I’m not complaining. I was never that attached. I’m talking about kid songs, the standards. I’m not much for the classics.

Aside from Old MacDonald and Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, I’m pretty much clueless to how kid songs go. Sure, I was a kid, and the songs remain the same, but I’ve forgotten the words. Yes, I worked in childcare for almost a decade, but I always went for coffee during sing-along time. I’ve managed to get this far, with a four-year-old and one at 17 months, and the only kid’s albums they’ve ever been fans of were made by the likes of They Might Be Giants and various jazz greats. As you may have guessed, I’m okay with it.

My boys LOVE music, but they are fans of our music. My oldest recognizes the Beatles and Foo Fighters, and is adamant that rock and roll should be played loud. My youngest is a dancing machine and literally bogarts my wife’s iPod shuffle with her workout mix of techno and angst-ridden Pink songs, dancing around the house in his diaper for all the world to see. The boys like good music (and the crap my wife is apparently listening to).

We are always singing. Thing 1 makes up songs with the best of them. Last night he decided that the toilet was like a fountain, a pee fountain. He created a melody describing the wonders it holds, how nobody can sit beside it, but sometimes you sit upon it, and that you don’t throw coins in it because wishes don’t like living with poop. Who needs Wheels on the Bus when you’ve got that?

There are instances when I do feel like I should have taken the time to learn a tune or two. Often the boys will crawl up on my lap, and after Thing 1 sings his sillies and Thing 2 bobs his head in approval, I am put on the spot, and my mind races for any song that I know more than the chorus to, and whether or not they are age appropriate.

“No! We don’t want to hear Old MacDonald again!” is usually how my first notes are greeted.

So I’ve been improvising. All you need is a catchy beat of innocence and anything can be a kid song. Last night I sang my son to bed with a little ditty by The Beastie Boys.

“Here’s a little story,” I sang. “That I’ve got to tell, about two bad brothers you know so well…” I applied it to our situation and ran with it. Hey, it worked.

I’m working on a G.Love mix for this evening.

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