← Little Stories for Tiny People: Anytime and bedtime stories for kids
Little Stories for Tiny People: Anytime and bedtime stories for kids
Mouse's New Recipe: A Story for Kids
00:28:18
A Story for Kids
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- [00:09]
Rhea
This is Rhea. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. I am so excited because I'm expecting a guest who has not been to my studio in a very long time. Oh, I think he's here. Come in, come in. Yeah, you can move those. I know. My studio has changed quite a bit. Did you see the fireplace? Oh, let me move that prickly pillow for you. Everyone, I am thrilled to reintroduce my guest, Mateo the Mouse. Mateo, it's been too long. And it's fun because you're here for no reason in particular. It's just great to catch up, isn't? Oh, a book tour. Oh, so that's why you're here. Oh, sure, That's. That's fine. That's totally fine. So, apparently, Mateo is here to promote his book, which is cool. I'm okay with that. Tell us about your book. Uh huh. Oh, another one. Friends, if you recall, way back in yesteryear, Mateo wrote a book about his life entitled in and out of Floorboards A Memoir. It was a bestseller. And now, amazingly, he's written another memoir. Can I see the COVID Oh, I like that font. Okay. It's called Gnawed Tales of a Life well Nibbled. That's quite a title. Well, I am so happy you're here. And believe it or not, and this is a total coincidence, our story is about Mouse from Mouse Bakes a Cake. Mateo cannot believe it. I wish you could see him right now. He's beside himself. Lets get to our story. It's called Mouse's New Recipe. Take it away, Elsie and Adam.
- [02:22]
Mateo
Remember, there are no pictures. Remember, there are no pictures. You have to imagine them. Pictures in your mind. Pattern them however you want. Okay, here we go.
- [02:41]
Rhea
Mouse stepped through the fourth hole in the wal for the first time in months. It was the middle of the night and all was quiet. He let out a small sigh as he set down his suitcase and glanced around the corridor that held so many family members, friends and memories. He should have been calling out, alerting Grandma and Larry and all the rest that here he was, back from his first semester of cooking school, returning triumphantly with newfound knowledge and sharpened skills. But he couldn't bring himself to announce his arrival, because, in truth, it was not triumphant at all. Sure, the first few weeks had been great. He'd made a souffle that his professor, Chef Bernardo, said was like eating a sugar cloud. Things went downhill after that. There was the time he'd made crackers for an appetizer tray that were so hard they made his classmate Cecilia chip a Tooth, Mouse. My tooth. And my family is doing our yearly portraits tomorrow. Sorry. There was the time he'd made cinnamon ice cream but accidentally used ghost pepper instead of cinnamon. My mouth is on fire. I think there are literal flames. Really sorry about that. Can I get you a glass of milk? There was the time he daydreamed right through the timer going off when he was baking dinner rolls, resulting in the sprinkler system turning on and the entire school having to evacuate. The fire could be contained. Please evacuate. Attention. Please evacuate. By the end of his third week at school, Mouse had gained such a reputation that a few mischievous students placed a sign in front of his horseradish tarts that read, danger do not eat. When Mouse plucked up the little sign and read it to himself, the students around him erupted into giggles. So he was not exactly anxious to talk about how he'd spent the last few months. In fact, he was beginning to wonder whether he should throw in the towel and become a mousetrap disabler like his friend Larry. Speaking of Larry, he appeared in the corridor. Mouse, I had no idea you were back. Yup, here I am, Mouse said as Larry gave him a friendly slap on the back. Tell me everything. An hour later, Mouse and Larry had moved to the kitchen, where they sipped iced tea as Mouse explained his string of mishaps. I almost burned down the whole school, Larry, over dinner rolls. That does sound pretty bad, Mouse. What's this about dinner rolls? Mouse and Larry turned to see Grandma entering the kitchen, a big smile on her face. Grandma. Mouse cried, running into her arms. Oh, Mouse, how I've missed you. She said, pulling him in for a