I spent much of last night prowling the dark corners of the house in search of something, anything, that might encourage me towards sleep. The evening started off well enough, but AJ came bounding into our room at 2:30 a.m. certain that it was morning. By the time I convinced him otherwise, I was wide awake and into the phase of worrying about things that only seem worth worrying about in the middle of the night.

Fortunately, when AJ reappeared at 6 a.m., about a half an hour after I�d finally dozed off, my sainted husband hauled him off to entertain him. When I emerged an hour later, the two of them had strung a sheet across the family room from the large bookcase that holds my hefty collection of conducting and study scores to AJ�s toy basketball hoop with packing tape. They�d set up a light on the far side of the sheet and were attempting to perform shadow plays for one another. After I grabbed a cup of coffee, I sat down on the stairs that served as the improvised theater�s seats and enjoyed AJ�s rendition of (and I quote) �The Boy who ate his Breakfast in a Boat.�

The boy was represented by a small cookie cutter usually reserved for making gingerbread men. The boat was an old cake pan that had been pressed into service as the moon in a previous dramatic event entitled, �The Little Boy who would Not Go to Sleep� (My husband was responsible for that particular Tony-worthy performance). AJ�s play went something like this:

THE BOY WHO ATE HIS BREAKFAST IN A BOAT

NARRATOR: Once upon a time, there was a little boy.

BOY (who speaks in a high squeaky voice): Hello! I�m a little boy!

N.: The little boy loved to play in his big boat.

BOAT (in a low voice): Hello, little boy! I�m your boat!

BOY: Let�s play! Can I go for a ride in you?

BOAT: Sure!

BOY: Okay.

N: The boy climbed into the boat and sailed away. Suddenly, he had breakfast. He ate toast and peanut butter and Jello. Red Jello, because that�s the yummy kind. The end.

At this point, AJ emerged from behind the curtain to acknowledge the applause. He waved and yelled, �Thank you! Thank you!�

It�s interesting to see AJ�s sense of what constitutes a story develop. Cassie wrote about this last week. At the moment, every story begins with "Once upon a time," and ends with �The End.� There is also always a �Suddenly� in the middle. I love the suddenlys. They are definitely the best part and are always articulated with urgency. �Suddenly, the boy went to sleep!� �Suddenly, it was nighttime!� �Suddenly, he had breakfast!� It leaves the impression that AJ�s world is full of rapid action, where the familiar appears strange and unexpected, and normal conversation can receive comic-book like interjections. Pow! Biff! Zowie!

Suddenly I wasn�t feeling so bad about my lack of sleep. Suddenly I found myself picking up a stuffed caterpillar and a cookie cutter shaped like an apple and enacting the story of �The Hungry Caterpillar who Ate an Apple and Turned into a Butterfly.�

AJ applauded wildly. �That was very good, Mommy. But you forgot to say �suddenly.�

Everyone�s a critic.

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