My daughter sings. A lot. She’ll repeat simple phrases that explain the world: about the color of her crayons, a new experience, or how she feels about a person. She’ll do all this without thought—and without realization that someone might hear her.
She will also use song to narrate memorable or—more often—traumatic moments in her life. My favorite example of this is a recent visit to the doctor. She handled the vaccination needles just fine, and was immediately chatty with the doctor herself. Then we went to collect the urine sample and I forgot to let her turn on the light.
She eventually calmed down, used the potty, and turned the light off-and-on-and-off. Then we went downstairs, got in the car, and had a snack. And then she sang her song. I didn’t really pay attention until I heard my name: “Daddy was so mean, he wouldn’t let me turn on the light/ He yelled at me and made me cry…”
It went on for another ten minutes, covering all the events of the day.
I replayed the visit in my mind. I knew that I had remained calm, reasonable; I gave her space, offered solutions. But still, she had her version, and in song no less. Who would you believe?
It didn’t matter if it were true—it was how she experienced it, and now how she remembered it. Memories are slippery and highly dependent on our emotional state at the time. All of us are subject to the same morphing of events to fit our internal narrative as time goes by; maybe not as quickly as the walk from the doctor to the car, but quickly enough. It’s something I try to keep in mind when relitigating old events or passing judgment on someone I disagree with. Everyone sees the world differently.
Luckily I’m no longer the villain in her songs. She’s forgotten the “Light Switch” and moved on to singing “A Thousand Pies” from Octonauts.
For about a week straight everything looked like a bumbum. Graciously, the wave has passed and only bumbums look like bumbums, but it’s nice to know that she has already discovered the core of most humor. From Chaucer to Fartin’ Rudy, the butt is objectively hilarious.
Kids are a joy! Really! You should try taking mine for a few days—heck! a few weeks! It’s a hoot seeing her process everything that happens in song. My only recourse now is to create an even catchier song with my version of events. Then and only then will victory be mine.
Have you ever wanted to just disappear after singing an ode to your favorite aunt, only to realize that she is sitting in the same room, listening to your improvised ditty? Then this, dear reader, is a comic for you.
It was great to have Glomo with us for a couple weeks! Questions are already being asked about where she is, how far away D.C. really is, and when she’s getting back. Time will tell!
I’ve never met the Muffin Man, but I’ve heard the stories. There was a kid a couple years older than me, but in third grade, who said he wasn’t scared of the Muffin Man, and snuck into his house on Drury Lane. The next day at school he wasn’t there, but there was a single muffin sitting in his chair. We never saw him again.
It is incredible that butterflies can ever get to where they’re going. They travel the whole dang world! But also incredible is this really funny meme I’m checking out. It so captures this whole mood. Here, I’ll send it to you.
A regrouping! Let’s see what the dog owners have up their sleeves. From the looks of things, it involves some sort of trick football play. Look, they love their dogs, that doesn’t make them great at strategy.
A palate cleanser, of sorts. Maybe they are all nice people and just want to go inside and join the dog party. That is possible! You don’t know! Anyway, nice to get a break from drawing dogs and draw dozens of buildings instead.
I can’t help but wonder if this guy uses the same joke every time he busts up a dog joint or if he comes up with new ones each time. Everyone else must be so sick of hearing them. How exhausting to have a boss like that! No one likes your jokes, Gary!