Friday, November 14, 2008

Taken Down by Song Therapy

I want to begin by stating that I am fully aware that when a child has been traumatized sometimes the best way to find out what's doing the hurting is by getting said child to produce a work of art. I have great respect for the professionals who are able to tease out the gruesome details of a horrible event from a silenced kid who really needs to begin to heal. That said, though, there is always something nearly comic to me when this type of event is depicted on television, such as in Law & Order. The worried cop or assistant DA watches unseen from through the "secret window" while the therapist gently coaxes the victim to doodle. Then, the therapist shows the results to the camera and it's an unholy cartoony interpretation of blood and guts and OH MY GOD the softball coach did it!!!

Back to real life. At Kate & Sarah's daycare they sing "Where is Thumbkin" a lot. You know, that little song to the tune of "Are You Sleeping?" in which we sing the name of each digit on our hand. "Where is Thumbkin where is thumbkin [produce your thumb] Here I am! Here I am!..." Any time the subject of someone or something's location comes up both Kate and Sarah set it to that tune. My favorite was when we were taking pictures of all the Obama supporters in our immediate area and they started singing "where's Obama? where's Obama?" and Jeremiah and I responded "we don't know! we don't know! Possibly Ohio or maybe Virginia...Flor-i-da. Flor-i-da" Good stuff.

The other day I was having my usual hard time getting the little rugrats from the bed to the bathroom to the closet to the car to daycare in what I considered a timely manner. As I hustled them out the door they both objected "it's cooooooold!" It was what I would describe as crisp, but would be nearly 70 by midday. "Oh, just get in the car, I'll turn on the heat!" Of course, daycare is 2 miles from our house at most, we generally arrive there well before the engine warms up enough to produce real heat. They whined and complained the whole way there while I gripped the wheel and clenched my teeth, eyeing the clock. When we arrived I leapt from the car and pulled each kid out. Holding Sarah in one arm and Kate by the hand I hustled down the sidewalk toward the building. That's when Sarah began to belt out "Where's my sweater? Where's my sweater?" and Kate cadenced back "I don't know! I don't know! Mommy it's so cold out! Mommy it's so cold out! We are cold. We are cold" while all their teachers looked on.

It's not that I allowed them to be cold for 7 minutes that bugs me so much. It's that I got caught.

4 comments:

*pab said...

Oh, snap.

Fort Girl said...

Hillarious! This is a great story, thanks for the good laugh to start out my day!

Anonymous said...

laf it up thos grils cud kech a bad kas of lupus

karen said...

Hi Worst Mama, hi Worst Mama,
There you are, there you are!
One point for no sweaters, one getting caught.
Two-point day! Two-point day!