I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing

Every night, after bath and bedtime story with Daddy, Cora and I snuggle up in her bed and sing "nighttime songs" before she goes to sleep. Her tastes are widespread: the classics (Baa, Baa Black Sheep and Rock-a-bye Baby), the Sunday School hits (Jesus Loves Me and Jesus Loves the Little Children (anyone know a less racist version of that one??)), hymns (When the Roll of Called up Yonder and All Creatures of our God and King come up most often), the beloved showtunes of her mother (top 3: My Favorite Things, Eidelweiss, and "The Do-Re-Mi Song" (as she calls it)), my favorite folk songs (For Baby (For Bobby) and Sweet Baby James are big ones), and even some rock and roll, though I don't usually sing Three Dog Night at bedtime, despite the name of the band.**

But a few nights ago, I had a TON of work to do, so I told her that we weren't going to sing as much that night and that she could pick out a few special songs.

She paused for just a second, then turned her head to me and said, in all seriousness, "All the songs are special, Mommy."

I stifled a laugh (or three), but I had to admit she was right.

I love that time we spend together at night. It doesn't matter how busy I have been that day or how bad Cora's attitude was before bed or how much I still have yet to get done that day. Somehow, when I'm lying there with her, cuddling and singing songs, sometimes feeling my son wallop around in my belly...none of that matters. I experience a different kind of time. I am fully present to Cora in that moment and I am almost always willing to sing an old favorite "one more last time, please."

I am certainly not bragging: I am not good at keeping this kind of time generally, nor do I usually accomplish this kind of presence with folks in my life - even those I love best of all. But somehow, our nighttime routine of singing and cuddling and catching up on our day and planning for the next one has a magical effect.

Cora was right. All the songs are special. They're like a reset button for the soul. Singing with and for her is a little metaphor for what happens in the song: there's a certain pace that you can't hurry, that you just have to follow. You can't skip over parts you don't like (she remembers!) or hurry through to the next verse. You have to sing the lines as they come and you can't think ahead to the next line without flubbing the one you're on. Somehow, when I'm with Cora in our nighttime routine, I can't be anywhere else. I'm pressed into the present and the moment and the being right in front of me. She holds my attention in the midst of my scattered, busy life.

All the songs are special, Mommy.

**She loves "The Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog Song," but I have amended the lyrics somewhat. Jeremiah has switched his beverage of choice to some "mighty fine juice" and after I, the king of the world, put away the guns and the bombs and the wars, I "just play games with you" in lieu of the other activity mentioned in the original lyrics!

And yes, it DOES fill my crunchy little heart to hear her sing "I'd throw away the guns and the bombs and the wars." AND to use the subjunctive correctly (if I WERE the king of the world...). Thank you for asking.