September 27, 2004

Sing, Sing a Song

You may have noticed that I haven't posted any amusing or charming anecdotes about The Boy lately--well, unless you consider his puking all over the car last Monday amusing. And if you do, I am no longer speaking to you, so there. The reason behind the dearth of anecdotes is simple: lately, The Boy has been neither amusing nor charming. Truculent, yes. Whiny, yes. Defiant, screechy and evil, in spades. But not charming, or cute, or even very much fun. That's part of the reason why The Boy will be packed off with the maternal grandparents at the end of this week for an indeterminate time period (when I tell my mother I can pack him enough supplies for a month, she laughs and tells me how I'll be pining for him after 2 days. Umm, no. Don't get me wrong--I'll call every day while he's gone, but pining is a bit much to expect just now. Which probably explains the somewhat nervous quality of my mother's laugh when I reiterate the month's worth of supplies thing...). But--and there's always a but, isn't there--The Boy has managed to discover, somewhere down amongst all those uncontrollable motor impulses and murky unnameable desires for contrariness, his songwriting gene. Granted, it is a small gene, and given the quality of the songs a possibly malformed gene, but it's there.

This past Saturday we trekked into town so that Hublet could tape an episode of the Brain Game at the local CBS affiliate and The Boy and I could spend some quality time at Pullen Park. The main draw for The Boy was getting to meet Hublet's students: nothing amazes a three year old more than high schoolers. After we retrieved the victorious Hublet, we headed off to the Chick-Fil-A for some nuggets due to The Boy's desire that we "Not Go Home!" En route, Hublet and I were puzzled to hear this emanating from the backseat:

Students, students, studentstudentstudents
stuuuuuuuuuudents, student students
students students stuuuuuuuuuuuu

When we inquired, we were informed that this was "The Students Song," and that it was a paean to Hublet's students. We dutifully praised The Boy's creative genius, which unfortunately only served to inspire him to greater heights of songwriting aspiration. And so we've added the following to The Boy's oeuvre:

The Pee-Pee Song
The Puh-Dog Song
The Gertie Song
The Green Thomas Underwear Song
The Cool Shoes Song

The ditties are somewhat postmodern in their atonality and self-referential quality, and no, I haven't been analyzing them too much, so stop looking at me like that. Let's just say that The Boy is as prolific as he is loud, which is very. And let's add that I am counting the days until Thursday, when my folks arrive.

Posted by Big Arm Woman at September 27, 2004 09:50 AM | TrackBack

At least The Boy isn't making you sing along, so you've got that going for you.

My youngest would sing her stream-of-consciousness songs from the back seat, pausing every now and then to encourage us to, "Sing with me now!"

(I suspect she picked that up from the song leader at church.)

Posted by: LittleA at September 27, 2004 12:38 PM

Hmm, far be it from me to suggest that your bountiful genius in the backstreet might be other than completely original . . . but has he ever watched Elmo's World and the little song that ends each episode?

Posted by: Ted K at September 27, 2004 02:08 PM

As far as the pining is going, more likely he'll be pining for you after a few days. Even if the grandparents spoil him until he's just greasy with it (as my mom's dentist used to say). Nothing wrong with a break and some purely "you time". Enjoy!!

Posted by: Sheryl at September 27, 2004 03:29 PM

Good news...

Kids become better singers the older they get.

The made-up songs don't go away, it's just they use one musical key for the entire song.

Of course that is one key per child, not one key among the children...

Posted by: di at September 27, 2004 07:34 PM

Ya better record a copy of your blog to remember 'the boy' best 'o times. I caught my 14 year old singin in the shower a rap ditty about the Delian League vs the Pelopenisian (sp?) League this evening. I'm a little worried...

Posted by: marie at September 27, 2004 09:36 PM

My boys forbid me to sing. "No sing, Daddy!" is a phrase both picked up early on. Sigh. 3 years old and his mother has already poisoned his mind against my unique vocal talents.

Posted by: Annoying Old Guy at September 27, 2004 11:31 PM

Think how the washing machine feels. That churning sound is anger and disgust. Mechanico-chemical insight : that's what accomplishes the purifying aspect of cleaning.

Posted by: Ron Hardin at September 28, 2004 09:02 AM