Just now I found myself singing “I’m a Little Teapot.” I was alone. Well, no kids around. No excuse. It’s not even a song I LIKE. In fact, it reminds me of Candyland, which seemed like such an awesome game when I was a kid (OMG! Candy Mountain! Now I’d rather repeatedly stab my eyeballs with a rusty fork than play it Ever. Again). But “I’m a Teapot”? It has never been my song. I was baffled by it in kindergarten. What were all these silly hand movements? Here is my handle? Why do I need a spout? WTF?!
All that teapot angst reminded me of how not a day went by, maybe not an hour, that I did not sing to my kids. Years of singing. Now my partner asks me frequently to sing to him, and when I do I remember how I figured out how to time singing “Edelweiss” in exactly one minute, because that was the only song that would make infant Serena stop crying. I kept myself from going mad by trying to sing it in exactly sixty seconds. Over and over, my plea to a colicky baby.
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