Recently my husband and I went to the city to see a show and my parents watched the kids at our house. At some point, they found themselves pushing them around the carpet in plastic bins from our discarded toy sorter. If they were on the ground, it was bumper cars, but my dad also lifted them in the air, transforming their pastel, cracked bins into airplanes.
Since then, a lot of Little Miss’s play has revolved around modes of transportation. The laundry basket is a boat. A tiny dollar store container is a plane for her clip dolls, but the favorite by far is a large Amazon box masquerading as a car. Now don’t go thinking that she decorated it, or has a play steering wheel in there or anything, because she doesn’t. She’s just a girl, in a box, driving a car.
So last night we were doing our bedtime routine and Little Miss wanted to sit in the box while I read and Mr. Man yanked all the books off her shelves. After we read she told me she had to push the button. Imagine my confusion at this non-sequitur. Apparently she was turning on the radio and I was it’s one and only star.
And so the game went. She pushed the button and requested a song and I sang it. I’m not a great singer, but I love to do it, especially in my car where no one could ever hear me. Now that I have kids, they hear it, but thankfully they don’t seem to mind and they have made me braver and willing to sing pretty much all the time.
I sang All About the Bass, Your Lips Are Moving, Let It Go (of course), I Don’t Care (I Love It), and a couple Choo Choo Soul songs. If I started singing before the radio button was pushed, I was required to start from the beginning, not that I minded. The game was a ton of fun, I got to get my sing on, Little Miss was happy and Mr. Man, who had joined his sister in the box, stared at me in total awe that I could make my voice do such fascinating things. It was a win, win, win.