You would not be blamed for assuming that this post is to catalogue OH's DIY disasters - heaven knows, there's enough of them to list and smile wanly over. But I'll save that for another time. No, today's post is about song lyrics, subversion, philosophy and humour. So that's all right, then. :)
I'm not sure if tiredness, hormones, money worries or what exactly was causing my bad humour this morning, but Babe being a little pickle was not helping matters. And as we made a huge cut-out race track out of pieces of wallpaper stuck together (I add that piece of detail so that you know what a creative, generous-hearted, fun mum I am, even in the face of adversity), singing together as we worked, I found myself subverting song lyrics.
I usually do this in my head. There is one kids TV programme - I can't remember the title - whose theme tune goes something like 'Posituney, offirooney, big, bang, boo...' and at the end I always sing it's conclusion to myself thus: 'Stinky pinky poo'. And there is an ad on Channel 5 for awful and absurdly expensive girls' shoes that the hum in my mind's eye calls 'Smelly Kellys'. Perhaps this immature behaviour gives vent to some of my tiredness and anxiety, I don't know.
But today, as we were singing Bob the Builder - can you believe this is actually on nursery's repertoire of songs? - and shouting, 'Can he fix it?' I just couldn't help myself and out popped, 'No, he can't!'. Babe looked a bit shocked, so I shrugged cheekily and we both rolled on the floor and laughed. I felt way better afterwards, so subverted a few more: 'Postman Pat and his black and white pants'; 'Hokey Cokey cola' (anti-consumerist twang to that one, you understand, although that may have gone above his head) and 'Humpty Dumpty sat on the rubbish bin'.
My firstborn has developed a love of Dora the Explorer quite by accident (we were lent a Postman Pat DVD that had the wrong disc inside) and is begging me to invite her to his birthday party in a couple of weeks' time. (There's a fancy dress challenge for OH to meet;)) Babe particularly loves the pirates episode, in fact that's the only one he wants to watch, and I have been pleasantly surprised by its philosophical content.
Dora and the gang have to complete three challenges: Seas, bridge, treasure island. (Or, 'Treasure, I am' as Babe insists the lyrics go. I can't blame his misunderstanding as the characters do have terrible accents, nor his insistence that he is right, as I refused to believe that 'Mull of Kintyre' wasn't 'Margowyn Town until I was at least 25.) Once they have travelled the seven seas they have to get through this bridge by righting the song lyrics it wrongs.
It starts with: 'Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you ate for breakfast!'. I wonder what post-modern deconstructions would make of that. It continues with, 'Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is just a bowl of spaghetti.' I couldn't put it better myself. The final song goes like this: 'Old Macdonald had some pans, oye, oye oye.' Boy, did the writers run out of steam on that one, eh? Unless I'm missing something really clever and funny. Do let me know if that is the case. Babe prefers, 'Old Macdonald had some chocolate stars.'
Moving on (I cannot believe I am blogging this knackered, but I have to keep something in my life going as everything crumbles around me), my mid-life crisis and re-born desire to subvert are shifting their attention to Babe's wardrobe in order to find something to do.
I have never liked kids to look trendy; it seems inappropraite somehow to make them vehicles for their parents' fashion pretensions. And there is nothing worse than tarty-looking little girls, I'm sure you'll agree. I don't, however, like kids to look too 'Marks and spencers' either. You just know, looking at them, that they'll be the squares in the class at school.
To date, Babe most often just looks a mess, as I do. Sometimes a bit cool, sometimes a bit square and rarely matching as most of his attire comes from ebay job lots. I realise I tend to dress him as I dress myself - never quite matching, one or two nice items and quite a lot of tat.
Anyway, I've been given quite a few hand-me-downs recently that definitely have a bit of edge to them, and I'm kind of enjoying letting my son out of the house looking, well, a tad 'roguish' I suppose. But, I wonder, if he looks a bit edgy, will he be treated a bit edgy?
Before you accuse me of totally over-analysing all this, bear with me, please! If you and I judge one another quite heavily on how we look, don't we do the same with our kids? I know I pick out a mile off the ones I think look dull and the one that look a bit wild and the ones I think Babe might like to hang with, terrible tho' that sounds. And doesn't this lead to a subtle vibe in our reaction to them that might become self perpetuating, subtly re-enforced by the child him/herself, and reflected in his/her behaviour? Hum...
At my active birth group on Thursday Babe was exhausted and badly behaved. He and a little friend were allowed out into the beautiful garden that had a trampoline, slide, swings, etc etc. What did Babe do? He ran over the wood pile and start throwing logs around the garden. Could this have been because of the too-big baggy sleeveless Scooby Doo T he had slung on over his baseball top? Answers on a postcard, please...
New Babe crying, have to fly. OH out with Babe buying, I suspect, gifts for my impending birthday. Wonder what they'll get. I must do a post on some of the hilarious things OH has given me in previous years. Lots of love, then, xxx
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