I've mentioned before how we grew up with Dad singing loudly from the bathroom, for even the neighbors to hear, songs about his failing health and the validity of our mother's love for him. My mom's preferred musical canvas was her brood of children, and I can vividly remember her making the babies "dance" to silly pop songs that she would re-arrange to fit them, and then all of us breaking into fits of laughter. I think it was Noah or Jonah who was made to "dance" to the babied-up version of Miami Sound Machine's "Bad Boy".
I just know my sisters have this tendency, and I've heard that my brother, Josiah does too. The "singing mom" is active in this house, for sure. Each of my children has had a "baby song". For Lyndsay, it was "Little Bitty Pretty One", and for Conor, it was "Sweet Baby Conor" to the tune of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline", for example. But it doesn't stop there, I'm afraid.
This morning when I was changing the baby and snapping up his onesie, I broke out into "Gonna Snap You Up With My Love" to the tune of Madonna's classic. I can't help it. I haven't snapped up a onesie without singing that made-up ditty in 14 years!
I made pancakes for breakfast. I ask the kids what they want on their pancakes, and they inevitably ask for jam. So then I am left with no choice but to break into (and demand that they sing along) "Jam on it! Jam on it! J-J-J-J-Jam on it!" Ridiculous, I know.
And then it's family prayer time, and being as I'm a child of the 80's, I must call them together with a slightly more hymnal version of M. C. Hammer's "We've Got to Pray Just to Make it Today".
The day is still young and there will be more songs to create. My kids roll their eyes, but I'm pretty sure I'll have the last laugh, for I think I've passed on the curse and they won't be able to help themselves either.