of Hey, Diddle Diddle. We’ll be driving down the street and the big girl will ask for a chapter. Tell me about Jack and Jill in winter. And so it has become that as part of our personal family narrative we carry along a the magical oeuvre of Nursery Rhymes Expounded.

These stories lived as part of our oral history until one day Megan invited me to share them here with you. I’m humbled and excited to share what I originally crafted for an audience of two with all of Simple Kids. I’ll be here monthly. Thanks so much for having me.

Robin blogs about satisfying the curiosities of her inquisitive family at Not-Ever-Still Life with Girls.

Be sure to be here this Thursday when Robin will share the first story for this feature – The True Story of Jack and Jill.