The Writer's Life

This week at preschool, Ben made a book called "All About Me." It is super cute, his photo on the front, pages devoted to his favorite color (red), his favorite game (hide and seek), his finger prints, his age, his handprint.  When we read it together at home, he told me very proudly, "I'm an author."

Which brings me to an absolutely classic Benism today. After seeing a cutout of Frankenstein at the Y this morning (a Halloween decoration), Ben was asking all about Frankenstein. Why was he a monster? Was he alive? Why? Could he see the movie of Frankenstein? Why would it be scary?

I tire pretty easily of answering all these questions that are fairly unanswerable, so I decide to go big picture on Ben. In light of his author comment earlier, I told him that Mary Shelly was the author of Frankenstein more than 150 years ago and she created Frankenstein out of a competition with her friends to write a really scary, really good story, and she wrote such a great story that people are still reading it and making movies about it and talking about it today.  I asked Ben if he thought he might ever think of a story that is so good that people might be reading it more than 100 years later. He was very excited by this prospect, and pronounced that he would write a story about the robot Frankenstein.  Thinking it through, Ben then proclaimed from the backseat,

"I think when I grow up, I'll be an author, instead of a train."

Go for it, Baby. I was just telling Dad this morning that you really have a way with words. Earlier today, in a discussion of Christmas carolling, you told me, "I would like to go Christmas carolling and then eat cookies and candy and EVEN hot chocolate!"

How can we feel bad about letting you watch endless shows on Netflix when it is so clearly helping you develop an ear for language that you transform into beautiful expressions with great cadence. I love you, my little poet.

Love,
Mama



How can we feel bad about letting you watch endless episodes on Netflix when you so clearly pull from your shows amazing cadences like that? Love you, my crazy poet.

Love,
Mama