What's Your Jam?

For the past few months, my older son has been pestering me to buy him earbuds so he can listen to music on our old iPod. This summer we will be driving to Tennessee for a family vacation, and during our nine hour drive, I'm sure both of my boys having their own headphones will lead to a slightly more pleasant road trip. Last weekend, I bought them each earbuds, and both boys have been listening to music on the iPod or my phone, and my younger son Josh has turned into the Verizon man, as he shouts periodically, "Can you hear my music now?"

As I was making dinner the other night, Josh was lounging on the couch with my phone crooning, "you're wonderful, flawless, oooh you're a sexy lady." Yep, that's my five-year old innocently singing along to some "racy" Bruno Mars' lyrics, but then again, that's nothing new in the Reagan house.

My children's needs and desires supersede mine in almost every aspect of my life. Most evenings, I prepare two entrees for dinner. I have given up trying to watch the news or any TV program I enjoy. I willingly play endless board games, at bed time I read the same book over and over for weeks on end, and play outside with my boys in subarctic temperatures. But, there is one area I refuse to concede or compromise on--music.

If I am ever interrogated by the CIA, they can skip the waterboarding and just play Kidz Bop for roughly seven and a half minutes and I will cave like a house of cards. Whatever you want to know, I will tell you. Just stop the insipid children's music! My children have no idea who the Wiggles are nor have they ever heard a catchy tune by the Fresh Beat Band because "Mommy, don't play that." I loathe rousing Disney power ballads. One of my proudest moments was when my son Nate came home from school complaining about the awful song "Let It Go" that all of his classmates were singing.

Since they were babies, my children have always listened to Mommy's music whether we were riding in the car, cleaning the house, or jumping into pillow piles in the living room. And with the exception of a few Jay Z and Eminem tracks, I seldom censor what we listen to in our home and car. Before starting preschool at the local church, the teachers asked us to fill out a paper listing  the boys' favorite food, color, activity, TV program, and song.  As Nate and I worked one afternoon filling in both his form and Josh's, who was two-and-a-half at the time, I asked Nate about his favorite song, or I should use the correct terminology in our house, "What's your jam?" He promptly responded, "Drink in My Hand." I smiled as I wrote down the song title and felt it rather fitting since the singer's last name is Church. I fist bumped Nate and said, "Fill it up/poor it down/ I got forty hour week worth of trouble to drown." I then asked Nate about Joshie's jam. He promptly responded with the "X-box and Atari" song. I grimaced and asked Nate for another suggestion, seeing as I didn't feel it entirely appropriate to write down that my two-and-a-half year old's favorite song was CeeLo Green's "F*** You (Forget You)." Nate's next suggestion was "The Underwear Song" otherwise known as "Sexy and I Know It." Nope, couldn't write that one down either. We finally decided on "Fruit Loops," the Blake Shelton cover of the classic Kenny Loggins' "Footloose." Once while watching Josh, my best friend gave him a bowl of Cheerio's after he requested "Fruit Loops." He was a little perplexed.

Yes, my children listen to and sometimes sing inappropriate lyrics, but before you go judging me, I would like to point out my children are almost completely unaware of any inappropriate words and their meanings. When Nate came home a few months ago and told me one of his friends said the "s" word, I asked him, as I braced myself for his first step towards a loss of innocence, what the "s" word was that his classmate used, and he whispered, "Stupid, and that's not a nice word." I replied, "You're right. That word isn't very nice." Likewise, the "h" word and the other "s" word, "hate" and "shut up," are also off limits.

Growing up, I only recall listening to The Beatles, Beethoven, The Rolling Stones, The Four Tops, Journey, Linda Ronstadt, Prince, Frank Sinatra, and The Doors--no kids' music. The first time I heard Bruno Mars' "Locked Out of Heaven," I immediately was taken back to riding in my mom's Thunderbird listening to The Police's "Roxanne."  Probably the same age as my Nate, I remember loving how Sting rolled the initial consonant sound. If you asked me then what the song was about, I wouldn't have known. Even if I had paid attention to the lyrics, I probably would have guessed Roxanne was a crossing guard, and the singer was in a rush to get across the street, so "put on the red light, Roxanne." When Nate finally figures out what "Locked Out of Heaven" is really about, I doubt he's going to feel comfortable having a conversation about how smart and subversive Mars is comparing carnal knowledge of a woman to a religious experience, especially not with his nerdy English teacher mom who will go on and on about the irony, metaphors, and diction. For right now, we both just enjoy the "Oh, Yeah, Yeah" song.

While the excitement of our new earbuds has already begun to wane, I know their love of music will only continue to grow.