squeeze. I heard your laughter from down the hallway. I could never mistake that laugh of yours, Grandma Mouse said. If you missed me so much, you should probably let me breathe. Oh, all right, if you insist. Grandma said, releasing her grandson. So high maintenance. Needing to breathe, Larry stifled a chuckle. Mouse squeezed Grandma's paw playfully, and she winced. Ow. Oh, Grandma, did I hurt you? Sometimes I don't know my own strength. No, dear, it's not you. I've. Well, I've developed arthritis in my paws. It's painful. Mouse frowned. Enough about me. Tell me all about cooking school, Mouse. I want to hear every detail. Mouse and Larry exchanged a look. Every detail, eh? Every single one. Mouse could not bring himself to tell Grandma every single detail about cooking school, so he left some out. Chef Renardo said my souffle was like eating a sugar cloud. Of course he did. And, well, I had lots of assignments. Anything in particular? Various dishes Mouse said, shooting Larry a warning look that said do not say a word. Well, I'm thrilled for you, darling. Grandma said. Now, believe it or not, I came into the kitchen because I promised Auntie Lemon I'd bake something for tomorrow's Winter Festival and I better get a move on. Grandma pulled her worn recipe book off a low shelf and winced. She set down the book and cradled her aching paw. Grandma, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Mouse and Larry exchanged a look. Grandma, it's very late. You're obviously exhausted. Your paw is in pain. Go rest. Eat some cheese. But the Winter Festival. It's tomorrow. Mouse grinned. I'll bake something for the Winter Festival. Grandma wrinkled her brow. I can't ask you to. You're not asking, I'm insisting. I insist that you go rest and allow your dear grandson to do you this small favor. Larry raised his eyebrows and crossed his paws over his chest. Enjoying this little show? Grandma smiled, amused. You insist, do you? She said, stifling another yawn. Strongly. Very strongly. Well then, who am I to argue with my dear grandson? After all, you're a trained chef now. At that, Mouse's grin faded ever so slightly. Right, Mouse said with a gulp. I'm a trained chef. He thought of the sign his classmates had placed in front of his dish. Danger. Do not eat. Grandma put a paw on Mouse's shoulder. Thank you, dear. I'm so glad you're home. Me too. I'll come back in the morning and we can go to the festival together. Sure thing. Goodnight, Grandma. Take care of that paw. As soon as she was out of sight, Mouse whirled around to face his best friend. Larry, I just made a huge mistake. I can't bake something for tomorrow. What? You just volunteered. I wanted to help Grandma, but everything I touch goes to ruin. Mouse put a paw to his chest as if his heart might stop. Larry laughed. Mouse, come on. Making something for the festival isn't anything like cooking school. That was a fair point. The long running fourth hole in the Wall Winter Festival was a homey affair. All of the mice in the corridor came together for music and dancing, cookies and cakes. It was a casual, low key celebration with family and friends. There was not an ounce of pressure. At least not compared to the cutthroat world of culinary school. I don't know, Larry. I keep messing up. I don't trust myself. Then trust Grandma. What do you mean? Larry got up from his stool and went to the recipe book she'd left on the counter. He flipped through it Pumpkin chip muffins with a Havarti cheese glaze. Five bean soup with a slice of parmesan. Larry. What are you doing? Mouse? Larry said, tapping the open book. Your grandma is an excellent cook. Just pick one of her recipes. You can't go wrong. Can't go wrong, eh? Mouse said, absorbing Larry's idea. You know what, Larry? You're a genius. It was the first time Mouse felt hopeful in weeks. He'd bake one of grandma's tried and true recipes, get a little success under his belt, and restore his confidence before he headed back to school. Hold up. Is that a teaspoon or is that a tablespoon? Mouse asked, leaning over Larry's shoulder as he added molasses to the bowl containing what would soon be be gingerbread cookie dough. Mouse, for the third time, this is a tablespoon. Why are you so nervous? The two friends had been in the kitchen for hours. First, Mouse had taken a full 45 minutes to select a recipe. Lemon meringue tarts. Oh, way too risky. No way. I'll