If scent is the sense with the strongest connect to memory, what will your kids remember about you? I don’t think I have a signature scent, but there is no time like the present to imbedding some olfactory fatherly memories. But what should that be? What do I want my kids to remember dad smelling like?

Dad Cologne: Old Spice vs. New

Safe to say the sterotypical dad cologne is Old Spice, especially if your dad was of a certain age. I know I can picture the bottle on my dad’s dresser. A close second would probably be Brut. But those were the scents of dads gone by. Is there a sterotypical cologne for the modern dad? I feel that not only are there more options for today’s dad, but he is probably also more likely to be open to difference scents. I don’t think a dad would be rolling into the office in 1987 smelling like the patchouli his kids got him for Father’s Day or the essential oils his wife picked up at the farmer’s market.

I did get some soap for Christmas – couple bars of Duke Cannon. My daughter asked to smell the pine scented bar. She took a sniff and recoiled. Said it was too strong. I guess there goes my hopes of associating me with a Chrismas tree.

I’ve worn the same cologne since college, but don’t wear it often enough to have a strong association in my kids minds. So I wonder, if other guys out there are as set in their scented ways as I am, are there kids out there who think their dad smell like Curve? Are their dads Bod men? I suspect that may be the case. On more than one occasion, I’ve caught a whiff of Abercrombie floating through the sea of parents picking their kids up after school. I don’t know why, but I found it to be a shocking realization that douchy turn of the millennium bros are fathers now. Also, Lord help me if my daughters date their sons.

My current bottle of cologne is almost empty, and rather than committing to it as my signature scent, I think I’ll take this as an opportunity to move on. Put more thought into this decision this time around now that I know that someday after I’m dead my kids smell it somewhere and get transported back to their childhood. A much heavier decision than trying to smell good for the ladies.

Aroma of My Environment

For many men, their smell is determined more by the environment they live and work in than their choices. Oil, sawdust, coal, chemicals, or any other occupationally based smells that they obsorb. I work from home, so I pretty much smell the exact same as my kid’s own laundry. More likely, their brains have learned to completely ignore my smell because it is exactly the same as their normal habitat. My daily scent has become the odorous equilivent of elevator music. Its there in the background, vaguely recognizable, and completely forgettable. Perhaps I could change the smell of my environment around you by adding calming bolivian rock incense, maybe an autumnally themed scented candle, possibly diffuse some essential oils.

My “home office” consists of a table in the corner of our basement, so if anything I guess I could absorb some of that smell during a workday. I actually don’t mind the dank, but I’m not sure I want my kids to associate the way I smell when they get home from school with old shoes and not enough natual light. I’m think I’m going to get some essential oils.

A Vice Smelling Man

For better or worse (probably worse), a lot of people out there associate the smell of their father with the smell of his drink or cigarette of choice. While smelling like the Marlboro Man does conjure up a certain amount of masculine nostalgia, probably not the way you want to be remembered after you’re gone if you’re gone prematurly because of cancer. I do enjoy a whisky or a gin on the weekends, but definitly not with enough frequency to smell like it outside of a few hours on a Saturday night after my kids are already sleep.

I drink beer around the kids, but opposite of cologne, I don’t stick to just one. I know for a lot of kids their dad’s brand is tied to their memories by look of the can, smell of it, or whatever. I’m sure my perception is skewed because I live in something of a craft beer bubble, but I feel like dad having just one brand of beer is also going the way of dad smelling like Old Spice. In a world where there has never been so many good options for beer, let’s be better than imprinting our kid’s memories with Budweiser.

Also, cologne isn’t the only smell I’ve detected in the air at pick up time in the school parking lot. Sometimes weed is in the air. I get it, it’s legal. There is a dispensary not far from my house. Maybe don’t bake before going to pick your kid up at school though? But for a segment of the current generation of youths, dad smells like OG Kush.

