Sing…Sing a Song…Sing Out Loud…Sing Out Strong!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for a GPS instead.

Along the way on this second adventure into Parenting by Seniors, I discovered the value of song. Not the value in songs I sing, I can't sing, but the value of having the children sing. In an attempt to get a jump start on kindergarden, I first tried the alphabet song with the then three-year-old. "A B C R Q S Teeeee, H L G V O N Peeeee". This should have been a clear signal as to the forth coming diagnosis of dyslexia.

When the youngest was old enough to get in the bathtub with two inches of water, I would tell him to make some noise if I had to race to another room for pajamas or shampoo or whatever was needed AFTER he was in the tub. Screaming at the top of his lungs was his idea of noise and caused near fibrillation on my part as I catapulted back to the bathroom to rescue him. "Sing, baby. Let's try singing", I said between gasps of air. "Ok". He began singing as I began gathering pajamas. "Maywee had a wittle… sputter blub" as the wash cloth passed over his mouth. "Wittle lamb, wittle wah ahmb" That would be the ears. Why can't you clean your ears without your mouth gaping wide open? "Maywee had a wittle lamb it's fleas was white has sno ho ho ho hee hee" as…other parts were washed. He would continue singing and I would know all was well.

I did not think of my new found sonar location device again until I took his five year old sister to Disney World. On our return trip a college athletic team was ahead of us in line at the airport and taking an exceptional amount of time going through security, probably due to all the baseballs and bats they were carrying. The tour leader told us to break off into smaller groups to expedite security.

It was seventeen minutes before take-off. I ran to the security check point stripping off shoes, belts, watch, cell phone, flopping passports in one hand as I yelled for the five-year-old to do the same. We piled everything into their wonderful dishpans only to have the line stop because an alarm was going off three persons ahead of me. Fourteen minutes till take off. I picked up my bucket, headed for the next line, told the five-year-old to grab my belt loops and we got through without setting off any alarms. Eleven minutes till take off. No time to redress. I ran through the airport barefooted with two blankets, two pillows, my shoes, the five-year-old's shoes, a doll, passports, money belt, and purse piled above my head. I looked like the Michelin tire cartoon. I yelled "Run baby, run," to the five-year-old. She replied "My pants are falling down." I gasped "Keep running". Four minutes till take-off. I couldn't tell how far behind me she was. As my life, or other travelers, passed by, my oxygen deprived brain remembered the bathtub early warning signal. "Sing, sing…"! "Twinkle Twinkle Little Staaaaaar……." came from behind.

Three minutes till take-off. The barefooted Michelin Tire Woman and a barefooted, droopy pants little girl singing "Twinkle Twinkle Staaaar "at the top of her lungs arrived at the gate with sixty seconds to spare. We boarded and then waited… and waited… and waited… Thirty minutes later the five-year-old had to go to the restroom. Down the aisle and from behind the folding door I heard "Twinkle twinkle little staaaaar…..".

Maybe I'll just strap a GPS on their wrists.