I have always told my daughters stories.  I’ve told them stories about being pirates on a forgotten sea.  I’ve told them stories about being a princess in the talk, green trees.  I’ve told them stories about my own experiences growing up.  I’ve told them about the experiences of their ancestors – particularly the cranky great-great-great grandfather who once robbed a train.  Although it might sound romantic, it wasn’t.  He looted a train after it wrecked.  (Family embarrassment!)

The art of storytelling sparks imagination and helps families bond.  And as “a naptime novelist” tells us, it is a lost art.

Spontaneous storytelling with children is a delight.  It is also something of a lost art, I suspect.  In our home, a board book is always within reach, and we read, rather than tell, stories.  (My stories with Clare and Kate are the exception, not the rule.)  It makes me wonder what we’re losing, if we are indeed losing it.

I will look forward to telling stories to my grandbabies someday.