It’s Write on Wednesday time again. I’m excited this week as one of the two prompts was the one I suggested! Based on this, you would think I’d get my story up early, but this idea has been floating around all week & I’ve just had the time to write it up. I hope you enjoy it.
“Mummy, what’s a partridge, and why would anyone want to give someone nine ladies dancing?” Natalie knotted her eyebrows in confusion. She was reading one of the weirdest list of Christmas presents she had ever read.
Every year, Mummy would get down her box of special Christmas books. This was part of their Christmas tradition, the first weekend of December, or thereabouts, they would put up their tree and Mummy would get her books out. This was a special year for Natalie as she could now read the books all by herself.
Up until now, she would pick a book a night for Mummy or Daddy to read to her, but this year, she was allowed to go through the box at any time she wanted to read a book. But this book was the weirdest book yet.
“Mummy, wouldn’t eight maids-a-milking come with cows, and wouldn’t they make a big mess? I don’t think anyone would like that as a present!” Natalie shook her head, her long pony tail hitting her cheeks.
Natalie loved presents as much as the next kid, but this was just bizzare.
“Mummy, and what about all those birds? You might catch bird flu!” Natalie was concerned for the “true love” being sung to. She had no idea what bird flu was, but had heard it on the news on the radio and it didn’t sound very nice.
“But Mummy, the drummers drumming could be cool.” She smiled, remembering the African Drummers she had seen in a local concert. They were amazing and Natalie had loved dancing to the music.
She reflected on the book for a minute. Then another book caught her eye. She picked it up and started reading.
All this time, her Mum watched while doing her Christmas baking, remembering her own childhood discovery of books and reading and the special times she had spent reading many of the same books her daughter was reading now.