achieve perfect glossy peaks. Hmm. Raspberry mousse. No, no, no, no, no, no. He'd finally settled on a well worn, slightly crinkled page in Grandma's recipe book. Gingerbread dough. Larry. This is it. He had triple checked every step so that by the time Larry added the final ingredients, it was nearly dawn and they were both struggling to stay awake. These cookies have to be perfect, Mouse said, running a paw under the faded lines of the recipe in Grandma's book. It'll be fine. There we go. That's it. Now all we have to do is mix it up. Larry said, rubbing his tired eyes. After 15 minutes of mouse staring unblinkingly at the cookies as they baked, the oven timer dinged. Mouse pulled out the cookies, but they were too hot to eat. They need a minute to cool. Then we can try them. Yup. But within that minute, Mouse and Larry fell asleep, each curled up on top of a cozy potholder. Mouse. Oh, Mouse. Yoo hoo. Huh? What? Hoo. Mouse sat up and nearly knocked into his Uncle Horatio. Oh, Uncle Horatio. What are you. What am I? Mouse glanced around. He was in the kitchen, sitting on top of a potholder. Larry was asleep nearby. I've got the perfect thing for you. Cheese spray. Okay, look, I tried your cookies. They were terrible. But I've got a fix. You hear me? Cheese spray. Mouse was groggy from sleeping in a strange position. It took him a moment to process what his uncle had just said. I tried your cookies. They were Terrible. Mouse leapt to his feet and scurried to the plate of cookies. One of the cookies was half eaten, presumably by Uncle Horatio, who stood nearby, looking a bit baffled. Mouse, larry said, sitting up on his own potholder. What time is it? Mouse didn't answer. With his heart galloping in his chest, he grabbed a cookie and took a bite. The sights and sounds of the kitchen disappeared. Mouse was dimly aware of Uncle Horatio carrying on about his cheese spray. It instantly banishes bad tastes, you know, like your cookies, and replaces them with cheesy deliciousness without even having to eat a piece of cheese. I myself happen to be a certified cheese spray vendor. But mostly, Mouse was focused on the cookie he'd just bitten into. The cookie that was supposed to be perfect, but that, in truth, was absolutely, undeniably terrible. Mouse. Mouse. Larry waved a paw in front of his best friend's face, but Mouse continued staring straight ahead, seemingly frozen. I'll never be a chef, mouse said quietly and finally lifted his eyes to meet his friends. Oh, come on, Larry said, forcing himself to choke down a bite of cookie so they didn't come out so good. It happens. We must have made a mistake with the recipe. That's the thing, Larry. I triple checked everything. I followed that recipe like my life depended on. Still came out wrong. It's probably my fault. I must have mis Measured something. Larry kept talking. You can't let this kind of thing get you down. This could have happened to anyone, really. But Mouse didn't hear any of it. His mind drifted back to cooking school. He thought of the pitiful looks from his teachers once they realized what a screw up he was. The laughter from his classmates. He could almost hear it sitting there in the kitchen, miles away from cooking school. It sounded so real. So close. You know, my dad always told me, larry, sorry to interrupt you, but do you hear laughter? Tell me you hear that laughter. The laughter? Yeah, it's in the Quarter. It was not Mouse's cooking school classmates cracking up after one of his failures. It was a group of young mice on their way to the Winter Festival. The Winter Festival? What am I going to do? Look, Larry, I need to come up with some sort of plan. Whatever happens, just don't mention any of this to Grandma. Mouse's eyes went wide as his grandmother strode into the kitchen, smiling, beaming. How is she this happy? How is this possible? Mouse wondered, his heart speeding up. Grandma's eyes lit up even more when she spied the platter piled high with gingerbread cookies. Oh, Mouse. Larry, these look wonderful. The next few Seconds seemed to occur in slow motion. Grandma reached a paw towards the cookies. Mouse and Larry exchanged a panicked look. Grandma grasped a cookie in her paw and raised it to her mouth. Larry's eyes were darting from the cookie to Mouse, clearly expecting Mouse to do something. But Mouse had no idea what to do, what to say. How could he be possibly