If I was going to smell like one of my habits, the leader in the clubhouse would probably be coffee. I drink multiple cups per day, so odds are if it’s before noon it’s on my breath. Plus we usually grind our own beans so the smell is in the kitchen air. All things considered, if someday my kids walk into a coffee shop, sit down to enjoy a nice pastry and coffee, and suddenly their old man springs to mind – I’ll take it.

Maybe that’s the path to take – coffee and baked goods. Do they make cologne that smells like an apple fritter? Made with real bits of fritter? A soap that smells like birthday cake? Then again, I can’t really say shame on smelling like the Marlboro Man if I go around smelling like diabetes.

More than likely, it isn’t even up to me. My kids will remember what their brains decide to remember. I could find the perfect cologne, wear it every day, and my kids will probably remember the one time I accidently put on women’s deoderant and associate their father with Degree for Women. Such is life.

Life is a neverending journey of self-discovery. Some lessons we learn for ourselves, and some are taught to us. Yesterday I learned something new about myself. I have a “football face.”

Not that I’ve got a football shaped dome like Hey Arnold or anything. My face and the noggin its attached are normal sized and regularly proportioned. My wife tells me I have a big head, but I’m fairly certain she’s not talking about physical circumference. My kids have establishd that I’m not pretty, but I think I’m a far cry from a complection resembling pigskin. Anyway, it turns out there is a face I make that my daughter has deemed as my football face. Apparently, I make a particular face when I’m watching or talking about football.

My seven year-old daughter has picked up the habit of creating a running PowerPoint document with slides about her family, favorite movies, games, foods, etc. She added a new slide with a picture of me in which I was talking to my brother in law about the Detroit Lions. The slide was titled “Dad has a football face.”

See the face in question for yourself:

Does that look like a “football face”? If so, what is the defining characteristic of a football face? I have to believe it is the furrowed brow and the mouth about to give an opinion in rebuttal to the point the other talking gentleman is clearly making. I don’t remember the exact conversation, but based on the faces I’d assume he is laying out his reasoning why this year actually be the year the Lions make it to the Super Bowl, and I’m preparing a well-reasoned response of – “The hell they are.”

But really, that looks like a pretty normal face for me. I express much via brow. Safe to say they spend 80% of their time either furrowed or raised. They are a pretty prominent feature on me. As I get older I’ll definitely have a Eugene Levy situation on my face. Also, I’m often expressing logical, well thoughtout, and elloquenlty delivered opinions on football. All in all, this face is just as likely to be made watching an intense football game as it is deciding which shirt to put on in the morning.

My kids have all been to football games in-person with me, and I’ve also been told I have a certain way of clapping durring football too. Apparantly, I am a very loud clapper. So packaged together, Football Dad makes that face, claps really loud, and gets thirsty when the players take a break. Did I just invent an action figure and/or comic strip character? Stay tuned for Football Dad^TM merchandise!

Knowing that my kids are almost always watching and very observent, I can’t help but wonder what other faces of mine they’ve identified catalogued. Do I have a baseball face too? Are they not specific to sports? Do I also have a lawn mowing face and vacuuming face? When my daughter was younger she once asked to see my O face. Of course, she meant the face I make when I make the sound the letter O makes. She was a tiny child and learning her letters and the sound they make, get your mind out of the gutter ya perverts.

Anyway, remember this – the next time you’re deep in a conversation, deep into thought, or deep into the alphabet, your kids are watching. Just waiting for the right moment to bring up the face you make when you chew and make you feel self concious whenever you eat ribs.

My five year-old daughter wasn’t feeling well. In the middle of the night she came into bed with my wife and I. She climbed in, got under the covers and said “Daddy, are Michael Jackson’s brothers alive?” Naturally.

Michael Jackson, and his family, have been a frequent topic of questions from my kids for the better part of the last year. Some are easier – “Is this a Michael Jackson song?” Some are harder – “How did he die?” So far no questions about why he looked, ya know, normal when he was younger and somehow ended up looking like Jack Skellington, but that one just a matter of time I’m sure.

