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Singing With The Triplets

Singing With The Triplets

Lovie and Pookie went out last night which left yours truly to take care of the terrible trio. Bedtime has been a real issue of late, particularly with C, so I was a bit worried about how I would fare. After all, Lovie is the unquestioned star of our little show, and though that show must go on, I couldn’t help but wonder how smoothly it would run without her on stage alongside of us.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a solid understudy. Ready, willing, and able to take center stage at the drop of a hat. But for me to carry the show, I had to alter the script a bit. Especially given the bedtime drama that’s been going down. So I decided to turn that drama into a musical.

You’ve heard of “Dancing With the Stars,” right? (I know. I hate Kate Gosselin, too, but more on that in a future post…) Well last night, I hosted “Singing With the Triplets.” Actually, I did more than just host. I also got my vocal on during dinner and kept it going through potty time and bath time. I hoped that by doing so I would not only make my trio forget about Lovie, but I’d also wear them out to the point where they’d fall asleep with little resistance.

Act I: Dinner. Once A, B, and C were in their highchairs, I grabbed their milk from the fridge. Cue the lights. Start the music. The first selection? A tribute to that which held their milk, sung to the tune of Kiss’s hard rock anthem, “Lick it Up.”
 
“Sippy cup. Sippy cup.
Whoa-oh-oh.
The lid’s on tight, now.
Sippy cup. Sippy cup.
Whoa-oh-oh.
Oooh yeah. Oooh yeah.”

The judges weren’t amused. In fact, they were growing impatient. And who could blame them? With all the singing, I’d forgotten about their dinner which I was heating in the toaster oven. Luckily, the food wasn’t burned. But it was hot. Very hot.

Cue the lights. Start the music. Time for some Billy Idol. While dishing up their sizzling meal, I sang the following to the tune of “Hot in the City.”

 “Hot dinny-dinny.
Hot dinny-dinny tonight.
Hot dinny-dinny.
Hot dinny-dinny, s’alright.”

The boys liked it, but C wasn’t feeling it. Or at least that’s what I gathered when she offered up the following:

“Stop it, Daddy.”

All right, then. Intermission. May as well give the little monsters some peace and quiet while they gobble their goodies. Besides, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was gonna sing next, anyway.

Once dinner was behind us, I got the triplets out of their highchairs and instructed them to take a turn on the potty, but B refused to go (could he have been holding out for another song?). That’s when the next selection smacked me in the face. I went all new-school and busted out an altered version of Lady Ga Ga’s “Paparazzi.”

 “Listen to your dad,
it’s time for you to use the potty.
I’m the
Potty Nazi.”
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Maybe I was connecting with my son through the magic of music, or maybe he was just trying to shut me up. Whichever the case, B dropped trou and wobbled to the bathroom where he discarded his cloth shackles and hopped up on the big potty. Only one problem. His, um, deal-i-o was pointing north which meant the hardwood floor was getting an unnecessary watering. So I cued up some George Benson and sang my next song to the tune of his 1982 classic, “Turn Your Love Around.”

“Point your pee-pee down.
I can show you how.
Point your pee-pee down.
Gotta do it now.”

B smiled from ear to ear and, indeed, pointed his pee-pee down. Aside from the initial splatter, the floor remained dry. Crisis averted.

After all three had faithfully obeyed the Potty Nazi, it was time for a bath. And when C started crying after getting soap in her eyes, it was also time for a little Deep Purple.

“Soap in the water.
The burn is in the eyes.”

By 7:15 all three were in bed. The drama I was worried about? There was none. Well, except a little bit from C. She wanted to sleep in the boys’ room. So I scooped her up and deposited her in the extra crib before telling the trio that I expected them to go to sleep without a fuss.

When Lovie got home, she couldn’t believe the song that greeted her. Simon and Garfunkel’s “Sound of Silence.” It was literally the first time in weeks that everyone was fast asleep by 8:00.

“Oh, by the way,” I said, “C wanted to sleep in the boys’ room, so I moved her.”

“She’s asked to do that before, you know, and each time all hell breaks loose.”

“Well, it went okay tonight.”

“Really?” asked Lovie.

“Really,” I answered.

“What did you do?” she asked incredulously.

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Just the same ol’ song and dance, I guess.”

*whispers to the audience*

The understudy’s a rockstar, y’all. Recognize.

Author: John Cave Osborne

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