{"id":171,"date":"2006-05-26T13:31:45","date_gmt":"2006-05-26T13:31:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/2006\/05\/26\/i-really-am-not-that-bad-a-singer\/"},"modified":"2006-05-26T13:31:45","modified_gmt":"2006-05-26T13:31:45","slug":"i-really-am-not-that-bad-a-singer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/2006\/05\/26\/i-really-am-not-that-bad-a-singer\/","title":{"rendered":"I really am not that bad a singer"},"content":{"rendered":"

We do a lot of singing in our household. This is not because we’re especially talented at it, but more because it’s fun. We’re always drumming<\/a>, singing<\/a>, or humming. The songs that I know (mostly classic rock with a heavy does of 80’s movie and TV themes) are significantly different than the songs that they know, so it makes for an interesting household.<\/p>\n

Of course, I’ve been learning the kiddie songs by osmosis. Hear something long enough, and you can’t help but to asborb some of it.<\/p>\n

The other night at dinner, C had to leave for a sudden bathroom break. His mom went with him, leaving his little brother and I at the table by ourselves. He immediately started crying that he wanted to go potty too. Why, after all, should his brother have all the fun?<\/p>\n

Unsuccessful at normal communications, I started drumming on the table. I was doing a pretty good little beat, too – not too complicated, but enough to be interesting. I’m sure I stole it from some ditty I’d heard at some time or other. At any rate, the little guy stopped crying and watched for a moment, and then said “No Drumming! No Drumming on Table!”<\/p>\n

I laughed and said “Momma’s not here.”<\/p>\n

“No! No drumming on table! On lap! On lap!”<\/p>\n

He showed me by drumming on his lap, so I switched to my lap. Unfortunately, there’s only so long you can drum on your lap. Soon he was looking longingly towards the bathroom. “Potty? Potty?”<\/p>\n

“How about a song instead?”<\/p>\n

“Song?”<\/p>\n

“La, la-la-la-la.” Okay, those “La”s look lame when you type them, but they’re the start to a pretty common kid’s song called “Sing, sing a song.” Usually, the kids join in right away, especially when you break out an encouraging smile and chair dance. <\/p>\n

Instead, he interrupted. “No! No Singing!”<\/p>\n

Hmph. Maybe he’d like something more mellow. “Yesterday, all my troubles seem so far awaaay”<\/p>\n

“No! No Singing.”<\/p>\n

Alright, everyone likes this one, I thought. “When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, whisper words of wisdom, let it be, let it -”<\/p>\n

“No!”<\/p>\n

Right there, at my own kitchen table, I was dying. Even with an audience of one, I was bombing. I switched to an old standby, “Stop! In the name of love, before you break my heart, think it oo-ver!”<\/p>\n

“No!” He covered his ears. “You’re hurting my feelings. You’re hurting my feelings!”<\/p>\n

At this point, of course, his mom and older brother returned. She looked at us, him covering his ears saying I was hurting his feelings, me sitting with my mouth hanging open. “I, uh, I was singing.” I said sheepishly.<\/p>\n

She smiled, “you were hurting his feelings?” <\/p>\n

Hmph.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We do a lot of singing in our household. This is not because we’re especially talented at it, but more because it’s fun. We’re always drumming, singing, or humming. The songs that I know (mostly classic rock with a heavy does of 80’s movie and TV themes) are significantly different than the songs that they know, so […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[122,120],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-171","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-daddytales-n","category-daddytales-embarassing"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DpYi-2L","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/171","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=171"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/171\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=171"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=171"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.pat-matthews.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=171"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}