Dear Daughter loves literature. From the Three Little Pigs to the Holy Bible, she loves it all. We've been reading to her daily since she was only a few weeks old, and she absorbs everything like a sponge and replays it in interesting ways.
Yesterday Daughter was playing in her large cardboard appliance box that she has affectionately deemed her "house." I was ordered to be the Big Bad Wolf while she was going to be the Little Pig. I can't count how many times we've done this before, and to be honest, I was growing weary of it. Nevertheless, we play acted the whole story up to the part where the Little Pig put the kettle of boiling water on the fire and the Big Bad Wolf climbed down the chimney and fell in. I was convincing Daughter that I was now a dead Big Bad Wolf as I lay on the floor, eyes tightly shut, hoping she would accept this and let me take a nap (yeah, right). That's when Daughter disappeared behind the box momentarily and then came back around it, gliding across the floor in a peculiar make-believe fashion. I was timidly peeking at her through one eye, trying not to be noticed, lest Daughter realize that the Big Bad Wolf was not really dead. That's when Daughter stooped down in her make-believe fashion and gingerly lay her hand on my shoulder. She lingered in a half squat and whispered over me, "I'm God, and I am raising you from the dead."
Um...yeah. We also recently read the story of how Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. It was the first time that I'd experienced the amalgam of Fairy Tale meets the Holy Word enacted by a three year old. It was an amusing experience. And I never did get my nap.