It was a rainy day and the kids and I got a little bored couped up in the house coloring* so I pulled a little trick out of my hat that I remembered from grade school: book making! When I was in school in the 80's we didn't have PhotoShop or Word or whatever you nerds are using these days to write on the computermajig. We just folded a stack of construction paper in half, made use of a stapler and wrote our books in crayon. See? You can learn things from old people. Everybody sing!
I asked Bee if she wanted to write a story with me. I figured I might need a plot wheel or maybe puppet strings to tie around her limbs to get her to do this, but she was instantly excited and, as it turns out, remarkably good at yarn weaving. First, I asked her what our book was about. She didn't skip a beat telling me our book was going to be about two bugs on a playground. Boom. We have a cover, people!
After that, she dictated and I jotted in pen. At first we were sharing illustration duties (me sketching, her filling in with purple crayon) but that was short lived because she sucks at coloring. Sorry kid, sometimes you have to kill your darlings. Tough business. But she kept with the tale telling and we got ourselves a little narrative. She did run into some trouble with what to do after the bugs had a picnic and being a literary genius myself I suggested
we meet our writer buddies for martinis and self-loathing there be some conflict. "What could go wrong at a picnic?" ANTS! Of course.
Oh, but crap, this book is already about bugs. Well then, we solved that nicely by blaming our picnic woes on tiny, invading people climbing on picnic fruit. You're welcome in advance for this amazing literature produced in my kitchen. I'll consider this blog post the Chicago version of NYC over-parenting.