This needs some explanation. Sometimes I have really weird dreams. This morning I woke up at 6:00 and my mind, still half-dreaming through a series of weird thoughts and scenarios, ended up at what became this short story for kids. I dreamed I was sitting in my office with a few of my staff when one of our pastors knocked on the door. Someone said, "act like we're working," so I picked up my guitar. When he walked in I started making up a song about a fox thanking an old lady for sharing her soup. It was intended to be stupid and we all laughed (in my dream). Of course, I couldn’t go back to sleep and had to work it into this short story so my mind could stop. As you’d expect, after an hour or so of writing, the kids woke up--and kids annoy me with their constant whining--so I couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m not sure why all this came to be--it must have been the turkey. Caleb had it figured out halfway through, but did he? Kirsten said I shouldn’t write autobiographical stories that scare Ben. Sarah wondered what the moral of the story is ... guess it’s up to you.
FAVORITE SOUP
There once was a little old man that lived deep in the woods in a little old house far away from the lights of the city. One morning he sat reading his newspaper by the warm fire when he noticed a fly, cold from the winter, who had found his way inside the little old house. The little old man thought to himself, “Flies annoy me with their constant buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.” As he continued to read he had an idea, “Maybe I should make my favorite soup.” But anyone who likes to cook knows it takes a long time to make your favorite soup. He was going to have a visit from his two grandchildren in a few days, so maybe it would be nice to start the soup, even though little children, like flies, annoy him with their constant whining, whining, whining. As the fly continued to buzz around his head he decided soup sounded like a good idea so he swatted the fly with his newspaper, scooped it up and tossed it into his big black pot. The little old man lit the fire underneath his big black pot, added some water, carrots, celery, onions, turnips, a shake of salt, and a pinch of pepper, then got back to his newspaper, because anyone who likes to cook knows it takes a long time to make your favorite soup.The next day the little old man heard a knock at his front door. It was Mr. Frog. Frogs, like flies and children, annoy the little old man with their constant croaking, croaking, croaking. “Well hello, Mr. Frog, I’ve been expecting you.” Mr. Frog licked his lips and the little old man said, “Would you like to come in out of the cold and have a bowl of hot soup?” Mr. Frog said, “Why yes, I would. I could smell your soup cooking all the way over at the pond.” “It’s not quite ready yet, Mr. Frog,” said the little old man, “but I think you’ll love it. Come in from the cold and I’ll serve you some.” Smiling to himself, the little old man hurried off to the kitchen to get a bowl and a spoon. He did enjoy a little company while he made his favorite soup. Mr. Frog loved the taste of the little old man’s soup so much that he ate the entire bowl without saying a word. Then Mr. Frog said to the little old man, “May I please have another bowl of this wonderful soup?” The little old man lifted his eyebrow and said, “Mr. Frog, I can do better than that. Hop up into the big black pot and you can eat as much as you’d like.” Without thinking, Mr. Frog hopped up into the big black pot and was never seen again. Laughing to himself, the little old man stoked the fire underneath his big black pot, added some more water, carrots, celery, onions, turnips, a shake of salt, and a pinch of pepper, then got back to his newspaper, because anyone who likes to cook knows it takes a long time to make your favorite soup.
The next day the little old man heard a knock at his front door. It was Mr. Rooster. Roosters, like frogs and flies and children, annoy the little old man with their constant crowing, crowing, crowing. “Well hello, Mr. Rooster, I’ve been expecting you.” Mr. Rooster licked his lips and the little old man said, “Would you like to come in out of the cold and have a bowl of hot soup?” Mr. Rooster said, “Why yes, I would. I could smell your soup cooking all the way over at the farm.” “It’s not quite ready yet, Mr. Rooster,” said the little old man, “but I think you’ll love it. Come in from the cold and I’ll serve you some.” Smiling to himself, the little old man hurried off to the kitchen to get a bowl and a spoon. He did enjoy a little company while he made his favorite soup. Mr. Rooster loved the taste of the little old man’s soup so much that he ate two entire bowls without saying a word. Then Mr. Rooster said to the little old man, “May I please have another bowl of this wonderful soup?” The little old man lifted his eyebrow and said, “Mr. Rooster, I can do better than that. Fly up into the big black pot and you can eat as much as you’d like.” Without thinking, Mr. Rooster flew up into the big black pot and was never seen again. Laughing to himself, the little old man stoked the fire underneath his big black pot, added some more water, carrots, celery, onions, turnips, a shake of salt, and a pinch of pepper, then got back to his newspaper, because anyone who likes to cook knows it takes a long time to make your favorite soup.
The next day the little old man heard a knock at his front door. It was Mr. Wolf. Wolves, like roosters and frogs and flies and children, annoy the little old man with their constant howling, howling, howling. “Well hello, Mr. Wolf, I’ve been expecting you.” Mr. Wolf licked his lips and the little old man said, “Would you like to come in out of the cold and have a bowl of hot soup?” Mr. Wolf said, “Why yes, I would. I could smell your soup cooking all the way over in the meadow.” “It’s not quite ready yet, Mr. Wolf,” said the little old man, “but I think you’ll love it. Come in from the cold and I’ll serve you some.” Smiling to himself, the little old man hurried off to the kitchen to get a bowl and a spoon. He did enjoy a little company while he made his favorite soup. Mr. Wolf loved the taste of the little old man’s soup so much that he ate three entire bowls without saying a word. Then Mr. Wolf said to the little old man, “May I please have another bowl of this wonderful soup?” The little old man lifted his eyebrow and said, “Mr. Wolf, I can do better than that. Leap up into the big black pot and you can eat as much as you’d like.” Without thinking, Mr. Wolf leaped up into the big black pot and was never seen again. Laughing to himself, the little old man stoked the fire underneath his big black pot, added some more water, carrots, celery, onions, turnips, a shake of salt, and a pinch of pepper, then got back to his newspaper, because anyone who likes to cook knows it takes a long time to make your favorite soup.
The next day the little old man heard a knock at his front door. It was his two grandchildren. And we know that children, like wolves and roosters and frogs and flies, annoy the little old man with their constant whining, whining, whining. “Well hello, grandchildren, I’ve been expecting you.” The grandchildren licked their lips and the little old man said, “Would you like to come in out of the cold and have a bowl of hot soup?” They said, “Why yes, we would. We could smell your soup cooking all the way over in the city.” “It’s not quite ready yet,” said the little old man, “but I think you’ll love it. Come in from the cold and I’ll serve you some.” Smiling to himself, the little old man hurried off to the kitchen to get bowls and spoons. He did enjoy a little company while he made his favorite soup.
The End.
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