Otter's taste in music

We've started playing music at breakfast and dinnertime, to get all three of us listening to more music and to help Otter unwind (and stop asking for the Wiggles when he's tired or frustrated).

Whenever the speakers in the kitchen come on, Otter looks up from his high chair, stops eating, and says "sing-ing" or "bio-lin" or "horn". For really perky tracks, he says "dancing!"

We also listen to music en route to and from daycare, leaving me feeling a bit NPR-deprived (oh pity my poor over-educated yuppie liberal woes, right?), especially as lately all he's asked for is "Lo-Lo", his favorite song, which he is willing to hear an indefinite number of times in a row. Wait, not only willing, but eager, and determined; the track has barely ended and the CD player is grinding into that momentary several-second lull as it reloads the track (as I have it on repeat) and he's saying "Lo-Lo! Lo-Lo! LO-LO! Again! AGAIN!"

It does make it easier to get him out of daycare without tears, as he'll more willingly relinquish a plastic bead bracelet or the doll stroller or a plastic phone receiver to his daycare provider if I say "when we go to the car we can hear Lo-Lo..."

Aside from his toddler repetition fetish, Otter has quite eclectic taste, from Grover (of Sesame Street) explaining "Over and Under and Through" to his afore-mentioned favorite Vieux Diop's "Sing Lo-Lo" (on Putumayo's African Playground) to Ani Difranco's "Knuckledown" on her latest CD (and thanks again, G, for the unexpected CD gift). He'll listen to almost anything, though he's most interested in songs with words he recognizes (Ralph's World does a train song, for example) and tunes he's heard (such as any rendition of Sesame Street's theme song).

One of nicest side effects of all this is his joy in hearing us sing, and our joy in the times he chimes in. This morning, he was working hard on saying "B-I-N-G-O"--he could manage B-I-N or g-O, but usually not both. Mornings are WAY better when a small voice from your back seat is singing along.

Gap-ooming

As many of you know, G and I have never been in danger of winning any housekeeping awards. One of my mom's favorite stories about G is how, before entertaining important company, he used to clean his wooden floors by skidding around them in stocking-feet standing on dampened paper towels. (FYI, this is surprisingly effective, economical, and environmentally friendly floor-cleaning method, as well as providing some exercise. Don't knock it until you've tried it.)

I won't offer any of my mom's stories about my own housekeeping, as they veer well past charmingly quirky and into "generally viewed as shameful."

It took me many many years to disengage from the "cleanliness is godliness" value system to realize that clutter and dust, while having their disadvantages, are not actually immoral, in and of themselves. Yes, I'd love to have a decluttered cleaner house. Yes, we're working towards that goal--but not at the expense of other more important priorities.

However, that said, our housekeeping seems to leave Otter wholly unaffected--except in one way. Periodically he will reach down onto the living room or bedroom floor, pick up some piece of something, often lint, and hand it to me, saying "what's that?"

Or, equally disconcertingly, he'll hand a bit of grain product to me saying "cereal" or "O" (for Cheerios). These mainly come from his own clothing, post-meals (where does he hide them while we're wiping him down after eating? in his pants? down his back?), or from letting him snack while playing.

No matter what the particle of floor debris is, it triggers my shame reflex, and out comes the vacuum. (I can't wait until he's big enough to start dragging his finger to make the dust tracks. )

This is Otter's idea of a great time. "Gap-oom!" he cries, and while I vacuum he alternates between lifting the cord (not in a purposeful way, but in imitation of the times he sees me lift it to go around furniture), trying to ride the vacuum, and opening the vacuum body to take out the smaller attachments and use them as brushes for his hair.

I only hope that his enthusiasm for the gapoom lasts long enough for him to be big enough to push it around himself.