It is h his dad‘s fault, of course- there is only so much bogan Aussie pub rock a two year old can listen to before it begins to absorb.
Maybe it’s partly me, too. I remember working through the first six months of my first pregnancy as a children’s entertainer. I remember wondering if maybe there would be some osmosis, if this growing baby could hear the applause from within, could hear the pumping music and laughter, feel the sparking endorphin’s they set off in his mother’s brain structure. And whether those hormones were strong enough to transfer umbilically.
I think, perhaps, they were. The Chop, he loves to dance. He loves to sing and he adores music. He is transixed by performers, bands and singers.
“When I grow up I’m not going to work in a shop or drive a tractor,” he tells me. “I’m going to be a rock star and dance on stage. Because I’ve got music in my hands.”
Bias not aside in any way- I’m sure he’s correct. My little boy moves to music, he can’t help it. A funky track makes him groove. He can keep a beat, tapping his feet or hands unconsciously. And he not only sings along with the Wiggles, he also knows every word and nuance they use to introduce themselves and their songs onstage.
Not that we stick to the Wiggles- as mentioned, the child has bizarrely diverse tastes. And I can’t say that’s a bad thing, not at all. How can I complain when the kid listens to classics like The Doors, The Beatles, Rancid’s Ruby Soho and Six Months In a Leaky Boat?
Can’t complain, not at all. Or, more correctly, couldn’t complain until about a week ago when the kidlets went to stay with their much-loved Nonna and Poppy. Apparently, the Chop and his Pop dug out some very old cassette tapes to listen to. You know the ones I mean- coversleeves in various shades of brown and beige featuring women in shoulder pads and blokes wearing mustaches and bad pants.
It just so happened that one of the songs on one of the aging cassette tapes got stuck in my son’s head, the melody running round and round until it left a perfect trail in the grass of his musical mind. And, being the incredibly generous caring mum that I am (or, to be more honest, after I got really sick of him nagging me), I decided to purchase a digital verison of the Chop’s new favorite song.
Which has been on constant f*cking repeat for the last four days.
So.. if you happen to run into me the ProBlogger Training Event this weekend- or at any point in the near future, really- and I’m singing Engelbert Humperdinck’s “Lonely Is A Man Without Love” (“Every day I WAKE up, then I start to BREAK up, lonely is man without loooove….”)… well… I’m really sorry about that.
|I stole this image from here… I don’t think they’ll be too worried about that.|
Thanks (or maybe not, the call is yours after you’ve heard me sing) again to Chan’s Yum Cha At Home for funding my trip away from home for the weekend while I’m in Melbourne ProBlogging it.
After 96 hours of Humperdinck, I really need to get out of here.