I've always enjoyed singing to my kids.
When the Snood was first home from the hospital I would sing John Lennon's classic "Beautiful Boy" to him every night as my husband and I gave him a bath, then again as I laid him in his crib at bedtime.
"Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful / Beautiful Boy."
The song has remained in heavy rotation at our house. I continued to play it for Snood as he grew, and I sang it anew at bath time when we welcomed our second son 19-months later.
In the final line of the song Lennon sings,
"Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful / Beautiful Sean."
Taking a cue from this I began inserting my own kids' names into the lullaby as I sang it.
As it turned out, letting my boys know that a lyric change was an option for my sweet little lullaby was a mistake of epic proportions.
It started out innocuously enough when my flight-obsessed two-year-old stopped me as I sang before bed with a request,
I figured what could be the harm in engaging this adorable suggestion? And so I sang,
"Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful / Beautiful AIRPLANES!"
He smiled brightly, clapped his hands and immediately requested:
I sang "Beautiful Helipcopters", "Beautiful Supersonic Jets", "Beautiful Boats", and even "Beautiful Monster Truck Tires".
The real trouble began when my older son overheard the evolution of my beloved song. Immediately he had some requests of his own:
"Beautiful Thomas the Tank Engine!"
So lulled into happiness was I by this last request that I didn't see where this game was so obviously heading.
"Beautiful Poo Poo!"
My horror at this suggestion only fueled my sons' fire.
"Beautiful Butt on Your Nose!"
"Beautiful Poop in the Kitchen!"
Control, at its most basic level, had been lost.
As my kids laughed themselves silly I took a moment to acknowledge the end of a favorite nightly ritual.
Later that night I rocked my newly minted baby girl and sang to her softly,
"Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful / Beautiful Girl"
I figure I've got at least another 18 months left and I'm going to make the most of it.