Buggin’

On and on it would go. One of us kids would say something cute and it would become a family “thing.” It would start as an innocently botched idiom or an adorable mispronunciation, like ‘hopcopter” instead of “helicopter.” But too many adult-repeats bludgeoned the charm right out, especially in social settings like playgrounds, prom send-offs, and college tours.

So it’s with ironic delight (hold on, Googling ironic) that I bug my children by canonizing their verbal gaffes and innovations. Just tonight, my daughter proved her faith in adverbs with this newbie: “bootleg-gal-ly.”

Amen!

I’ve written before about my son’s tootats (tattoos). And don’t go looking for me in the aisles of Harris Teeter because I’ll be snaking out bargains at Rotor’s Peter.

Awww!

To retaliate, the kids have zeroed in on my a-kitty’s-heel: my unfamiliarity with pop music. I shrug off their teasing, reminding them that we come from a long line of lyric misinterpretists. In the 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, 00’s, 10’s, and last week, my father regaled bystanders with his grocery schlepping hit, “Cheer Up, Sleepy Jesus” (Jean).  Meanwhile, I’m still shaking my head at my mother’s cover of Prince’s: “Raspberry and Grape.” (beret).

Perhaps it’s my competitive nature that causes me to bungle not only song lyrics, but artist nationalities as well. Take the English (American) musician, Owl City. In his hit, “Bright Lights,” (Fireflies), his pronunciation proves he’s from London (Owatanna, MN). In my interpretive lullaby version for the kids, I lay the accent on thick, just like Owl does. This line really brings it home:

“I like to make myself believe, that planet Earth turns slowly.”  (slowly being said slowly and like this: slaaaow—–ly).

My son’s disgusted moans end with a sardonic “See you in the morning-gah!” Then I say I don’t accept his disrespectful tone, and next time it’s two minutes off his DS.

Lately I’ve learned not to limit myself just to verbal repetition of family “things.” It also works to ambush my kids with written versions of offending phrases. Museum paint booths are ideal for this application (see photo, above).

What’s the pull of bugging children about words, anyway? Two things: 1) The intent is sweet, not mean, and 2) It’s like Monty Python’s tragi-comic Grim Reaper mortality sketch. There’s no escaping the truth that kids will eventually stop saying “M-O-Ms” (M & Ms), and that parents will never, ever keep up with Biebs. To cope, generations have to lovingly remind each other that they’re way, way past their sell-by dates.