I am not a good singer. Yet, somehow, there is A LOT of singing in my home. The children & I sing constantly--not beautifully, just often.
When I was on bedrest, I was in a High Risk Perinatal unit in Atlanta that had 35 beds with a waiting list. Bedrest is painfully dull and stressful, so the hospital has several programs to help the time pass. One of the programs was Music Therapy. I was resistant for the first few weeks of my stay, but when it became clear I was going to be living at the hospital for 2 months or so, I decided to start attending the weekly classes. You have to picture this: 6-8 pregnant, bedridden women being rolled into a conference room on gurneys to SING! Seriously.
Anyway, I remember very little about this therapy except for one little lullaby she taught us to sing to our babies even in utero. "Mom-my loves you. Mom-my loves you. Little baby, little baby, Mom-my loves you." I sing this song to the children often, inserting their names instead of baby.
So, tonight as we were wrapping up dinner, I stood behind K's chair waiting for the boys to finish their meals, stroking her hair singing, "Mom-my loves you. Mom-my loves you. Little K, Little K, Mom-my loves you." As I was nearing the end of the song, I watched P grab a smashed piece of clementine and throw it on the floor. He apparently felt my glare and glanced up with his big brown eyes. Before I could say a word he SANG: "P's in big trouble. P's in big trouble. P's in trouble. P's in trouble. P's in big trouble." (COMPLETELY in tune)
I mean, seriously, are we a musical or what???
I burst into laughter. I am strong, but really, the kid is hysterical!