I leaned over to shut the light off, hoping for Ella to fall asleep within minutes.
“Dad,” she said in a voice that made her sound closer to 14 than four. “You can go now. Please tell mommy to come in here and sing to me. Because she knows the words to ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ And you don’t.”
I was definitely offended. I’m a Type A, sort-of know-it-all, perfectionist. I pride myself on the details. I adhere to AP Style in all writing, including texts. And my pet peeve is when people misspeak common clichés. Irregardless and supposably are not words. And it’s definitely not an escape goat in a doggy dog world. Yeah, so I’m that guy and most people tire of me after ten minutes. Regardless (see the proper usage?), my kids can’t move out just yet, so they’re stuck with me. And my lullaby renditions.
But in truth, how would they know the difference? Yes, I occasionally skip a verse, mumble a stanza, or fade off into a hum. I’m the performer. I have the artistic right to ad-lib or embellish. I should get credit for even trying.
“What are you talking about?” I say coyly.
“Well, you never know where the lamb goes or what he does,” she says. The air of disappointment is thick.
She had a point. I feel like none of these nursery rhymes are written down anywhere, but simply passed on through through time from unsettling children’s musicians or carrier pigeons. And why are they the default soundtrack for baby raising? I hope there are parents out there crooning Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’ or a 2010s Nicki Minaj hit. Let’s not even compare the explicit content. I’m pretty sure ‘Ring Around the Rosie’ is about a continental epidemic versus a little super bass innuendo. This stuff sure does have a catchy rhythm, but we’ll gloss over the nightmare fuel of the bustling 17th century.
But I suppose the modern alternatives aren’t much better. We all fell into the fiery hell that was Baby Shark and Gummy Bear. [Warning: do not click! Children from around the neighborhood will transform into instant zombies and descend upon your house.] And with the magical powers of Alexa and Siri, we can hear those club bangers 84 times per day! Somehow, the AI assistants understand my children with a mouthful of goldfish, even at 5:30 a.m.
I’m stuck. This dad D.J. is underwhelming his listeners and I just got the hook from a kid who called me “the greatest daddy ever” only a day earlier. My wife wouldn’t be thrilled pulling double duty bedtime, and I had to regain any semblance of parental integrity. So I did what every upstanding and reputable father would do. I turned into the tickle monster and made farting noises while attacking her with belly kisses. It’s always in the toolkit; I just go to it in case of emergencies.
I snuck out of her room once she became distracted with a few books. I was proud of my recovery and I got the job done. That is quite literally 98% of parenting. Just surviving. As a I walked away, she started singing about that damn Mary and her livestock again.
And yes, she knew the words.
U would never let me skip a page ( ah the old days. )