Heard here. Today. All of them.
Emily manages the occasional lyrical mangling, generally pretty entertaining. “Hit the ground, Jack, and never come back no more, no more, no more, no more…”
Or this one (from before the holiday): “Hark a herald angel sings, ‘Glory be! A new-born king.’ ” (One hears an echo of the south in this Canadian girl… who has never ventured further in that direction than Albany. New York.)
Entertaining as those may be, it is Tyler who is the Undisputed King of Mangled Lyrics.
“Winkle, winkle, little star…”
Okay, not too far-fetched, but hang on, it gets better…
“The more we get a-gether, a-gether, a-gether, the more we get a-gether, the fatter we’ll be…” I don’t know about your holiday feasting, but that’s pretty true of the state of the waistlines around here…
But the piece de la resistance, the cream of the crop, the ultimate in lyric-warping…
“Don’t worry, pee happy, every little thing, got a penis right…”
Bob would be so proud.
They’re back, and I swear they’ve all grown in the past ten days!
Romeo is a hit. (Less so with me, given that he pooped in the kitchen 12 seconds before I took him outside this morning. Really. He was in his little coat and everything. I turned my back for a second to snap on Indie’s leash, he trotted into the kitchen, I did up my coat and then went to get him, and … Oh, well. All part of the learning curve!)
We’ve been outside, we frolicked in the snow. We came inside and cut out mittens for our craft later today. We’ve had snack, and now we’re waiting for Emily’s school bus. There were a few tears at drop-off — pretty much standard after a long break — but nothing that lasted more than a minute or two. And now I am sitting in the dining room while Grace finishes her snack in her highchair and Tyler and Rory lose cars under the couch. (And then go extract them and come out covered in dustballs. Who needs a Swiffer?)
It’s good to be back in the groove.