The Rock Star has taken to singing Beyonce's Single Ladies and it might not be my proudest moment as a parent. I alternate between thinking it's borderline hysterical and thinking it's appalling. The fence I sit on is thin, marginal, nearly nonexistent.
In my car, if the radio is on, we listen to K-Love almost exclusively. When Garrett was born I decided to keep it mainly on that station because I knew he wasn't going to hear any questionable words or content I wasn't ready to explain. I didn't factor in Alvin and the Chipmunks. When my parents were here we took The Rock Star to see the squeakquel. Now, don't get me wrong, I thought it was hilarious when those little critters started singing that song. But then, I think just about anything is funnier in a chipmunk voice. It might be a character flaw. I just don't exactly want my three-year-old son getting in touch with his inner Beyonce. I don't, actually, want him to have an inner Beyonce. But you try not to smile as you watch your little boy dance around the kitchen belting "Oh oh oh!" For the record, white boy cannot dance. His idea of rhythmic movement is to fling his hands up over his head and dart erratically from side to side. I have no idea where he gets his inability to shimmy and shake. Troy is a regular Fred Astaire and my moves are the epitome of grace and light. (I'm just going to clear my throat and move on from that little white lie before I am forced to explain, in all truthfulness, that Troy and I could possibly be the worst dancing duo in the history of mankind.)
Anyway, his lyrics sound like this, "All hingle wadies. All hingle wadies. All hingle wadies. If you wike it put a ring on it. Put a ring on it. Oh oh oh!"
I mean, I guess I'm glad he's learning young that the institution of marriage is an important one. There is a silver lining, right? No? Stupid chipmunks! Although, to be fair, we all enjoyed the movie and give it two enthusiastic children's thumbs up.
So yesterday he went with his daddy to visit an elderly church member. On their way home Troy bought him a Happy Meal. We rarely buy Happy Meals. Usually we order off the dollar menu and call it a day. He was delighted to get his Happy Meal because it came with a little chipmunk. He got Theodore, whom he adorably refers to as "E-Dore." Troy decided to bring me home some lunch as well and, because Garrett was so in love with E-Dore, Troy bought me a Happy Meal so that we could get another chipmunk. (It was a crazy splurge kind of lunch.) My Happy Meal came with Alvin. If you push the top of his head he says, "Hello, Gorgeous." Except that Garrett spent all afternoon and evening insisting that he was saying, "Hello, Georgia."
Seriously, it was like he was a rock star addressing his adoring crowd at a sports arena in Atlanta. Probably he was getting ready to sing his cover of Single Ladies. The lights dimmed. The crowd silenced and suddenly, there was my three-year-old, my rock star, yelling out, "Hellllllo Georgia! How's everybody doing tonight? Oh oh oh!"