Nosrus Tap

Isn't C getting big?

So, I promised to tell you about the curse of the "Nosrus Tap." Well, several months ago my mom bought MG a copy of "Rhinoceros Tap" and its companion CDs "Philadelphia Chickens" and "Dog Train." These are CDs for kids, and Sandra Boynton is one of our favorite kids' authors. It's probably payback for some record that I made her listen to eleven million times... Sometimes Grandma has ulterior motives.

(Remember back before I had kids, and I SWORE that I would never listen to kids' music? Yeah, I swore I'd never drive a minivan, too.)

Anyway... The CDs were nice. We listened to them in the car. I learned a few words. They were an occasional part of our lives.

Then I let them in the house.

Jiminy Cricket, I have listened to this CD 94,528 times in the past week. As soon as MG wakes up, she starts yelling, "Nosrus Tap! NOSRUS TAP!!!" and pushing buttons on the TV (we play it through the DVD player in the kitchen) until I turn it on.

I have to admit that this music is MUCH less hideous than most children's music out there - hear samples for yourself at Amazon - but still. I don't even want to listen to Barenaked Ladies or U2 94,528 times, much less "Oh Lonely Peas."

The silver lining, though, is the song "Bad Babies." I love this song. It is hysterical. And when MG is having a tantrum, about 7 times out of 10 singing "Bad Babies" to her will chill her out and make her laugh.

So, this is where the tap shoes came from (see Saturday). The Rhinoceros Tap song says, "You put on your tap shoes, you wear your best clothes..." So, I'm changing MG's diaper about a week ago and she says, "Want some tap shoes." When I said, "What?" (which is the normal response when your 21 month old comes out of the air with a complete sentence that she's not just mimicking from somewhere else) she said, "Nosrus Tap!" in this, "DUH, Mom," sort of voice.

Yeah, I bought her the tap shoes. They're hilarious. And they're probably destroying my floors.

We have learned, in this little experiment in parental torture, that Mommies have a much higher tolerance for repetition than Daddies have. He'll come home at 6 pm, after I have heard "HEY what a crab, ho what a crab," several dozen times that day, listen to the CD for about 11 minutes, and decide that he's had enough. Mommy doesn't care how many times she has to hear it, as long as no one's screaming. Daddies have a higher tolerance for screaming.