My kids love music.  Correction:  my kids love kid music.  You know, the cds marketed with the high pitched voices, frenetic pace, and annoyingly catchy lyrics?  And, unlike their mother of wee attention span, they can listen to these cds over.  And over.  And over.  I think that’s the root of the problem.  A new cd enters the cd player.  I feel relief:  “Oh, thank goodness:  something new.”  And it’s played and played and played until, in a rare moment of silence, we find ourselves humming or speaking something from the album.  “6 is afraid of 7.  Why?  Cause 7 8 9.”  “Oh no no I never go to work, oh no no I never go to work.”  “Hey Victor.  Are you ready?  To eat some spaghetti with Freddy?“  It makes for some very intellectual conversation over dinner.*

So I’m taking some initiative in my library holds by getting music as well as books (so many books – they had to set aside my pile in my own “section” last time.  Rock on.).  This way the kids can listen the heck out of the cd, but oops:  it has to go bu-bye.  And:  I try to get music that’s *not* available at my library so on the off chance that I actually let them frolic about merrily in the children’s section and they come across a beloved listen, I don’t have to be The Big Mean Mama or the Passive-Aggressive “Fine, Check it out, and I’ll resent you for it everytime it’s played” Martyr Mama (I’m good at both).

This week:  Blast Off.  From the Salem Library.  A little more honkey tonk than I was expecting, but this afternoon totally redeemed anything that makes my n0-country-in-this-household sensor go off.

I heard the strains of some familiar tune, but continued on with my work.  Then I heard JJ repeat it.  Again.  And Again.  Finally removing the earbuds from my ears, I realized what it was and did a little jig (as much as I can jig these days) – a cover from my favorite childhood/maybe allhood movie of all time: “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”.  Funny thing is I don’t think JJ has seen the movie all the way through, but for some reason, he *knew* this was a song he needed in his life.

Is this due to nature?  Or nurture?  I don’t really care because a vegetable isn’t singing it.

*[And yes, I've heard from other parents, in rather condescending tones, "Oh, we don't *allow* that kind of music in the house.  My child only likes jazz/classical/U2/Nora Jones/African tribal drum circles."  Bully for you.  Doesn't really help me feel better in my current circumstances, does it?  Sometimes we can't control everything that comes into the house.  And when your child discovers Barney or Yo Gabba Gabba, I'll try to empathize, since my natural smirk is probably about as helpful as those comments.]

Mama Musings