Sometimes I randomly ask the children to tell me a story.  I make them up all the time so it seems only fair.  Yesterday, after a regular safari of elephants and tigers and such,  Brother starts one with, “Once upon a time there was a pickle.” 

“A big pickle or a little pickle?,” I prompt. 

“Little.”

“And then what happened?”

“I ate it.”

(much laughter)

“Now you tell it, mom,” says Sister.

Once upon a time there was a little pickle who lived in a jar with several other midgets.  “One day I am going to have an adventure,” the little pickle would boast.  All the others just laughed, “Pickles can’t have adventures.”  “Well, I can!  Someday the sky will open and I will see my destiny.”  The other pickles laughed and laughed.  But one day, suddenly there came a bright light.  All the pickles cried, “What’s happening, what’s happening!?”  All except the little pickle.  “This is it.  This is the day.  I am going on an adventure!”  And just as the little pickle had said the sky opened.  All of his friends shrunk down in terror.  “What will become of us!?”  The little pickle stood tall (as tall as a pickle can stand).  An unknown force began to pull him toward the light and sure enough that day he met his destiny.  CRUNCH!