Like everybody else, they were initially drawn to the King of Pop by the music. Smooth Criminal hooked them and it went from there. Even then they weren’t satisfied to just listen to the music, there were questions. Mostly “who is Annie?” and “why is he asking if she’s OK?” I suppose I should be glad that my kids are so interested in the well being of this Annie person. I guess it’s easier for them to enjoy the song if they know for sure that she is in fact OK. A concern for the health and safety of others – a life lesson not often taught by pop music.

Once they realized he made songs as a kid, then they were really interested. Which is understandable. It must be mind blowing for them to realize that a kid like them can make music. And good music at that, not like Kids Bop garbage. Anyway, “How old was he when he sang this song,” became a common one. Which inevitably led to “How old is he now?” Uh-oh.

Not that there is a great time to explain accidental prescription drug overdoses to your children, but I’m pretty sure if a kid can’t yet grasp tying their shoes then opioid addiction is a bit too far. However, I did find a teachable moment. I told them that he died because he took too much medicine. Good way to drive home the point of needing to take medicine when you’re sick, but only the right amount. They got that point, but now had more questions.

Where was he when he died? Who was with him when he died? Were his brothers there too? Who told his brothers? How did his mom find out? What kind of medicine was it? Who gave him the medicine? Did his brothers die too? What’s a Tito?

Whatever happened asking what a PYT is?

I’m curious to see how long this lasts. Is intrigue around celebrity deaths a standard phase of childhood? I don’t remember asking my parents about why John Lennon was dead, or how Yoko found out. Then again I never asked about how Annie was doing either. I guess my kids have more concern for others than I did at that age. So, parenting win for me on that one I guess.

Of course there may come a day when they find out more than Michael Jackson’s family history. Not sure what to do about that one. I’ve got time to get my mind around how to address his alleged transgressions, but even for myself I’ve had plenty of time and still don’t know how I feel about it. Can you separate the man from the art? Whatever he allegedly did doesn’t make Dirty Diana less of a banger, and no matter how great a performer he is doesn’t make him less of a complete and total weirdo.

For me, his legal troubles never took away from my enjoyment of the music, and I think it is possible to divorce the person from the product. OJ being in them doesn’t ruin the Naked Gun movies for me. It’s still fun to watch clips of Mike Tyson knocking guys into next week. And most relevant to fatherhood, Cliff Huxtable is still one of the greatest TV dads of all time. Not to totally bust open that can worms, but can we agree that we can punish Bill Cosby without erasing a great character and great show? I say put it on streaming somewhere and give the residuals he would receive to a victim’s charity. Now we’re healing the world, making it a better place, and enjoying some of the best terrible sweaters of all time.

Either way, we’ll still listen to Michael Jackson and I’ll field the questions with as much information that is appropriate at the time. Maybe we’ll sit down and watch The Jacksons: An American Dream next family movie night. Plus, who know knows, maybe this is just a phase and by the time they’ll be old enough to understand they won’t be interested in his music anymore. Maybe the next time they ask about his family I use that as an opportunity to pivot to Janet. For a couple years there, it was hard to tell them apart anyway – looking at you Scream music video.

I understand that I am the gatekeeper for what my kids see, hear, read. At least until they get more influence from other kids at school. And honestly, I’d rather they listen to excellent music made by a terrible person than terrible music made by a saint. Lately, my seven year-old has somehow started to sing the lyrics “a b c d e f u”, of which I know she didn’t hear in my or my wife’s presence. I’ll take my kid singing collection of he-HEs and shamoans over that any day even if he did do it. Allegedly.

So perhaps that is the lesson. Don’t worry about the kinds of people who are making the music, the movies, the TV shows. Worry about the kind of people actually interacting with my child. If the ghost of Michael Jackson somehow finds its way into my kid’s classroom, then I’ll worry. Until then, turn up the Billy Jean. Until I have to explain allegations of fathering a child with a groupie….so…maybe we turn up Man in the Mirror instead. Good plan.

