I’m not going to get into how we got to story time with Grayson, but it involved him letting every one of his bodily fluids run all over me during a changing…followed by a bath. Okay, so I got into it and basically told you how we got there anyway. He was cleaned up, refreshed, and ready for a story. My wife has implemented a 1 story a day rule in our home. As she was changing him and talking about reading him a story I was walking down the steps. We had our jacuzzi tub running a cleaning cycle in the bathroom so it was a bit hard to hear her as she called to me as I walked down the steps. I heard bits and pieces of her saying something about “Story time and a barber.” I walked back up the steps to ask her what she just said because it made no sense to me. She said “We have to read him a story. Let’s read him Bahhbarrrr.” I said, “What the H is a bahhbar or barber?” She replied, “The story about the elephant, Babar.” I laughed and said that it was pronounced “Bay-bar”. She laughed back at me and said “No it’s not! He’s French. It’s “Bah-bar”. Oh my GOD! For 35 years you’re telling me I’ve been pronouncing it wrong and saying it wrong? Three and a half decades of thinking this elephant was a cute little guy named “Bay-bar.” Now I find out he’s French and I’ve been saying his name wrong. This is catastrophic for my inner-child! Or is SHE wrong? Please tell me!!!!
To make things worse, it’s been probably 25 years since I read the book or had it read to me. I just remembered that he was an elephant. My wife and I sit down and take turns reading pages to Grayson. Now remember…I have no idea what this book is about. About 3 pages in, E is reading the current page and apparently Frenchie’s mom gets shot and killed by a hunter and Babar escapes! What kind of book is this for a child. We continue reading and Babar ends up in a town, finds a nice lady, she gives him her purse for no reason, and he goes shopping for fine clothes at a high end boutique.
First of all, he’s an ELEPHANT. Second, his mother was just assassinated and he decides to skip the funeral, blow out of town, rob a woman politely, and go on a shopping spree for fine suits and hats. I turn to my wife and can’t help but snicker and say, “Let me get this striaght…someone dies and he goes on a shopping spree as a form of mourning?” “Yep”, she said… “I guess that’s why I like it.” The end.