Archive for the 'Everybody knows about Roo' Category

The Disney Princess iPod was not my idea.

I got suckered. I took the girls to a book store and told them each to pick one. Mare agonized before selecting the next installation in the Junie B. Jones series. Ren trotted over to me dragging a gigantic purple and pink monstrosity.

“That’s not a book, baby,” I said. “See, books have, like words. And plot, and hopefully rich illustrations and a penetrating moral lesson.”

“It plays the circle song!!” She pressed a button and a chorus of chipper eunuchs sang, “The more we get together together together THE MORE WE GET TOGETHER …!!”

“Oh. Heeeeeell no,” I said.

“You said a book!” she said.

“That’s a TOY!”

Somehow or other, we ended up with it.

It’s really super-clever: a honk’n piece of pink and purple with a small screen. A little icon on the screen symbolizes the song. You spin the dial to shuffle through the icons and press “play” when you get to the one you want. Just so Disney didn’t have to live with being accused of not perpetuating intellectualism in little girls, the lyrics — I’m guessing about 250 words, total — are printed in 7 pages of purple-and-pink color board splashed with cartoon images of vapid-smiled girls and singing teapots.

“The more we get together together TOGETHER!!!” Those freaking eunuchs sing.

“It is the death of our American folk tradition,” sighs Miss Grace, Mare’s dance teacher. She is being subjected to the iPod while I try to gather my entourage for the door after dance class. Renny keeps hitting the icon of three anorexic little cut out girls holding hands.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” I say, scrolling until we hit the icon of the little shoe. I press the button.

“Here comes the bride!!” sing the eunuchs. “ALL DRESSED IN WHITE!! After she marries him her dreams all come true!!”

This thing makes me violent.

So of course the toy part is lost somewhere and all that’s left is the book, so now in lieu of reading, she makes me her own personal iPod. She flips the lyric pages, which are conveniently organized by icon. She has the icons memorized, so she points to the one she wants and makes me sing it to her. Tonight it was “Bippity Boppity Boo” and then “The More We Get Together” and then she asked me for “Home, Sweet Home.”

“I don’t know how that one goes,” I tell Ren.

“Just sing it, Momma.”

“But … really, I’m not lying, I don’t know.” I peer up at the top bunk. “Do you know?” I ask Mare.

“Um. Nope,” she says.

“Sorry, Ren.”

How about this one: “Oh, how lovely is the evening,” I sing. I’m not much of a singer. But I come from a family of musicians. And a strong tradition of folk music. This one I know. And I happen to love.

“NO!” Renny says. “Home sweet home!!”

“I DON’T KNOW THAT ONE!” I say. Ren scowls.

“Mare, repeat after me.” And I teach it to her.

“Oh, how lovely is the evening, is the evening, when the bells are sweetly ringing, sweetly ringing, ding, dong, ding …” Death of the American folk tradition, my ass.

I go through it a few times, Mare has it, and then I tell her, “Sing it no matter what I am singing. Don’t get off track.”

And then she sings and I come in after the first phrase and she gets off for a second, rebounds, and the next thing I know we’re matched up, and I am singing a round with my daughter. And it’s even pretty.

“Oh how lovely is the evening…” we echo.

“SWEET HOME!! HOME!! HOME IS SWEET!!!” shrieks Ren.

“When the bells are sweetly ringing …”

“HOME HOME SWEET HOME!!!”

“Ding, dong …”

“Hey, do you know that if you took this away,” Ren says, brandishing a teeny white feather. “It wouldn’t matter because I would have more. I could just take them straight out of the pillow. And this is a big pillow.”

“Good night, my love.”

“SWEET HOME!! HOME SWEET HOME!!!”

Dear Renny’s New Muver,

Hello. I have been told to expect you shortly. Ren informs me that you are beautiful, you sing nicely, and you serve sugar three times a day.

God love you.

I thought it might be helpful to leave you with a few important tips:

1) Let’s be real, sugar three times a day will hurt you more than her, so you’re going to want to keep a stash of other staples on hand. But don’t bother. All she eats is rice.

2) Her time out corner is in the kitchen next to the bench. If she laughs at you during time out, the scotch in on the floor next to the microwave.

3) When you realize the time out doesn’t work, your next best bet is to take something away. The Closet of Taken Away Things is upstairs in the bedroom. Rumage through there, see what I’ve taken away, figure it hasn’t worked very well and see if you can get creative.

4) Don’t worry, she can’t actually pierce your eardrums with that wail. At least, I don’t think so.

5) Whatever it was that you thought you heard her say but she couldn’t possibly have said because she’s only three? Yeah. She said it.

6) Are you a Next Generation girl? Okay, remember the Borg? The Enterprise crew figured out that the way to fight them was to set their phasers to modulate their frequences. But each frequency would work only twice before the Borg adapted. That’s Renny. Each trick you’ve got is good once or twice, and after that, toss it away. She’s over it and you.

7) Don’t laugh when she leaves her bed and comes out with a blanket on her head and only her feet showing. You’ll pay for that one, trust me.

8.) She has one of the great golden hearts of the Universe and it is easily shattered. If you break it, I will hunt you down.

Three children. Thirteen hours. Just me. We ate pancakes and went to the gym, and then registered for ballet and swim classes. We went home for snacks and a little rest, then to the Farmer’s Market.

Dinner, tubs, bed. And I even got a load of laundry in, made supper for Cute Husband and me, and got all the dishes finished. And I ache almost not at all.

But Ren’s still awake. She is engaged in her favorite evening activity — taking everything out of her closet and spreading it around the floor.

I peek in and she scampers into bed and puts a blanket over her head.

I remove the blanket and bring her chin up.

“If you continue this,” I say. “You will be sorry. You can do what you want, but if I have to come back in here, I will make sure you are sorry you made that choice.”

She shoves a fierce face against my nose. I push her back gently.

“You do what you want,” I say. “But do you believe I know how to make you sorry?”

No, I don’t, she mouths.

But there’s fear in her face.

I shrug and walk away. I have a good feeling about it. If it doesn’t work, I’ll be putting her on the bathroom floor, alone, until she’s weeping from sleepiness. It’ll suck, but it will make her wish for her bed.

I check back five minutes later and she is passed out in her bed, blanket to her chin.

Mark this on your calendars: it is the Day I Frightened Ren.

And did laundry.