Meowing Love

Rollie saw the cats meowing Jingle Bells. So, the other night, when Todd went to Trivia, and I was putting the kids down, we did our usual night-nights, which include a range of oddities created over the last four years: Goodnight Moon turned into Goodnight Everyone we know and Every Object we have Ever Touched. Then when Tiller was little, I started singing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star to her, and then she started making requests, so that now she gets three songs every night. Then Rollie realized we were singing with Tiller and he decided he wanted to sing at bedtime, too. The last month or so, it has been Christmas carols at bedtime. Usually Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. But when I lay down in the bed with Rollie on Thursday night, he said, “Let’s do Meow Song,” nodding as he said it.

“Huh?”

“Meow Santa Claus.”

And I thought, “Todd, you fucker. A little warning would be nice when you teach him to meow Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.”

Kids are a great leveller, though, a fantastic humbling experiment. So, I took a deep breath, and began to meow. There are times when you are alone in the dark, meowing with your child, and it feels like perfection, and you know that it will be a moment that will bring tears to your eyes 20 years later. But right then, you just feel really, really silly. And you love him so much you just don’t care.

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3 comments

  • I feel the same way singing to my daughter now. I have a horrible singing voice, but when she just wont go to sleep, me singing either disgusts her to sleep or calms her down. Thank god she doesn’t realize that Bob Dylan isn’t the same as ABC’s that her mother sings.

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