STORY STONES

Khage loves when I tell him stories. He asks me all day long; before naps, when he's bored, in the car, during lunch, while he's on the pot, while I'm on the pot... too much? I always go too far.

Anyway, its kinda our thing. Like a club that only we are apart of. Brad has gotten in on it a few times but that Khage always seems to come running back to the real story telling master. And I loved telling him stories, up until the other day when...

I ran out of stories.

So there Khage sat, crossed legged in front of me, with his eyes burning a hole into my soul, anxiously waiting for a magical tale... I had nothing.

I went into panic mode.

Come on guy, I'm an adult for crying out loud, I am growing out of my imagination by the day. I can't just think up fictional stories on a whim anymore. And I surely can't think up multiple stories in a day to appease his undying requests. I have life insurance, I read nutritional facts on the backs of food labels, and I watch black and white movies... I'm no longer a kid. I'm a full blown adult and my head is consumed with other things outside of the realm of mystical lands and talking animals.

Something had to be done. After all, I didn't want to be kicked out of the club. I have never belonged to a club before, especially one as prestigious as this.

And so Story Stones were born.

Technically speaking, they were found and painted. Never born.

 

Now I just grab a few of these bad boys and build a story around them. Khage loves it, and I'm still an honorary member of the club.  Khage is none the wiser.

Tell me you saw the little house. Pretty proud of that little house, with it's picket fence and a tree to boot. Who would have thought my hidden talent was in tiny rock painting? Is that a thing, tiny rock painting? If so, I should compete.

And people say stay at home moms just watch tv all day. Puff on that, haters.