Max loves to sing songs she makes up. Admittedly, we don’t follow most of them. At first, we attributed this to the fact that she begins singing so softly that you can barely hear her. As we listened closely, we discovered that we simply have no idea what she’s singing about. Her songs are like Amateur Night at a def poetry slam in a beatnik coffee shop around 2 am.
She sat in the backseat of Baby’s car happily singing away to herself. It was a muddle of lyrics including what seemed to be a part of a Blue’s Clues song only with a completely different tune.
“Did you like my song, Baby?” she asked cheerily.
“Yes, it was a lovely song.”
“Sing it to me,” she told Baby.
Now, Baby had done what we all do from time to time. She had only half-heard anything she had said but went along with it being a lovely song.
“Well, I don’t know the words to the song.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, it’s your song. I don’t know the words,” Baby answered in an attempt to get out of singing the nonsense she was paying only vague attention to.
“I want to sing it, but I don’t know the words,” Max said.
“But it was your made up song, Bethany. I don’t know the words either.” Arguing with Max is mentally exhausting.
“Yes, you do know the words! I just sang them to you so you could sing them to me!” Time to turn up the radio.