Once upon a time, there was a tiny little boy named Jimobe. Jimobe was crawling around on the living room floor when his mother came in and gave him an ice cream on a stick. He started to eat it until he realized it had a worm and a locust in it! "Guacala" he said, and spit it out. But then he saw that the ice cream still looked tasty, so he ate it up. Then his mother walked in again and swallowed Jimobe whole. He said "Auxilio! I'm in here, mamita!" but it was too late. Fin!*
*Flaco starts to endlessly ask for stories (A red mountain that has fire! Fyo getting sat on by an ostrich! Having a picnic in Nepal!) and after telling him five or six in a row, I say "Flaco, you tell me one," to which he always responds, "I can't mamita, I'm too small, too small." But the other day, to my surprise, he told a story. And here it is. His first-ever composition. I think Dostoevsky would be proud.
Celebrating 9 years
1 week ago