[Note: This post was originally published on The Mrs on August 6th, 2011.]
Parenting truth: kids are great at showing the world how much you suck
as a parent — regardless of actual suckage — because everything and
anything can be taken out of context and will always look way worse than it really is.
The level of apparent atrocity will directly relate to the level of
innocence behind an act. In other words: the more innocent an act, the
more horrible it will outwardly appear.
Case in point: music.
One of our boys’ favourite activities is to sing lyrics of songs they love, occasionally shouting them at the top of their lungs.
Usually in public, of course.
A slightly different version of this game is to sing overtop of each
other, each attempting to correct the other’s goofy lyrics... and this
amuses them. Immensely.
Music as play is a good thing, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for melody-
and wordplay, and anything creative is a good thing in my books, but...
It’s not just any music.
Oh no, they don’t choose anything adorable and childish... no She’ll be
Coming ’Round the Mountain, or Skinnamarink for them... oh, no, they
wait (in ambush) until we’re eight carts deep in the not-so-express
Walmart lineup, and then start to hum, then sing Raise Your Glass by
Pink.
If you’re not 100% familiar with this song, the chorus goes
Raise your glass if you are wrong
in all the right ways
all my underdogs
we will never be, never be
anything but loud
and nitty gritty
dirty little freaks
Charming, yes?
And there’s another — of course four-year-old favourite — line, that
goes “party crasher, panty snatcher. Call me up if you are gangster.”
Yep. The artist in question also occasionally spells her name P!nk. Seriously.
And I don’t judge. I really don’t care.
And I realize you could look at me and say that the reason my kids are
singing Pink’s song is because they’ve been exposed to her music (dur).
But the thing is, they haven’t.
Let me clarify: they love this song. And it looks
(sounds?) horrible, but if any one of those wide-eyed strangers in the
Walmart express line asked my kids if a girl with questionable spelling
sang Raise Your Glass, they’d adamantly correct that stranger and say
no, it’s sung by a boy named Blaine.
Him. Not her.
Yes. My kids listen to the Glee versions of popular songs, because then I
get a break from the traditional ‘kids’ music, and get to hear some
fun, catchy, current, upbeat, well-produced music, without profanity.
(Okay, there’s the occasional ‘damn’ or ‘hell’ — but it could be worse.)
But I know how this looks. It looks like my kids (aged four and five) are listening to unedited pop music, swear words and all.
So, in the Walmart express line, when I saw the tell-tale hum as the
four-year-old stamped his feet and pumped a fist into the air, about to
burst into song, I might have acted a teensy bit like the King of Swamp Castle trying to avert the arias of his limp-dishrag son in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
But it was no use. Why do I even try?
And he wasn’t hurting anyone. He was actually being kind of quiet. And
on key. Sort of. Or at least off-key and out-of-tune in a “I’m little
and too cute to care” kind of way... that works, right?
I got a tap on my shoulder, and an older woman behind me all but shook
her finger at me. “That song has the F word in it, you know.”
I wanted to say, “not the version my kids listen to,” or even snatch
another F word from the song and fling it in her face (except my brain
was choosing to be sluggish, and ‘freak’ and ‘fool’ were eluding me,
unfortunately, since passive-aggressively implying she was both in reply
would have been highly satisfying).
Thankfully, my five-year-old leaned in, as if on cue and in time with
his brother’s singing, to belt out the lyric, “why so serious?”
And then I remembered: it’s my kids’ job to remind me who I am and who I
want to be. And if that means letting people publicly question my
parenting, I’m okay with that.
When it comes down to it, my boys are deliriously content to wait,
singing, in a horrendous lineup with a full cart, after patiently
shopping against their own wishes for the previous hour.
They weren’t touching items on the racks.
They weren’t fighting or hitting each other.
They weren’t whining, they weren’t melting down, and they weren’t asking for anything.
So outwardly, sure, this lady can question my child-rearing all she
wants. But regardless of her opinion, I’m confident in my parenting
skills.
Or skillz... whatever.
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