She was in tears. She was on the verge of a full out meltdown. Refusing to get off the couch. Refusing to get her shoes on and get ready for school. I thought she must not be feeling well, but between her sobs she was able to let me know that wasn’t the case. Then I started to get a bit concerned. What could be so terrible about Kindergarten that would reduce my daughter to tears? Is she being bullied? Does she feel overwhelmed by learning to read? Based on this reaction, surely it must be something terrible, right?

Turns out it was gym class.

She was able to calm down enough to let me know that she didn’t want to go to school because today her special was P.E. My brain did not comprehend this. Shouldn’t gym be the highlight of the day, and the day you have gym be the highlight of the week? Especially at this age. I am pretty sure everything she does in Kindergarten P.E. is just various forms of running around to get energy out. It’s not like she’s getting picked last for basketball or taking an awkward public shower afterward.

I couldn’t help but think, what kind of a kid of mine are you? If I was stupider, I’d have half a mind, and I’d use it to call Maury Povich. I know she’s my daughter, but clearly something is skipping a generation here. I was literally awarded for my gym class prowess. When I graduated high school I wasn’t given any cords for first or second honors, no medals or ribbons for AP classes or extracurricular activities. I was given the Physical Education Award. Which I’m pretty sure only myself and maybe one other person received, so in a way it was far more prestigious than those NHS sashes half the senior class had. I mean, how big of an honor can it really be if they were seemingly handing those things out left and right?

Anyway, apparently there is something about tag that my daughter finds incredibly troubling. While I agree that tag is pretty lame, being the cause of a teary meltdown seems a bit much. While I’ve never seen her play a game of tag, given what I know about her, I have to assume she’s constantly it. I wouldn’t say she’s un-athletic. When we play baseball in the backyard she has a pretty natural swing. When she started playing soccer she scored a goal in her very first game. She holds her own in a game of keepy uppy. However, it is clear that she lacks any aggression or competitive drive. Which really makes we wonder what exactly she did inherit from me.

Is a competitive spirit inherited or developed? Thus far it’s safe to say she has not inherited it. Despite the fact she scored a goal in her very first soccer game, by the last game of the season she informed us that she would not play next year and proceeded to spend the final game of the year alternating between standing in one place and outright refusing to leave the bench. Can I inspire her to compete? I don’t really care if she never plays soccer again in her life, but I can’t abide somebody with a total lack of will to compete. Even if you don’t like the game, you should still play to win it.

I also don’t want to be the kind of dad that is a hard ass to my kids over a game of Candy Land. There must be a sweet spot between letting your kids win (which I refuse to do) and reducing them to tears because they say they never win. If I push them to want to win more at games will that transfer to gym class? Games are supposed to help kids’ development, right? I’d make the case that its important to develop the will to win. My gut says I should. My brain says I shouldn’t. I know I should just let games be fun, let sports be something my kids try just to see if they like it, let gym class be the low point of the week. As much as I can’t empathize with dredding P.E., I need to empathize with my sad kid.

For one, its the right thing to do. But it will also be good practice for when my kids start hating the parts of school that are really worth hating, like spelling tests and geometry. Unless they are good at spelling and really dig proving postulates and theorems. Who knows, maybe one of my kids will end up being one of those competative spelling bee nerds. While I will be of absolutely no spelling assistance, I can inspire them to spell harder than the other kid. You spell to win the bee.

Over the years, my kids rarely get up in the middle of the night because they’ve had a bad dream. When it does happen, it seems to come in waves. We’ll go months without somebody crying out for mommy or daddy (usually daddy), and then get three or four in a week. Some of them legit – there was a scary shadow a few days ago. Some of them completely unexplained. Last week when asked what her dream was about, she said she didn’t know. I’m not sure if there was a monster she just couldn’t bring herself to mention, or some abstract construction of her subconscious mind that she quite literally didn’t know what was happening. Terrifying either way.

One of them however, was a new one. My three year-old son woke up crying and wanted his mommy because he had a dream too frightening it jolted him awake. So scary he needed to be soothed back to sleep. In this bone-chilling nightmare – his toothbrush…(brace yourself people)….fell into the potty!

