I’m a singing parent.
Yup, it’s true – I sing to my children all the time. I sing special good night songs to each one of them that I made up when they were born (literally, made them up while at the hospital). I sing songs to wake them up. I sing songs with random words to tunes that are stuck in my head – lately they’ve been hearing lots of silly variations on Forget You by CeeLo.
Sometimes my singing brings laughter, sometimes it brings a little hand placed upon my mouth. Sometimes my singing defuses a situation, sometimes it causes covers to be thrown over heads. But I keep singing & singing. I sing silly songs to Christmas music even in the summer. I sing songs about legos, about teeth brushing, about homework. I sing about cleaning up, about getting dressed, about getting in the car. I sing songs all the time that are completely fabricated and probably totally off-tune.
I am not a singer. This is no special talent of mine finding ways to shine. In fact, I have absolutely no idea why I sing to my children. I certainly don’t sing to anyone else. I don’t sing anywhere else either (well except church). I don’t know why I sing, but I do. Hopefully my children will have somewhat fond memories of this silliness. Otherwise, they’ll probably use it as evidence when they want to have me committed.