Princess Peanut and the Fairy Tale Loop

At our house we tell stories. Everyday. We spin yarns. Our kids sit rapt as my wife and I take turns telling tales to thrill and to pacify. They stop us to add their own details our even to pick up the thread of the story and weave some of it themselves.

Sounds pretty cool, doesn't it? And it is. It is. Except . . . 

Here's a synopsis of virtually every story: There is (or was, once upon a time) a Princess named Peanut and a Prince named Pumpkin Man and a King named Daddy and a Queen named Mommy. They live in a big pink castle. 

There is an evil witch named Witch Sasha (the Peanut came up with the name).  She lives in a dank cave in the dark and menacing (and appropriately named) Witch Forest. 

Witch Sasha is evil and jealous; black-hearted and cruel. All she wants to do is steal Princess Peanut's crown. Or dress. That's it. That is every story. Over and over and over again. Stories of a of a morally bereft, fashion obsessed, cave dweller with faltering magic powers and a secret hideout the location of which is neither secret nor hidden.  Versus the beloved and fabulously dressed Princess Peanut. We are allowed variation only in the methods the Princess uses to regain her stolen outfits. 

Sometimes the princess sneaks up on the witch and steals it back. Sometimes it's magic wand vs. magic wand in a battle to the owie. Sometimes it's a daring midnight raid or a spell cast from afar. One time it was a car/flying broom chase scene and ensuing vehicle-to-vehicle struggle. That was a good one.

Sometimes it's a battle of wits.

"Look, Witch Sasha, just give me back the crown and we can all--hey! What's that?"

Witch Sasha turns to look.

"Yoink! See ya, sucker!" And Princess Peanut flies off on her magic horse.

"Unicorn, Daddy!"

"Unicorn."

Whatever happens, we try to make sure it's the Princess who does the dirty work, with occasional assists from her adoring royal family. Around here, our princesses don't get saved. They do the saving, bitch.

And the Princess always prevails. With little blood shed or outright violence. Though the mental anguish our royal family visits upon a homeless 2nd rate sorceress would probably count against us in civil court. 

One time-- on a day when "sharing with her brother" meant "taking the toy he was already playing with" --I deviated from the Peanut approved script. I told a story about how the princess' anger at having her clothes stolen made her just as witchy as the witch and how the only way to solve it was to be nice to the witch, let her have the dress, and then brave the dangers of Witch Forest sans flying horse (I mean unicorn) or magically turbo charged Subaru.

Lesson delivered. Take that to the learning bank and deposit it under Kick-Ass parenting. 

The next day we were in the car and she turned to me and said, "Daddy can you tell me the story of how Witch Sasha stole Princess Peanut's dress?"

Son-Of A Bitch.

Stay tuned for part 2. Things get violent.