DUN DUN DUUUUUUN!!!

In a way, I get it. That would be terrible. The misery of the extraction goes without saying. Have to spend the next forty five minutes washing your hands. Have to replace that tooth brush. Hassle all around. Don’t know if that is exactly nightmare fuel, but a major hassle for sure.

But for who?

Exactly none of the repercussions of my son’s toothbrush taking a dive into the crapper would fall on him. I’d be the one fishing it out, disinfecting thoroughly, and looking for a new toothbrush. He’d be the one not caring that he doesn’t have to brush his teeth tonight. Maybe he is just so concerned for me that the thought of putting that undue stress on me was scary for him. He can be thoughtful that way. Let’s pretend for a second that’s the case. I appreciate him looking out for me, but I don’t think that rises to the level of scary enough to force you awake. Give you the jibblies, yes, but leave your crying for mommy – no.

So is my son a germaphobe? I’m keenly aware of his hygiene habits, so I’d have to say no. However, he absolutely hates having dirty hands. He has absolutely no issue licking, well, pretty much anything, but his meal will come to a screeching halt should he get something on his hands. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a three year-old eat, but he asks for a lot of napkins. Syrup, honey, ketchup, an apple that’s too juicy. Are these what keeps the boy awake at night?

As I write this it is almost Halloween. I’ve been wondering what movies would be the right level of spooky for him, but perhaps it doesn’t matter. He’d be more freaked out about the butter from the popcorn getting on his fingers than whatever is happening on the screen. He could care less if there was a monster under his bed as long as there isn’t something under his fingernails. I have no doubt that the scariest thing that will happen to him this Halloween is scooping the innards out of the pumpkin. I’ll prepare myself to be woken up by the nightmare that is sure to ensue from the terror that is goopy pumpkin fingers.

Though I wonder, what if his scary toothbrush dream was not some manifestation of a subconscious (or very conscious) fear, but rather his brain’s rehashing of something that actually happened. Depending on how you interpret dreams, there is a school of thought that says dreams are the brain’s way of processing the day’s events. Could he have have actually dropped his toothbrush in the toilet? Was he so embarrassed that it happened and so scared of the aftermath that his little brain immediately tried to repress it only to have his dream bring it back up? Though, if he dropped is toothbrush in the toilet, I have to believe he would have asked for help. I mean, he asks for help with 90% of the other things he does in the bathroom.

Unless he felt like he couldn’t ask me for help. Because it wasn’t his toothbrush he dropped. It was mine. I can see it now – he was in there goofing around rather that doing whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. He picked my toothbrush and pretended it was a paintbrush, first rubbing it all over the walls, then on the floor, and finally the inside of the toilet. His little uncoordinated fingers lose grip, and in goes my toothbrush. In a panic he reaches in and quickly puts in back in place, thinking he’ll move on and never think of it again. Until he dreamt. The thought of his father unknowingly brushing his teeth with a toothbrush that had been toileted was too much for him to stand.

Well now whose subconscious is running away with them? That didn’t happen. Probably. That probably didn’t happen. Good God I hope that didn’t happen. Am I getting Inceptioned by my three year old? Whelp, I know what my next nightmare is going to be about. And so does he.

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUN!

I won a raffle at a local coffee shop this week (shout out to Sparrows!) and my prize was a gift basket of stuff. It was sitting out on the counter when my wife got home from work, and upon seeing it she joyfully exclaimed “Shut up! We won!?”

While my kids were not that excited about their mom winning some coffee and related accouterments, they were very excited to be able to call their mom out for using a bad word. They were quick to point out that mom used the “S” word – shut up.

While I suppose I’m glad they still live in an innocent enough world where the “S” word is shut up, it is a little annoying. For one thing, it has caused confusion when one of them tells me that somebody said the “S” word, as my mind for sure does not go directly to shut up. To make things even more confusingly G-rated, “stupid” has also been called the “S” word in our house.

