For my daughter, life is one big Rodgers and Hammerstein musical. At any moment, she will burst into song about what is going on RIGHT THEN.
But these are not the trite songs of preschool-hood–oh, no. She has "Twinkle, Twinkle" and "The Wheels On the Bus" in her repertoire, but Corrie’s songs are original. She is an artist, by gosh, and she must create.
When she plays with her dollhouse, she sings a song about a dollhouse. When we’re in the car, she songs about the car. When she sees my cell phone, she sings a song about a chicken.
I have no idea, either.
Yesterday, she was playing in the bath while I got ready, and the moment was just right for another song burst. "Jesus wuvs me and Momma is hungwy," she sang, mastering two important eternal truths in one fell swoop.
The one that has me puzzled, though, is a song in which she sings over and over in an aching voice, "When I was safe…"
When she was safe? I love the way fellow grocery patrons look at me when she sings that one. I mean, it’s very tortured and Les-Miserable-esque of her, but she is, after all, only two years old.
Evidently all the unconditional love and nurturing has pushed our girl to the very brink of despair.