salvage this situation? In his mind, on a loop, came the words danger. Do not eat Grandma. Sweet, loyal, lovable Grandma ate the cookie. Mouse squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable. Then he heard a very unexpected sound. Mouse cracked open an eye and saw his grandmother nearly doubled over in laughter. She had set down the cookie on the counter and was looking at the recipe in the splayed open book. Oh dear. This is even worse than I imagined. Mouse thought to himself. I'm a laughingstock to my own grandmother. Mouse, grandma finally said, wiping a tear from her eye. This gingerbread. Yeah, yeah, I know, mouse said, dropping his eyes to the floor, is terrible. Mouse had been imagining perhaps he could sink through the floor, end up in Madagascar. Maybe. At Grandma's words, he looked up. Did you say perfect? Yes. Mouse sighed. Grandma, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you don't just have arthritis. You have a serious problem with your taste buds. I'm genuinely concerned this could be. There is nothing wrong with my taste buds. I can taste your cookies just fine. They taste like, well, you know, when you chew through a wire. Yeah, Larry said with a knowing nod. They taste a bit like that. And they have a bit of a sawdusty flavor to them. Larry shrugged. She's right. They're dense like a rock. Really. It's a miracle I didn't chip a tooth. Grandma, where are you going with this? Because I feel like we're spiraling. Mouse, this recipe you found in my book is not a gingerbread cookie recipe. It is a gingerbread house recipe. Mouse blinked, displaying not a whit of comprehension. This gingerbread is meant to be sturdy and strong and good for assembling into adorable little houses to put on display. It is not meant to be eaten. So, like I said, your gingerbread is perfect. Unfortunately, Mouse's gingerbread was not in the perfect shape for its intended use. So together, with just a few hours before the Winter festival, they baked another batch. You know, Grandma, you could have made a note of this in the recipe. Every other recipe in the book is supposed to be eaten. You're the first mouse aside from me that's ever cracked open that book. I suppose I didn't see the need For a footnote, but now that you mention it, I do have some decorative soap recipes I should probably add a note to. Once the gingerbread was properly cut, baked and cooled, Grandma and Mouse assembled the house. It's a little misshapen, Grandma. The roof is practically caved in. Nothing a little icing can't fix. Together, they decorated the gingerbread house with icing and candies. Then Mouse and Larry carried it on a tray down the corridor to the winter festival. Don't drop it. Not after all our hard work. Grandma, when have I ever ruined anything? Oh, Mouse. Mouse and Larry carefully set down the house on a free table in the seventh hole in the wall where the festivities were to take place. When Mouse wasn't looking, Larry put a small Paul written sign in front of the gingerbread house. It read, danger. Do not eat. The two friends shared a hearty belly laugh over that. The winter festival was a treat. Mouse got to catch up with family and friends he hadn't seen in months. There was a singing performance by the Squeaky Sopranos. It's warm and cozy behind the wall. And a magic show by Uncle Horatio. Pick a cheese wheel. Any cheese wheel. Auntie Lemon loved the gingerbread house. Oh, look at the baby mouse in the window frame. How darling. Mouse breathed a sigh of relief. And in that sweet moment, his mind returned to cooking school. So things had gone somewhat poorly. He could recover from this. Mouse looked around at the friends and family he had missed so much and put his chin up. Mateo, what did you think of the story? Uh huh. Okay. Right? Oh. Hmm. I've honestly never received such thoughtful feedback before. No wonder you're a best selling memoirist. I hope you loved the story too. Little Stories for Tiny People is written, performed and produced by me, Rhea Per my in house tech director Peter K. Runs my website and puts my stories on the Internet for all of you to enjoy. Thank you to my Little Stories premium subscribers who are making it possible for me to keep sharing stories with children around the world. Thank you to Elsie and Adam for the super important reminder message at the beginning and thank you as always for listening in.