Kid: “Somebody at school said the “S” word today.”
Me: “Uh-oh, that’s not nice.”
Kid: “I know, it was the S-H “S” word.
Me: “Uuuuuummmmmm…what did they say?”
Kid: *whispering* “Shut up.”
Me: “Oh, right. Well, yeah don’t say that.”

The larger annoyance with “shut up” being considered a bad word, is that sometimes I really want to tell my kids to shut up. It probably wouldn’t be considered great parenting, but I bet it sure would be effective in getting them to stop talking. Or more accurately, stop whining. Actually, most accurately, stop singing.

Using good manners in politely asking them to be quiet is great way to model the kind of behavior I want them to have. However, it’s not a great way to actually get them to be quiet. Most of the time their assorted noises are too loud for them to hear me anyway. Or last I think it is, but I’m beginning to be convinced that they can hear me but are choosing to ignore me. I went to my daughter’s first grade classroom, and the teacher’s way to get a room full of high volume kids was to say “class, class” in a completely normal tone of voice at a completely normal volume. Every single one of those kids heard him perfectly fine and responded “yes, yes” at an equally normal volume. Am I to believe my kids can’t hear me tell them to be quiet from the other side of the kitchen? Liars.

Of course I can only be so patient and manners are sometimes set aside. There have been many occasions when all I wanted to do was tell a kid to shut up. I’ve tried alternatives; stop talking, don’t say words, don’t open your mouth, stop saying things. None of which really work that well. The thing that comes closest is “shut your mouth”, but this apparently is close enough to shut up to be considered a bad word. I have gotten in multiple debates with my seven year-old about if “shut your mouth” is or is not the same thing as “shut up.” So apparently “shut” is what makes something bad to say.

Shut up = bad.
Shut your mouth = bad.
Hush up = allowed. And also gives you the charm of a southern nanny. Slap a “y’all” on the front and a “now” and you can threaten to send them to bed without their vittles while you’re at it.
Shut the front door = confusing. My kids would have no idea. If anything, they’d get mad at me because the door already is shut.

Who said “shut up” counted as a bad word anyway? While it might be rude, it isn’t profane. My kids say lots of rude things. Almost everyday one of them comes up to me and tells me one of the others is being rude to them. They can scream at each other, they can whisper insults under their breath at each other, they can make feral cat noises at each other, but telling each other to shut up crosses a line.

Can we conditionally move the line? I think there are circumstances where it is more important to deliver the message you want to deliver and set the fear of being rude aside. I actually did it with a different “S” word, and it worked. While my daughters fought over some nonsense thing that I honestly don’t remember what it was, it told them that it was ridiculous that they argue over something so stupid.

“Dad, you said a bad word!” They were quick to point out, stopping the argument they were having now that they had dad’s bad language to focus on.

“Yes, I did,” I told them. “Because that’s exactly what it is.” Message delivered. Message received.

So what’s the way to go? Using shock value of behavior I don’t want them to emulate in order to force them into a behavior I do want, or modeling the behavior I want to encourage in them in hopes that they pick up? I feel like “do as I say, not as I do” never works. I suppose I’ll have to keep being the adult and choke back what I really want to say in favor of teaching them and being a good example. Surely, that is the thing a good parent would do. Putting a child’s need to grow up in a loving, healthy, communicative environment over my need to express my frustration over their still developing interpersonal skills.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to learn how to say “shut up” in sign language.

Even before my kids were born, we always had music in the house. Records, radio, streaming, whatever, just something playing in the background. After my kids were born, we introduced them to music pretty much from the time we brought them home from the hospital. Music is supposed to be good for their little developing brains, right? As they have gotten older, the music has remained. They always ask for (demand) lullabies, they tell Alexa what to play, (we tell Alexa “thumbs down” when they aren’t paying attention), and they are always singing. Always. What used to be comfortably in the background has been thrust loudly to the foreground.

