My apologies for back-blogging; you know how I abhor the practice. My computer spent a week in the shop and I spent a week grieving for its absence and "blogging" on scraps of pressed wood pulp with sharpened bits of lead embedded in wood. Somehow I survived and now I have brand new optical drive to show for it. Shiny.
This morning, I was getting ready to go to the dentist. I cast around the house looking for my keys, which I can never find, my cellphone, which is never where I thought I left it, and my bag, which is actually a purse but I'm too embarrassed to call it that in general discourse. While I hunted, I hummed, as I generally do.
Luke was sitting on the floor playing with legos, fairly ambivalent to my very standard frantic search for personal belongings. I soon realized that he had picked up on my hum and was singing the song I had stuck in my head.
"Where do we go from here?" he says, in his little two-year old voice.
I stop.
My toddler is singing the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical.
I called up Megan, my Buffy dealer. "I'm corrupting my child." I explained myself.
"Tell him Auntie Megan is very proud of him."
"Oh, Auntie Megan would be prouder if he was singing the lyrics to Wicked, I expect."
"Shannon, if he was singing Wicked I would question his parentage."
I laughed. We all have our standards, I guess.
And where do we go from here? To the dentist. Supposing I can ever find my bloody keys.