Music is often playing in our house; thanks in no part to me and entirely because I have a husband who has great taste in music. He keeps us rocking-out (to use a phrase he taught Eleanor). Daily.
Eleanor does her fair share of keeping us singing as well.
There are the usual (Itsy-Bitsy Spider, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, The Wheels on the Bus) and combinations of the usual that keep them feeling fresh (“…went up the water spout. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in da sky…”)
We have special songs for the morning (sung to the tune of Goodnight, Ladies: “Good morning Oliver, good morning Oliver, good morning Oliver it’s so nice to see you here”), song that make us laugh (like The Bare Naked Ladies Pollywog in a Bog), and songs we sing just because (like Elizabeth Mitchell’s So Glad I”m Here).
The Tanzania song – so-called because we listened to this a lot in Tanzania – is requested most frequently. And it’s not uncommon to hear her singing other songs from this album. The other day in the bathtub I heard “He’s a poor boy, empty as a pocket, empty as a pocket with nothing to loose. Sing ta-na-na. Ta-na-na. She puts the diamonds on da soles of her shoes.”
A few months ago, my favorite song to hear her humming (when she thought no one was listening) was Sheena Easton’s Morning Train. A two-and-a half year old singing “…my baby takes the morning train and then he takes another home again…” is too much for anyone to bear without cracking a smile.
Most recently, though, Eleanor’s been stomping her way around the house informing us “I’m a marching band. We are marching bands. We are waking up the grass people.” Ok, we say. Cool.