Between my wife and I, we’ve exposed our kids to a pretty wide variety of music. Classic dad rock of Seger and Springsteen. Crooners of Dean and Frank. Pop icons of Michael Jackson and Phil Collins. And yes, even a few people who weren’t already on the charts in the 1970s – my oldest daughter’s first concert was Lauren Daigle. All they have absorbed is coming out, almost to the point where they can communicate entirely in song. Its like I’m living in the lowest budget production of Les Miserables ever made. While it can certainly be entertaining, it can also make me les miserables.

Singing the Wrong Words

I try not to hold it against them when my kids get the words wrong. Their vocabulary isn’t fully developed yet and even if they’ve heard the words before they don’t understand the lyrics. However, what is really something to hear is how much they lean into the incorrect lyrics. They sing them with gusto, insist they are singing it right, and will fight over it if you have the gall to correct them. The greatest hits include:

• In “Believer” by Imagine Dragons, they’ve interpreted they lyric “You made me a, made me a believer, believer” as “Pick me up, pick me up Aleela, Aleela.” As if there was a person whose name was Aleela that they are asking to hoist them in the air.
• I don’t know the name of the song, but the word “Lord” was consistently replaced with “bone.” Slippery slope all around on that one.
• In “Love Fool” by the Cardigans, they have changed “Love me, love me. Say that you love me.” To “Burgundy, burgundy. Say you love me.” I’d say its impossible to make that song worse, but not sure if that makes it any better.
• In “This is Me” from The Greatest Showman, my daughter insists they say “sexy kay.” I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know what sexy means and that she’s just mimicking sounds. Or at least that’s what I’ll tell myself.

They Sing Like a Broken Record

My kids can sing the same song for hours. However, they don’t know all the words to any song, or at least any song that longer than “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” So we get treated to the same few lines – or sometimes same few words – over and over again. One lyric at a time follows an endless loop of annoyance, white noise, and then back to annoyance when you realize its been twenty minutes and they are still on “I just don’t belong here, I hope you’ll understand” and Gabriella is yet to go her own way. If you know you know.

The flip side to this coin is going from a lyric in one song, to a lyric in a completely different one, and then to yet another. Its like listening to a commercial for “Now That’s What I Call Out of Key Singing 37” – from the the bastards that brought you Kidz Bop.

A Musical Play by Play

Sometimes the kids just sing what they happen to be doing at that moment. I’ve heard songs about legos, lunch, shoes, coloring, pretty much anything they do. Always unprompted. It’s like they are recreating the scene in Elf where Buddy sings to his dad, and I’m standing there like James Caan waiting for the chorus to make sense. But it’s not like I put them on the spot and tell them to sing me a song, causing them to panic and try to make up lyrics based on whatever is in their line of sight. They were just struck by the mood to sing about their oatmeal.

Just Sounds

I was going to say “just notes”, but that would be a stretch. Sometimes its a long, sustained single sound. Sometimes repetitive noises like they are playing the drums in an a capella group. Sometimes they sound like they are trying to hold a note while riding a roller coaster – it goes up, it goes down, it gets louder, it gets quieter. But it doesn’t stop.

In cases where they don’t have a wrong word to use, they swap out words (or whole lines) they don’t know for sounds. Usually “oooohs” or “aaahs” that mostly match the pitch of the words they’re replacing. Always at a higher volume than necessary.

It can be loud and it can be annoying, but I don’t want to discourage it because it can also be funny and entertaining. But more importantly it is tapping into their creativity. I assume that this is the intended effects of all the music we played for the kids when they were babies. Hearing them take in, interpret, and then make their own versions of the music they hear is development happening right before my ears. I just wish the little Jean Valjeans would develop some harmony.

The only thing worse than one of them belting out a mix of noises and mispronounced lyrics is when we’ve got one kid seeing how long they can sustain the same noise, one kid meandering their way through all the songs in the Aladdin soundtrack, and one kid screaming because they want to be the only one singing. At this stage in their development, there is clearly a difference in liking music and being musical, and my kids sure do like music.