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Children’s songs hate me

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Did I ever tell y’all about the time I sang “Hush, Little Baby” to Joshua?

No?

Well, I’ll tell you now.

He was a wee babe of about two weeks old. I was a tired mom in the throes of maybe never sleeping in my own bed again.  I thought all the time. About everything. Without stopping. I could not shut off my mind.  I also tried everything to get him to stop fussing long enough to be put down for .02 seconds so I could pee.  Or, you know, sleep in the horizontal position instead of slightly reclined.

So, it’s, I don’t know, 1:00a.m.? and he’s been fussing for an hour or so. And I decide I’ll sing to him.

I mean, babies like singing, right?

So I start singing.

“Hush, little baby. Don’t say a word.
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mocking bird don’t sing,
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass.
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat.
And if that billy goat won’t run,
Mama’s gonna buy you a bee bee gun….

And I immediately thought, “wait, WTF kind of parent buys their kid a beebee gun because they won’t stop crying???  WHO SAYS THIS?”

I honestly could not finish the song because then I had visions of my tiny little terror wielding a bee bee gun and being all crazy and terrorizing the neighbors and their animals and going all sociopathic on everything and shooting his eye out.

Aand then I thought “wait, WTF kind of parent continues to buy thing after thing after thing to get their child to stop crying!?!?”

And then I thought “Man. Children’s songs really suck.”

And that’s when we introduced Joshua to Bob Marley and Dave Matthews Band. (Because drugs are better than violence!?!?! WTF!?!?!)

Yesterday, I decided I’d try singing children’s songs to Joshua again on the ride home from daycare because he had a category 7.5 meltdown when he realized we were going home instead of back to the school so he could Monster Walk.

Only I didn’t really know the words to the songs. So I was totally making them up.

I should totally not make them up.

“The ants go marching one by one, Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching two by two, Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching two by two, the little one stops to tie his shoes
And they all go marching down, to the ground, to get out, of the rain….”

Normal, right? It gets better.

“The ants go marching three by three, Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching three by three, Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching three by three, the little one stops to scratch his knee
And they all go marching down, to the ground, to get out, of the rain…”

Scratch his knee?  Do ants even have knees?  Apparently, they do. And according to Disney, they are missing a pair of arm-legs as well.  And do their knees, if they have them, ever itch?  Is that possible?  Do bugs get itches??

(Yes, that is my thought process…)

“The ants go marching four by four, Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching four by four, Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching four by four, the little one stops to knock on the door
And they all go marching down, to the ground, to get out, of the rain…”

Knocking on a door? Is he stopping for a visit with his sick friend? Why does an ant knock on the door?  Ants don’t knock on MY door. They just come on in, unannounced, without fail, every Spring. Ants should really learn to be more polite.

“The ants go marching five by five, Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching five by five, Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching five by five, the little one stops to….stops to…DROP A DIME...

::screeeeeeeeeeccccccchhhhhhh::

(Imagine the sound made when a record is brought to a halt, abruptly, and without warning.  That’s the sound I’m imagining happening in my head.)

Apparently, this ant is a NARC.

I mean, think about it.

He stops to tie his shoes. Perhaps together.  And then he probably throws them over the telephone wires to signal that this is a house where drugs can be bought because for the moment, he is involved in this illicit business enterprise.

(I read that somewhere. I have no knowledge of the validity of the idea that shoes hanging from a telephone wire in front of a house indicate that drugs are sold there. Promise.)

Then he stops to scratch his knee.  He’s obviously trying to look nonchalant and uninvolved.  Inconspicuous.

Then he knocks on the door. At this point, the cops are casing the joint and they arrest him for some bogus, trumped up charge and flip him for the bigger fish.

AND THEN THE ANT NARCS. 

He “drops a dime” on the other ant.  Probably because he was jealous that the ant inside the house had the right number of arm-legs. (Six, if you were wondering.)

And then my head exploded from the scenario that had just taken place in my brain.

I should’ve just played Joshua some Dave.

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