Children’s stories are not what they used to be. Last night Mimi read The Three Little Wolves and Big Bad Pig. OK, so the house of bricks falls (to dynamite, what else) as does the concrete house (a jackhammer, of course).
In the end, a house of flowers wins out. When the BBP smells them, he reforms, and all end up loving each other.
Give me a break. I don’t want stories with villains who convert. Give me bad guys who are thoroughly exposed and soundly thrashed in the end.
And I’ve learned that, with little ones, time is still the enemy. Excuse me, but I must have eight hours of sleep every night (ten is even better), and it doesn’t count if they come in two-hour increments.