I have no musical talent. Well, ok – I have killer rhythm, but that is the sum total of my musical ability.
I am surrounded by aunts, cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews, etc., etc. who can sing and play instruments. It’s not fair. It may be part of the reason I am continually telling my children, “Life is rarely fair and fair, by the way, does not mean equal.”
Fortunately, my children don’t care that I cannot, as is said, carry a tune in a bucket.
And so I sing to them. Well, I did. And like so many things as you raise children, somewhere along the way the singing stopped. I don’t know when and I don’t know why but I was reminded of it because recently my son asked that I start singing to him at bedtime again. And so we sing – he sings to me – Yankee Doodle and Sing a Song of Six Pence – and I sing to him – Jesus Loves Me and Hush Little Baby.
I also sing him a song I “wrote” (we’ll use that term very loosely) to the tune of Frère Jacques. I started singing it to both children ages ago, personalized appropriately, of course. I sing it because I am hoping they will still hear the words when they are 16 and 38 and 45 and and 63 and 82. It goes like this . . .
I love G-
I love G-
Yes I do.
Yes I do.
I’ll love you forever.
I’ll love you for always.
I love you.
G-d does, too.
G-d loves G-
G-d loves G-
Yes, He does.
Yes, He does.
G-d loves you forever.
G-d loves you for always.
G-d loves you.
I do to.
I hope somewhere inside those words stick . . . because the words are true and my kids deserve to know it.
Cheers,
D
P.S. If you need a laugh check out this post at the Plucky Pilgrim. I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.
Ingies n' Things 