Monthly Archives: March 2012

Ain’t You Sweet

By

Ever been to a part of the good ol’ U.S. of A., other than the one you live in, and experience some major culture shock?  C’mon, you know what I’m talking about.  I just know you do.  It never ceases to amaze me, though, how hospitable some parts of the country are. Now, I’m not going to get into calling out “this part” of the country versus “that part” because I think the whole “red state” versus “blue state” notion is about as unifying as a wedge.  And while I don’t cater to the “why can’t we all just get along” theory all that much, I do cater to the “treat others as you want to be treated” theory.

And so, I’m going to share a wonderful kind of culture shock that I was subjected to a while back.  Summertime was drawing to a close, but since  Sweetboy was still an “only child” at that point and not yet anywhere near school age,  I bravely left Sweetdaddy at home to work and took off on a plane to spend a week with Nana and Grampy.  We were visiting them in their latest retirement destination possibility.  (Another post for another day…) This particular state is a wonderful smorgasbord of a place, with a bit of everything for everyone; lakes and rivers, the ocean, mountains, and some metro areas along with some very backwoodsy kinda ones.  We were in the backwoodsy, along the river part.

One fine day, while winding through gorgeous mountainous roads, we had to make a quick pit stop at the grocery store for a few essentials (ice cream, chips, salsa, beer – in that order!).  I left Sweetboy in the car with the grandparentals and ran in to grab our necessaries. I was waiting patiently in line thinking about the order in which I might like to consume said essentials, when the lady in front of me wrapped up her transaction and it was my turn. I noticed that she left her co-cola bottle on the counter next the debit machine. So I, of course, felt it was my duty to hightail it after her and make sure she had it in hand to drive with.  It hadn’t even been opened yet, you see.  Let no co-cola be left behind, was my thinking.  I caught up to this woman in the parking lot and breathlessly said, “Ma’am, you left your co-cola behind at the checkout line!”  She beamed. That is to say that she flashed me the biggest toothless smile I could never even have imagined and said, with all earnestness, “Well, ain’t you sweet!”.

It has become a family motto around here. Oh, yes indeedy, it has.  Need I say more?

Same Song, Different Words

By

Have you ever spontaneously made up new words to a favorite song?  I must admit something.  We do this all the time around here.  And I do mean All The Time.  This tradition goes way back to when Sweet Man and I were dating.  One over-long car ride at the beginning of our relationship, I got a little punchy.  It must have been around Christmas because I broke into a rendition of “Silver Bells” the likes of which NO ONE has ever heard before.  I shocked even myself with how many words I was able to come up with that rhyme with “bells” and that rendition lasted 25 exits along the Interstate!  I called it poetic license. Sweet Man called it my version of loony tunes. No wonder he fell in love with me, huh?

Now I’m beginning to believe that we’ve seriously hindered our children from ever fully being able to appreciate the music industry and the hard work that goes in to coming up with lyrics, creating arrangements, and even to songs sung in tune and on pitch.  You see, we subject every song known to man, woman, or child to a “rewording” around here; whenever it suits our needs. And, we aren’t particular about which genre the song is from, or which era, or who the original artist was/is.  In fact, my children didn’t realize that there really was a “Brush Your Teeth” song until some poor unsuspecting mama played the original version by Raffi one day in her car while driving my kids home.   She received a chorus of “Hey, that’s our mama’s toothbrush song!”.  And when they got home?  They were amazed that someone else had come up with something so similar to “your brush your teeth song, mama!”.  Then there is the Blue’s Clues “Time to Get the Mail” song.  And don’t even get me started on the explanation I had to give Sweetboy the first time he heard Eddie Murphy’s “My Girl Like to Party All the Time” on the radio! You see, desperate times call for desperate measures.  He was still not even remotely potty trained by 4.  So, we put that song to new words.  Something along the lines of “Our boy likes to potty all the time…”. Or something exactly like that.  Poetic license people; poetic license!  Or desperation. How about both?

Now, you parents, aunties, uncles, and grandparents out there? I’m fairly certain that you’re going to get this.  And if you’re not any of those yet?    You will.  Oh, you so will.  It’ll be the same songs, just different words.  Mark mine!