Melrose and Mr. Magoo have developed this interesting, and often hilarious, habit of spontaneously and simultaneously bursting into song. This usually occurs when we're riding in the car, and I've somehow gotten them to stop chattering and listen to the radio. One time they both started singing the backup vocals of a Snow Patrol song, and another time it was the chorus of "Just Dance." We've also had some Sara Bareilles, Katy Perry, Kelly Clarkson, and that "I Like to Move It, Move It" song.
It always entertains me when my kids know songs that I didn't teach them. They've been in daycare/school since they were very small. Oftentimes they'll learn songs as part of a holiday (both those we celebrate and those we don't), or because their teachers play a certain song every day at clean-up time, or because some lady with a guitar comes in and has music hour"with them every week. Sometimes I get a performance of these numbers, but I always suspect they know more. And you get some interesting surprises, i.e. to heck with that wussy "Clean Up, Clean Up" song! Didn't you know that Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" and Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" are the best clean-up songs?
The other day, a long-concealed set of Play Doh was unearthed by our babysitter as a consolation prize for Mr. Magoo, who for reasons of blatant gender bias was left out of an all-girls pool party Melrose was attending. DH was out of town, and I was on lifeguard duty, so out came the Play Doh. Magoo was overjoyed. So was Melrose, when she got home and saw it.
I don't normally let the kids play with Play Doh much because it inevitably ends up ground into my carpet and/or tracked all over the house. Also, Astro likes to eat dropped clumps of it, which you might not notice at the time, but becomes evident the next day when you look in the back yard. People give it to us as birthday gifts, and it inevitably gets opened before I can stash it away in the recycled-gift pile to torture some other family with. I can't throw it out without guilt, so it stays and is kept hidden most of the time, and comes out only on special occasions.
Yes, I am mean. Alas, my dislike of fluorescent globs of goo embedded in the rugs usually trumps my children's desire for creative self-expression and tactile stimulation. I'm sure this will come up in therapy someday.
Despite my efforts to monitor the glob-containment situation the following afternoon, some of it did get squished into the family room carpet. I immediately banished the little darlings and their creations to the kitchen table until I could chip it all out with a metal spatula. As I chipped away, the kids chattered to each other about what they were making with their Doh. A dog. A flower. A meatball.
The next thing I know, they're both singing, in sync, with perfect pitch,
"Dreidel dreidel dreidel, I made it out of clay...."
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