Ladybugs and Mother Goose

Granddaughter Emma and I were in the “way back” of my daughter’s SUV.  We were heading to Marshall, 25 miles from Emma’s house, and I “Nama” was Emma’s source of entertainment for the trip. 

“Do the ladybug song!” Emma said.  Daughter Katie said, “She means the poem.”

I racked my brain for the ladybug poem of my children’s childhood and it quickly came to me. “Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home.  Your house is on fire and your children will burn.”

I didn’t get the next stanza out of my mouth, “All except one and her name is Ann.  She crept under the frying pan.”  Emma was scowling at me and shaking her head, her mouth agape.

“Nama!  That’s a HORRIBLE song!” 

From the front seat, I heard Katie reciting the right ladybug “song.”  Something sweet and cute.  And mine was, well, Emma was right… horrible!

I quickly went through my mental file of children’s verses to redeem myself. There was Jack and Jill.  Nope.  Ring Around the Rosy, a song about the plague. Probably not. Georgy Porgy.  Um, no.

Mother Goose is a foul fowl indeed!  I’ll definitely be looking for some new material for the next time Emma and I find ourselves in the “way back” together.   I want to stay in favor with my favorite two-year-old!

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