Gaga

My heart beats to music.  Although I am a big fan, I am not musically inclined in the least. A fact recently confirmed by the maintenance man who came to fix a shelf in the closet and as he was leaving, teased "You should take that show on the road." I turned red. I completely forgot he was here as LO and I belted out "In New York..." (Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind") while I mopped the kitchen floor. Being that LO is not even two years old, I was actually the only one belting. She was my back-up dancer. How mortifying!

I have a soundtrack for everything. For cooking, it is anything foreign; samba, salsa, french cafe' music. For eating, some old tunes from Billie Holiday. For working out, maybe Biggie Smalls or MJ. I am such a loyal lover that I will not apologize for still listening to The Cure (my grade school favorite), The Smiths (I caught severe Anglophilia in high school) or Luis Miguel (my first love).

True love endures feathered bangs, M.C. Hammer pants and neon green braces. So if I listened and loved you when I was a goofy, lanky kid chances are that the lanky, goofy adult still loves you. But the rule is that I had to be IN LOVE with you. Sorry to the very talented C+C Music Factory who inspired many Running Mans and Roger Rabbits but didn't survive the test of time. "Everybody Dance Now" is not on my IPOD. At least I don't think so.

So what's the point, you ask? In the same way that LO has my brown eyes, thin lips and long toes (awesome traits I know; her eyes are truly amazing though) she also has this crazy love of music.  Since she was a squishy baby, she bobbed her head to the beat, any beat. Our favorite pastime is snuggling while jamming to "Da Beeeeeturs" (commonly known as The Beatles). There we are barefoot in the living room singing "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah."

She loves all music but has recently taken a great liking to pop, specifically lady pop artists (torture for me and P sometimes). She is head-over-heels, bonkers OBSESSED with Lady Gaga. She chants "Gaga, Gaga" when she wakes up in the morning, while she eats lunch, in the car. Anytime is Gagatime for LO.

We were at Nordstrom Rack where she was not a fan of the Michael Bolton song playing. She started shouting "GAGA, GAGA." I laughed. How cute is this, I thought to myself. This was a journal entry for tonight. (Side Note: I keep a journal in which I document sweet little somethings. This my attempt to remember details otherwise forgotten in the fog of daily life.) I explained that I did not have control over the music selection at Nordstrom Rack. I often speak to her in full sentences as if she were an adult.

"Do you understand?" I ask. She utters back an enthusiastic "YEAH" and goes back to planning her escape from the shopping cart seatbelt. These exchanges leave me convinced that LO is a genius toddler.

"Mama, GAGA!!," she insisted. Ok, maybe not a genius.

The thing is that when she asks for Gaga, I usually deliver. I indulge her in these kind of things at home. She did not understand why her tunes were not starting and why this snoozer (Michael Bolton) was still on. The chanting became louder and steadier; "Gaga Gaga Gaga Gaga." People began to stare. Now I was embarrassed. This was no longer cute. Does that happen to you? One second you think they're so dang cute doing what they're doing and the next you just want them to stop immediately.

When I can no longer reason with her, I bring out the snacks. Thank God for Annie's Cheddar Bunnies. I don't go anywhere without them.

Close call. We were seconds away from a wailing, back-arching tantrum. LO channels her inner contortionist in the heat of a tantrum. I felt very relieved because I was not ready to make a Dash of Shame: a hysterical (and not in the "ha ha" sense of the word) toddler-initiated exit. I hadn't even made it to the shoe department yet.

But you bet that the minute we got in the car all I could hear was "GAGA" so I cranked "Just Dance" and we drove away into the sunset...and into traffic.

Keep jamming.

Accompanying MOTY moment: LO in my rearview mirror, head banging to S+M (the explicit version) by Rihanna. I think, well it's not sooooo bad. She can't understand or even decipher the words. Next, I hear her shout "S,S,S,S,S,S" and then "M,M,M,M,M,M." Just perfect.

Tip of the day: If you must listen to music inappropriate for your tot at least make sure she/he cannot pronounce the lyrics. Better yet, choose songs with complicated words and not abbreviations for sexual fetishes.