Winnie the Pooh is a great favourite in our house. I’ve always loved the stories and the girls do too. We read the books often and they go to sleep at night listening to the stories read by Alan Bennett. I grew up close to the Hundred Acre Wood (Ashdown Forest) and we’ve visited the Pooh-sticks bridge countless times.
In an ideal world, I’d live there in Christopher Robin’s house. (Money and practicalities such as living in Houston, get in the way of my little day dream!) I was even tempted to buy the Winnie the Pooh shop and tea room when it went on the market earlier this year. (Obviously money would have been an issue and the fact that the girls would have spent all the earnings buying the stuff in the shop!)
A sad thing happened today though. The Little One, who turns four tomorrow, sat on my lap whilst I was brushing her hair and said:
“Winnie the Pooh isn’t real, is he Mummy?”
Now, the Big One has never asked this and it was only last year when both girls were very disappointed that we hadn’t met Pooh at the Pooh-sticks bridge.
What to answer?
I went with “He’s real in the imaginary world though.”
“But Mummy, it’s ok that he’s not real as that means he won’t die, so he can live forever!”
I guess it does. And I guess our little girl is growing up.