Misheard Lyrics Disease- I fear it's genetic

We are now three weeks into Max’s first year of preschool.  Five days a week, 3.5 hours a day, someone else is teaching my child.  While I hate that he’s growing up so fast it’s fun to watch him gain independence and learn new things.  On our drive home from school this afternoon I got a lesson on foxes.

“Foxes have long bodies, big ears and can see in the dark.  They have bad hearing. Wait. No. Good hearing.  Actually I don’t remember. Foxes are cool, Mom”.

Of all the new things Max has brought home, my favorite are the new songs he sings. Just like his Mom, Max is drawn to music.  Like me, he gets obsessed with a song and has to listen to it multiple times in row. Like me, songs are stuck in his head for days.  Like me, he mindlessly sings to himself while playing or working.  And like me he mishears and mis-sings all the lyrics.

While I prepared dinner the other evening I heard him singing as he played with his trains.

“Our Mom, is an awesome Mom. She reins from heaven above”. 

Before my ego could swell too much, his version of Awesome God morphed into

“Our dog is an awesome dog”.

 I giggled at how silly his toddler brain worked.  Then I stopped and realized this might not be a toddler thing.  He may have inherited a tough case of “Misheard Lyrics Disease” something from which I’ve suffered since childhood.

 For years I proudly belted the lyrics “Ice-Ca-pades, we’ll have a good time. Ice Ca-pades, leave your worries behind”.  Little did I know Janet Jackson was actually singing about her Escapade and not a flashy traveling figure skating show.  I just assumed, when she yelled “MINNEAPOLIS!” mid-song she was just suggesting that it’s a good place for the Ice Capades to perform. I mean, Minnesotans sure love their hockey and you can’t throw a rock there without hitting an ice arena. Maybe they would also love razzle dazzle of a choreographed ice dance to “Eye of the Tiger”?

Or not.*

Anyway, I fear with Max, the apple has not fallen far from tree. However, unlike my mother, I will gently correct Max’s mis-heard lyrics to spare him the embarrassment of being corrected by a snooty college roommate. Unless, of course, together we are belting out that Bachman Turner Overdrive is “Baking Carrot Biscuits”. 

*This is where a less classy fan of the 2013 Stanley Cup winning Chicago Blackhawks would say something gloat-y like "I bet the Ice Capades put on a better show than last years Minnesota Wild", but I won't. I'm classy. 


This post brought to you by Mama Kat and her infamous Writer's Workshop.